Chapter 12

Normally for Easter, Mom would make a ham, Nana would bring side dishes, and Ray and Shayna would have the girls over for an Easter egg hunt in the backyard after Dad hid a few plastic, pastel-colored eggs. But that was before.

Now, I can’t get my mother to talk about a holiday without tears. My grandmother is too busy praying for my brother’s soul at church to be bothered with making anything. And my father, he couldn’t care less.

In an effort to keep things normal, I arrange to pick up catering and set the table for the family, minus one. I even call Shayna and invite her over, but by the time everyone arrives, the food is cold and Dad is drunk.

Pop stuffs himself with chocolate cake as Nana shakes her head at all the uneaten food. “It’s a shame,” she says over and over, sometimes pausing to frown at me like the family tradition gone sour is my fault. Aunt Joanie sits next to Mom as she picks at the pasta salad she’ll never eat. When Shayna finally shows up with Lara and Lucy in tow, I greet her with a grateful hug, shocking the shit out of both of us. The three of them all wear the same patterned leggings with white sweaters. Lara and Lucy both have big bows in their hair.

“Guess who’s here!” I chirp.

My mom pastes on a smile and hugs the girls when they go to her. She pets their heads as fresh tears spring to her eyes. “My grandkids, I love you,” she says, hugging them both to her. “You look like your daddy.”

“Can we have cake?” Lara asks. Lucy dances in front of Shayna, her hands folded in a silent plea.

“One piece.”

Nana cuts them each a piece of cake, and we all watch these two little girls scarf down the dessert. It’s the most activity we’ve seen all day.

“Can we look for eggs now?” Lucy asks with a chocolate-covered smile.

I wince, saying, “We don’t have any this year,” then reach for a chocolate bunny wrapped in gold foil. “But how about you sit with Pop and eat this, huh?”

Lara snatches it from my hand, and they race into the living room, where they flop on the couch next to my grandfather, who’s snoring. Aunt Joanie takes Mom into the kitchen, and Nana clears the table, leaving Shayna and me alone.

I haven’t seen her since the funeral, and she’s back to her old self. “Got your hair highlighted,” I note. “Looks good.”

She juts her chin at me. “You need yours done.”

“Kind of you to say.”

She smirks at me, one that’s familiar. Her nails are done too, purple with little pink flowers on her index and pinkie fingers.

“It’s been over two months,” she says. “At some point, I had to get it together.”

I can’t meet her gaze as she says these words, half because I hate her for not wallowing and half because I’m still wallowing.

“Your mom looks terrible. She must’ve lost about fifteen pounds.”

I shrug and keep my attention down, drawing the same invisible circle over and over with my finger on the dining room table.

“You look terrible too,” she adds.

I snap my head up. “Yeah, well, my brother died.”

“He was my husband,” she enunciates, as if she’s winning some contest.

“And you were getting divorced,” I whisper harshly. “Did you even love him?”

She rears back as if I’ve slapped her. “Of course I loved him. What a horrible thing to ask.”

Her reprimand only stokes my fire. “You don’t act like it. You’re not even wearing your wedding ring.”

She calmly folds her hands, her elbows on the table. “And what do you want me to do? Wear black every day? Sit in my house all day long, become a shell of a person? Would you prefer I be like your mother?”

I have no retort, my jaw bobbing up and down uselessly.

“Do you want me to pine over a ghost? If he were still alive, he’d still be sleeping with that woman. Am I supposed to forget that happened? Should I pretend we had a wonderful marriage and our life was perfect?” She holds up one delicate finger, a teacher to her pupil. “I loved your brother, I still do, but it doesn’t mean I’m not going to move on with my life like I would’ve done if he were still here. We would have gotten the divorce. I still would have accepted the date to go out with Todd?—”

“Todd? Who’s Todd?” I ask, my voice unusually high.

“He’s the dad of a kid who goes to school with the girls. He coaches their soccer team.”

I roll my eyes. Todd. What a dick. I don’t know the guy, but I’m offended on my brother’s behalf anyway.

“So you’re going out with a guy named Todd?”

“Yes, I am. And I suggest you do the same?”

“Find a guy named Todd?” I ask, in my most mocking tone.

She glares at me. “Move on. You don’t need to stop living because RJ’s not.”

“I’m living,” I say, the words sounding meek even to my ears.

She challenges me with one single, perfectly plucked eyebrow raise. And she’s right; I haven’t really been living, merely getting by. Taking care of my parents, working, and watching reruns of Price is Right.

She moves from the table to play with her daughters, and I deflate back into my chair.