with racing through checklists
(“Not much left now and then we can get out of here.”
“Seriously, though, if you gave my wife’s cousin a chance…”)
had not worked.
Dennis greeted her with, “It’s so great to see you! Again.” And another awkward A hug.
“You too.”
“And I don’t think you ever met my girlfriend, Xenia.”
Ava shook the woman’s hand, marveling again at the resemblance. “So nice to finally meet you,” Xenia said, smiling. “You probably don’t remember—we crossed paths at the funeral, but…”
But she’d been numb. She could have run into Angelina Jolie and not remembered later. Then his words hit her. “I thought you said you were cousins.”
“Well, I figured it’d be easier for you to place her.”
“We’re not really cousins,” Xenia broke in. “Or at least, not close ones.”
“Our great-grandparents were siblings,” Dennis said.
“So that’s … what? Second cousins? First cousins once removed? Or twice?” Ava started counting on her fingers, which was dumb—how would fingers help here?
“We can legally bang,” Dennis said. “Which is what counts.” And Xenia giggled, which was irritating.
“What a relief,” Ava replied, deadpan. “For a second I was super worried about your sex life.”
“It’s fine,” he replied.
No doubt.
“We can talk about the elephant in the room,” he continued.
Kill me, please. “We can?” Yes, but should we? No. We should not.
“Absolutely.”
Argh.
They both nodded at her, which was unsettling. “Go on. Ask us anything,” Dennis prompted.
“I honestly don’t have any questions. At all.” They waited, clearly not believing her, so she sighed and added, “Fine—Dennis, you’re banging someone who looks like your dead twin sister. You don’t think that’s a little weird? You don’t think other people will find that a little weird? Like your mom? Which, I imagine, is why you’re feeling me out on the subject, no pun intended?”
“What?” From Xenia.
“Oh my God!” From Dennis, eyes bulging in distress. “We were talking about the memorial! We know you don’t want to come!”
“That’s the elephant in the room?”
“Of course it is!”
“If you know I don’t want to come, then why even bring it up?”
“We’re hoping to persuade you! Which is why it’s an elephant!”
Annnnnnd it gets worse. “That’s not the actual elephant.”
“Well, I know that now, obviously!”
“We should stop yelling! Especially in an airport!”
“Good point,” Xenia put in, doing a credible job of sounding less horrified than she’d looked a minute ago.
“Okay, so. The memorial.” Ava coughed. “Danielle’s memorial. Ten years. Right. I don’t think I was invited.”
“Of course you were invited,” he snapped. “After family, you were the first one on the list.” Which would have been flattering, except there were a thousand Monahans. Being guest number 1,001 was not flattering in the least. Not that it was about being flattered. Right?
“Well, I’m on the road a lot,” she said, gesturing to the bustling to-and-fro of the Minneapolis–Saint Paul International Airport. You know, with … the flying.”
“Which is why we sent multiple invites.”
“But, again: on the road.”
“The last two were sent certified. We know you got them.”
“Oh. Well. That settles it, I guess.” There was a long, difficult pause. “So, you guys can legally bang, huh?”
Four
THE LIST
Feign appendicitis to get out of memorial
Never ever ever stay in Minnesota longer than ninety minutes ever ever again
Seriously, skin is flaking like a snake—moisturizer!
After googling appendicitis symptoms, Ava decided to bite the bullet (which, if done literally and then swallowed, might have mimicked appendicitis symptoms) and just go already. She had nowhere to be until 0700 tomorrow—another pilot had asked for her Boston and D.C. hops.
Which is why she was pulling into the Crisp and Gross Funeral Home (after a quick stop at CVS to pick up some lotion—all that time in the air wreaked havoc on her skin) at 6:30 P.M. on a Saturday night.
Who are you kidding? It wasn’t like you had a hot date lined up.
No, it wasn’t like that. Though she’d never had any trouble finding someone to fill a spot in her (hotel) bed, seeing Dennis had thrown her off her game. And speaking of …
“Thanks for coming.” He was standing on the sidewalk in front of the two-story building that looked like one of those older Tudor-style buildings: dark roof, stone instead of bricks, weathered. Dennis had changed and looked smart in dark slacks, a pale blue shirt, navy blazer, matching tie, all of which artfully set off his stubble. Dennis was a master of “scruffy on purpose while pretending it’s not on purpose.” “Gotta admit, I had my doubts.”
“How else would we have continued our incredibly awkward conversation about whether or not you’re committing incest if I didn’t come?”
“Yeah, God forbid we put that to bed. So to speak.”
She groaned. He smiled back, stepped aside and gestured, then courteously followed her in.
The first thing she saw was a huge blowup of Danielle’s senior picture, the one where her brunette hair looked like a cloud instead of pulled back in her habitual ponytail, her eyes were artfully smoky with a professional makeup application, and her long fingers (tipped with artificial pastel-pink nails) were cupping her chin, emphasizing the point. The photo she fucking hated. “It’s what they want me to look like,” she’d explained. “Not what I actually look like.”
And there it is in a nutshell, she thought, staring at the poster. Her folks didn’t get it then, and they don’t get it now.
The second thing she noticed was the banner hanging over the door into the chapel: WE CELEBRATE LIFE!, which was a cold lie.
Still not too late to feign appendicitis.
No, no. Better to suck it up and endure. And it wasn’t like there would be much interaction—to her surprise, there were only about a dozen people milling around, speaking quietly.
“Isn’t that a wonderful picture of dear Danielle?”
and saying absolutely nothing.
“Hello, Ava.”
She turned and saw a short, slender man about her own age, dressed in a beautifully cut black suit, blinking at her through Versace eyeglass frames and holding out a small, slim hand.
“Oh. Hello.” She shook his hand and wondered if it would be better to pretend to know him or admit straight-out that she had no idea—
“It’s Pete. Crisp?”
Dilemma overcome. “Of course, sure. Pete Crisp.” Of the Crisp and Gross Funeral Home, no less. His generation was the second or third to run the place. “How are you?”
“Bewildered.” He glanced around the funeral home. “I haven’t been back here for years. Not since my cousin took over.”