Page 12 of Don't Tell Me How to Die

Lizzie finally broke the silence. “You high yet?”

I never know how I’m going to react to weed. I guess it’s the luck of the draw, depending on what my friend Johnny Rollo is dealing that day.

“Definitely getting there,” I said. “But it’s not the kind of high where I’m flying and everything gets trippy. It’s more just this soft, mellow glow washing over me.”

“That’s the little ganja faeries massaging the cannabis receptors in your brain,” Lizzie said. “I read it in a medical book.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” I said. “I’m dealing with serious thoughts here.”

“Like what?”

“Like how ironic it is that this afternoon Mom tells us she’s going to die, and right after dinner we head straight for the graveyard.”

“That’s not irony, Mags. It’s more like we don’t have a lot of choices. We can’t exactly smoke dope at home. This is the go-to place for kids to get stoned or hook up. Did you and Van used to get it on back here?”

“Just quickies and BJs, but it’s way too creepy here to have great sex and then curl up naked together and go to sleep. Van had his dad’s fishing cabin for that.”

“You think Van is having sex now?”

“No. I think he’s the only marine in South Korea who is remaining celibate so he can come back home in three years and marry his high school girlfriend. I may be a romantic, but I’m not an idiot. Van is nineteen years old, for God’s sake. I read inMarie Clairethat men hit their sexual peak at nineteen. Women don’t get there till around thirty-five.”

“So, what you’re saying is that right now the guy you’re being faithful to is on the other side of the world banging some middle-aged Korean woman.”

“You’re an idiot,” I said. “But you’re a funny idiot.”

“Have you cried yet?” Lizzie said.

“No. I’ve cried a lot since Mom got sick, but not since ...” I paused, thinking back to that afternoon. “I got weak in the knees as soon as she said those words.How strong are you?I mean, I knew what was coming next.”

“Me too. I haven’t cried yet either. I keep thinking about Dad. Dating! What did Mom say... ‘Women will flock to him like stray cats to an overturned milk truck’? It’s funny—Mrs. DiMarco said the same thing about Mr. Brennan, except she said, ‘Honey, those hags were bringing him food, baking him cookies... they were all over him like flies on cow flop.’”

“You think Dad is going to remarry?” I said.

“Probably. It’s what men do. Women not so much, or not so fast, but men... Do you want to hear something really disgusting?”

“Sure.”

“Do you know Beverly Reidy? Brown hair, glasses, kind of a science nerd, but I like her. I sit with her at lunch sometimes. Her mother died last year, and guess who her father started banging pretty soon after the funeral?”

“I give up.”

“The mother’ssister. Beverly’s aunt. Beverly came home early from school one day because she was sick. The father’s bedroom door was shut, but she could hear the two of them in there banging their brains out. She ran out of the house and came back a half hour later. The dad and the aunt were in the kitchen having coffee and looking all normal and shit, but now every time Beverly sees the two of them together, she says her skin crawls. She’s at the point that she wants them both out of her life.”

“You’re right,” I said. “That’s disgusting. I hope you’re not planning on sharing that with Mom.”

“You’re an idiot,” she said. “And you’re not even a funny idiot.”

I smiled. I love my sister. Even her trash talk makes me happy.

We lit up a second joint and sat there painting scenarios and conjuring up what-ifs. We made a list of women who might go after our father once he was single, and we split them into four groups—gold-digging predators, horny bitches, clueless losers, and Mrs. Doubtfire, who could come to work for us as a housekeeper, but she could never replace our mother, because underneath the wig, the makeup, and the padding was a penis.

We were that stoned.

We drove home hoping to slip quietly into the house and go directly to our rooms, but Dad was sitting on the porch steps.

Lizzie and I got out of the car, and he stood up. The radiant, joyful, smiling life force we’d had dinner with was gone. He stood there, head lowered, shoulders slumped, heartbroken.

He let out a long, low, stifled wail and spread his arms wide. Lizzie and I ran to that familiar safe space, burying our faces in his chest, hugging him, clinging to one another, and the three of us stood there sobbing, bracing ourselves for the loss of the woman we loved most in the world.

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