Page 23 of Her Alien Neighbor

VANESSA

Ifinish spreading peanut butter and jelly on slices of white bread, my mouth watering as I reach for the final ingredient of my beloved childhood snack. Tearing open the bag of potato chips, I place six chips atop the peanut butter, then gently place the jam-covered slice on top. Then I flatten my palm on top of the sandwich and press down, careful not to crush the baby carrots I’ve spilled onto the plate. The crunch of the chips in the middle of the sandwich is so satisfying, I moan at the feeling of those delicate chips snapping in half.

A frustrated groan follows when there’s a knock at the door.

I expect it to be Axil, too eager to hunt for treasure to stay away, but instead I find Willa, holding a tall turquoise box with a square wooden top. “Aunt Franny’s urn,” she says, lifting it and turning it slightly to show me.

“That’s an urn?” I ask. I expected a giant vase with a loud floral pattern.

“It’s the most expensive one they had, apparently,” Willa replies, dropping her purse on the dining room table and making her way into the living room. “Guess she wanted to go out in style.”

She pulls down a dusty fake floral arrangement from the middle of the mantel above the fireplace and puts the urn in its place.

I stare at it, not knowing what else to do. It’s hard to believe that my aunt, with her bold spirit and open defiance against anything considered “the norm,” is nothing but ash inside a wooden box now. How can such a dazzling soul just vanish when a person dies?

I’ve never believed in heaven. It has always seemed like a lovely idea, and I understand why it comforts so many, but I couldn’t wrap my mind around the existence of a place no one alive has ever seen. But now, I wish I did believe in heaven. I want Aunt Franny to have a place to go, a place where at least part of her still exists.

“Should we say a few words?” I ask, hoping Willa says no because I have no idea what to say.

She wipes a smudge off the front of the urn with her thumb. “I think that’s what the scheduled ash-spreadings are for.”

“The what?”

“Remember? I told you Aunt Franny wants her ashes spread in various spots around the property at scheduled times.”

“Oh,” I reply, somewhat dumbfounded. I remember the conversation, but I still find it such an odd choice. “Do you have the schedule?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry. No,” Willa mutters. She lets out a yawn that seems to go on forever, and it’s then that I notice just how tired she looks. The messiness of her bun is not intentional, there’s an unidentified pink stain across the chest of her heather-gray sweatshirt, and her eyes are puffier than usual. She always looks a bit disheveled, but in an adorable way a mom dropping her kids off at school in the morning would. This is different.

“You okay?”

“Mmm,” she grunts, nodding. “Yeah, it’s just… Jane was up all night with a fever. She’s fine, it broke this morning, but I’m running on no sleep.”

“Aww, poor little munchkin,” I say, feeling terrible that I have yet to spend quality time with my niece since I’ve been back. Though, I wasn’t planning on being here more than a day or two. That plan has certainly changed.

“Um, where are those hats Aunt Franny left me?” Willa asks, eyes closed as she rubs them. “Ethan cleared a space in the basement. I can take them.”

She’s half-asleep standing up. As hilarious as I still find it that Aunt Franny left Willa hats and Christmas ornaments, I can’t kick my sister when she’s down. “I’m still cleaning things up around here. Why don’t I hold onto them for a bit?”

Willa smiles, and it looks like she’s about to attack me with a hug. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Then she summons the energy of a rabid bat and pounces. “Thank you! Thank you thank you thank you!”

“Ugh,” I groan as she knocks me to the ground. “We’re old women now. You can’t just tackle me, ya fuckin’ dingus.”

She crawls off me and gets to her feet. “There’s that New Hampshire accent! I knew you still had it.”

“Yeah, well, it only comes out whenyoupiss me off. If I start saying ‘wicked’ again, please just punch me in the face.”

“Oh, come on!” Willa says, placing a hand over her heart as if I’ve wounded her. “It’s part of our charm.”

“Sure, sure.”

“Okay, so I’ll be here in two days, at noon,” she says. “For my scheduled time to spread Aunt Franny’s ashes.”

“Uh, okay. That works. Can I get a copy of the schedule?”

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