Page 4 of Her Alien Neighbor

Since I moved out west, I haven’t returned home as often as I should. My parents divorced two years after I graduated from college, and my mom moved to Arizona, leaving the snow, the humidity, and the borderline-unhealthy obsession with Boston sports teams behind. Willa and I tried to find ways to divide our time fairly between the two, but the distance became difficult, especially once Willa and her husband, Ethan, started having kids. We decided the easiest thing for everyone was for me to visit Mom a few times a year in Arizona, and for Willa to do the same with Dad.

She only lived a few streets away from our childhood home, so she and Dad were together all the time. It felt like it, anyway.

Then Dad got sick.

He was diagnosed with lung cancer at fifty-seven years old and died a few weeks after his sixty-second birthday. Mom never visited him and that was probably for the best, but I visited as often as I could, making short trips where I hid mostly in the house. My sister took on the role of his primary caretaker, even moving him in with her and Ethan when his condition worsened.

I still struggle with the guilt of not being by his side on his last day. He had Willa, so it’s not like he was alone when he died, but I should’ve been there too. Just as I should’ve been there for Aunt Franny.

Flashing headlights to my left catch my eye and my heart skips a beat. For a split second, I think it’s a cop car, and my entire body turns to stone. But instead, a silver sedan slowly pulls up in front of me. “Welcome back,” Willa says with a solemn grin.

After tossing my suitcase in the trunk, I hop in the passenger seat.

That seems to be her calling in life. Since the day my nephew Jordan was born, Willa has spent every moment caring for others. Jane was born two years later and only added to the chaos. It seems to make her happy, and that’s all I ever wanted for her.

Though, today, the mood is anything but happy. She pulls me in for a tight hug as soon as I shut the door, and I instantly break down. It was easy to direct my grief toward a to-do list: packing, booking flights, and the various logistical details that go with travel. Now that I’m here sitting in front of Willa with her familiar laugh lines and the smell of generic lavender hand cream, my emotions have nowhere to hide.

“Shh. It’s okay, Van,” she murmurs softly as she rubs my back.

I chuckle at the sound of my nickname as I wipe the tears from my cheeks. “I can’t believe she’s gone,” I reply, sitting back and buckling my seat belt. “I didn’t get to say good-bye.”

Willa grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze, before releasing it and turning her blinker on. “Aunt Franny knew you loved her.” Her tone turns slightly resentful when she says, “And she certainly loved you. The woman hated just about everyone.” She turns to me. “But not you.”

I try to hide my smile but fail. Willa’s right, and I don’t even bother to offer any placating words to refute her claim. I have no idea why Aunt Franny adored me as much as she did, but it was clear I was her favorite niece. She was always pleasant to Willa, but her warmth never went beyond that. When she saw me, however, her face would light up as if I were her daughter.

Willa used to take it personally, and when we’d return home from visiting Aunt Franny, she’d run up to her room in tears. My mom would then turn to my dad and say, “You need to do something. That sister of yours is pure evil for choosing a favorite. Go console your daughter.”

My dad would roll his eyes and agree, his steps heavy as he trudged up to Willa’s room.

Later, he’d pull me aside and said, “I can’t control how Aunt Franny acts, kiddo. God knows I tried when we were younger. But you can control how you respond to her gifts and endless praise. Don’t gloat in front of Willa, okay? Do me that favor?”

I would say, “Okay, Dad,” and quietly go to my room so I could play with my new toys in private.

My sister merges onto I-293 North, singing a song from Taylor Swift that I know but can’t name. I take that as a cue to turn the volume knob on the radio.

“Really?” she asks without taking her eyes off the road.

I scoff as I turn the dial, trying to find the right station. “I’m doing you a favor. Ahh!” I squeal when I find it. “Now you don’t have to waste your energy creating a soundtrack for our drive.”

“But I like to sing,” she replies, her tone curt.

“That’s what your shower is for. There’s no better venue to showcase your vocal talents.”

She shoots me a familiar glare, then lifts her top lip in a snarl.

“So what are the plans for the funeral? Can I help with the planning, or have you already taken care of everything?”

Willa taps her thumbs against the steering wheel, following the beat of the song. She shrugs. “Nothing to take care of, actually. No funeral. Aunt Franny left very specific instructions for what she wanted, which was cremation. We should get the urn in a few days. And she wanted her ashes to be spread around the outside of her house in various spots and on specific dates and times. That, you can do.”

“Seriously?” I ask, not surprised by my late aunt’s detailed demands because that’s just like her. What I do find surprising is thespecific dates and timespart. Why not just spread her ashes all at once? I can’t imagine what the point of doing it over an extended period is.

“We have an appointment to meet with her lawyer tomorrow at nine in the morning, so set your phone alarm,” Willa says in what I’m pretty sure is her stern mom voice. “You’re on the couch tonight, by the way.”

I look over and her teeth are clenched in anoops, forgot to mention that earlierexpression.

I sigh. “I thought you had a guest room.”

“That’s Jane’s room now.”

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