Chapter Two
CHAPTER TWO
Seth and I follow our Aunt Betty and the last of the straggling neighbors outside, thanking them for coming and accepting hugs and well wishes. Or, my brother is doing those things while I stand stiff at his side.
“It was a beautiful service,” Betty says, reaching up to cup Seth’s square, clean-shaven jaw. “Sharon would have approved. She did such a nice job raising you boys.”
“Thanks, Aunt Betty,” my brother replies, letting her squeeze him into a hug, delivering the correct responses for both of us. “She would’ve been touched to hear that.”
Betty turns to me like she might draw me into her arms too, but thinks better of it. “You take care of yourselves, you hear?” she says, getting into her car. “Anton, I told your lovely wife I want more than a Christmas card once a year.”
I manage to raise my hand at that, but once she’s gone, my legs give out, and I sink to the front steps of Mom’s little ranch. “Thank God that’s over,” I say, loosening my tie.
My brother hands me a bottle of water from the garage, then settles onto the stoop beside me with a sigh. Behind us, Mom’s orange tabby, Bruno, stretches up against the glass storm door, scratching his claws and wailing at us like some mythological beast.
“It was nice seeing so many people who really loved her,” Seth says in a wistful tone.
I grunt. “Would be nicer if she were still here to love.”
Neither of us speaks for a while. The sun is headed down, though it doesn’t offer much of a break from the sticky Dallas heat. A kid rides by on a bike. Someone passes with a dog. A few cars come and go. The world goes on without our mother.
“Thanks for all your help this week,” Seth says.
“I did shit,” I say with a snort. “You had all the little details—the clothes she wanted to wear, the music she wanted at the church. You delivered the freaking eulogy.”
I crack open my water, taking a long drink. It was torture, sitting in that pew, listening to his summary of our mother’s too-short life. Except that he honored her beautifully. He even created a slideshow of pictures to play with the music, mostly from when our dad was still alive. That was the part that almost wrecked me.
“You helped with all the decisions,” Seth says.
“Uh-huh. Because picking out flowers and choosing an urn makes up for how you spent the last five years.”
My brother scowls. “We’ve been over this, Anton. I was already in Dallas. I’m not married. It made sense for me to take care of her. I got to finish college and live rent free while I did it.”
“Best son ever,” I say, raising my water in salute. And though I mean it, I’m pretty sure I sound like a dick. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I mean, I know —this is grief. I miss our mom. But she’s been slipping away for years. Her death ought to feel like a blessing, a relief. Only it doesn’t. It just feels like a hole has opened up and something big is missing.
“I couldn’t have been there for her without you,” he says quietly.
“ Meow ,” the cat wails behind us like a broken violin, announcing my wife’s approach.
“There you are,” Lydia says, peeking her head outside. “You two want to come in and get something to eat? There’s still so much food. I don’t think it will even fit in the fridge. ”
Seth hops up immediately, dusting off his suit. Mom would’ve fussed at us for sitting on the ground in our Sunday best, then forgiven him as soon as he flashed one of his dimpled grins. He’s tall and muscular, like me, but he has her light hair, and her smile. And suddenly, I am so grateful for it.
“You coming?” he asks, hovering in front of me. But the blood is rushing in my ears and somehow it feels like all I can manage just to take my next breath.
Seth extends his hand. “C’mon. I haven’t seen you eat all day.”
I exhale, accepting the offer. And with enough strength for the both of us, he pulls me to my feet.
Lydia’s gaze flits over me as we retreat inside, blue eyes flashing with concern. She exchanges a look with Seth, then bites her lip and hurries toward the kitchen. “You both must be exhausted. I’ll get you a couple of plates.”
Seth doesn’t protest, and I slump onto the couch.
My wife returns with a strange assortment of fried chicken, dolmades, bean casserole, and tamales. I hold the food in my lap, but it seems like way too much effort to actually chew and swallow.
Seth takes his dish to the armchair across from me, and I find myself thinking about how we used to sit there with our dad reading books when we were little, and I wonder if he remembers that. Bruno winds between his legs, purring like an aircraft engine.
“So, Seth, what are your plans... now?” Lydia asks, settling on the couch beside me. “Or is it too soon to ask?”
