Page 4 of Mismatched

“Hello? Anton?” On the floor, Seth’s voice echoes small and tinny, apparently still connected on speakerphone.

Anton retrieves it, turning it over to find the screen completely shattered. He curses, but it comes out sounding hollow.

“Seth, what’s going on?” I ask. “Did something happen with Sharon?”

“Lydia.” My brother-in-law’s voice comes through the speaker, low and somber. “She’s gone.”

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.

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