“I don’t know. There isn’t much left for me here.” I feel his gaze land on me. “I was kinda thinking of moving.”
I raise my eyes from the cat, pulse throbbing under my skin.
“Oh yeah? Where to?” Lydia asks. Bruno spots her open lap and launches himself into it, curling up to shed orange and white cat hair all over her gray skirt. Vaguely, I think, she never wears skirts . And I wish I could appreciate this one.
My brother clears his throat. “Ah, Denver, actually.”
Something stirs in my chest. It isn’t earthshaking, but it’s more than the numbness I feel like I’m drowning in. “Really?” I croak, like I haven’t spoken for days .
“Yeah.” Seth turns to me, looking uncertain. “I—I think I’d like to sell this place. If it’s okay with you.”
I release a long breath and set my untouched plate aside, letting my gaze wander around the room. Some of the things here stand out—the chair, a few knickknacks, some pictures. But the actual house? It hasn’t felt like home for a while. Not since we had to move Mom out of it and into a care facility.
But the thought of Seth being in Denver—living so close? That does.
“Not my decision,” I say quickly. “You’ve more than earned the right to do whatever you want with this place.”
Seth shrugs. “It made sense to be here when I was needed... but I think I’m ready for a change.”
“When were you thinking?” my wife asks.
“I have an appointment with a realtor this week,” he says. “There are a couple things I’ll need to fix, some painting to do, but I think it should be ready to list pretty quick.”
Lydia studies the overflowing bookshelves, looking doubtful. “There’s still a lot of stuff here. Do you want us to stay a little longer and give you a hand?”
I know for a fact Lydia has work piling up back at The Pooch Park and Ooh La Pooch. She hasn’t said a word to me about it, but we’ve been in Dallas almost a week, and I’ve overheard her talking to her managers and her business partner, Henry. It’s been a lot, asking her to step away from their businesses for so long, and at the last minute.
“We need to get home,” I tell her. “Just have an estate sale, Seth. Get rid of everything you don’t want to keep.”
Seth and Lydia exchange another look.
“Uh, is there anything you’re interested in?” he asks awkwardly. “I could bring furniture or whatever with me to Denver.”
It’s a practical question, but my lip curls at the idea of divvying up the remnants of our mother’s life. I take another look around, deciding the reading chair is just a chair and not the memories made in it. But surely there’s something here I’d like to keep? Stupidly, what comes to mind is the slow-close toilet seat Mom got all excited about after I left for college. I press my lips together. What I really want is to be able to talk to her. Give her a hug. Tell her I love her one last time and know she understands. But eventually my eyes land on a framed photo on the mantel. A family portrait. The last one taken of the four of us before our dad was killed in the car crash. I rise up and retrieve it, glancing down at the smiling family from the past.
I must’ve been nearly ten, and Seth was six or seven, missing his two front teeth. Mom is clearly restraining him in her lap, looking exactly the way I always picture her: poofy blonde hair, too-big glasses, and a huge smile. My dad has one arm around her and one resting on my shoulder, dark hair askew, like he just ran into the frame right before they took the shot.
“I’ll take this.” I hold up the picture to satisfy my wife and brother.
“Oh, I like that one. You look so much like your dad,” Lydia says.
Surprised, I look down again. I was a scrawny kid in a Scouts uniform, and beside my dad’s broad form, we hardly seemed alike then. But maybe I do resemble him now. Tall, with unruly brown hair, and the hazel eyes Seth and I both have. But there’s something else about my dad that’s different from me. I just can’t put my finger on what it is.
Bruno suddenly scampers off Lydia’s lap and up onto Seth’s shoulder. “ Meow. ”
“Oh, excuse me. Did I forget your evening sardine?” My brother rises and heads for the kitchen, cat wrapped around his neck.
Lydia reaches out and gives my knee a squeeze. “Guess we should go pack.”
I place a tentative hand over hers, and she smiles in my peripheral vision. I know she’s trying to get my attention. Check in with me. Connect. And especially after the last two months, after we’ve worked hard to grow closer, it feels foreign not to just lean in and reach for her. Allow myself to take comfort in her hair, her skin, her scent. But for some reason I just... can’t. I pull my hand away, trying to ignore the way the air cools between us as I head for my old bedroom.
“Sure, let’s pack. It’s an early flight.”