Page 29 of Wrapped with a Beau

Ves bites the inside of his cheek. Thirty years old and this bullshit is still ongoing; his father tries to trick him into admitting his favorite parent; his mother claims the title for herself and assumes there’s no contest. “I texted you both when I landed. And again when I got to Maeve’s. Can we, for once, not play this game?”

“You sound stressed. Are you sure you can handle this on your own?”

If it were anyone else’s parent asking, Ves might call it concern. From his, he knows better. “It’s all good, Dad.”

“You haven’t hired any bereavement cleanout services, right? It’s a small town. Don’t trust them to know what’s valuable or not. These people probably think a paint-by-numbers is real art.” Karl snorts. “I told you my grandfather had a library full of first editions. And all that art. There’s a real Gehry sketch in his old bedroom. Aunt Maeve had a safe-deposit box at the bank. Lots of family heirlooms we shouldn’t lose track of. We can hold on to the jewelry, make sure it stays in the family. Someone should get to wear it. Doubt Maeve ever did. If memory serves, I recall her being quite plain.”

Through the barrage of insults, Ves reads between the lines: Son, since you’re not married, give everything precious to me so my new wife can pass them down to your little sister, Hanna. We don’t want your mother having them—she’s not even a real Hollins anymore, even though she kept my fucking last name just to spite me.

Karl seems to take Ves’s silence for agreement because he moves on. “How are you finding that little backwater, anyway?”

As usual, his father’s self-centeredness makes his stomach hurt. Ves sits on Maeve’s pink floral sofa, which is every bit as stiff and uncomfortable as it looks. “Piney Peaks is hardly that.”

Karl laughs. “They don’t even have a Starbucks. Bet Maeve still hasn’t replaced the coffee maker.”

Okay, fair. On both counts. But maybe the Christmas spirit or whatever is finally getting to him, because he’s feeling protective of the town when he says, “I like it here.”

“You did when you were a kid, too. Couldn’t shut up about the place.”

“I remember,” Ves says softly, even though the memories have grown cloudier with time, like a vigorously shaken snow globe, fading fast as a dream.

“My parents sent me out to Grandfather’s every summer. Hated it there. Had to be on my best behavior all the time because he was the town doctor. You, though. Maeve doted on you.” Karl’s voice is coated in what sounds to Ves like a bit of resentment. “One visit and you wouldn’t stop talking about some chocolate shop. Even went ice skating and said it was better than Rockefeller Center.” Karl snorts. “Maeve this and Maeve that, drove Adeline up the wall. But then, she’s always been a jealous woman.”

Aaaaand there it is.

“Dad, there’s still a lot I need to do.”

Even a hundred miles away, Karl’s scoff is no less cutting. “How hard can it be? I already took care of the funeral. You have the easy job.”

For one wild flash of a second, Ves wants to switch to video and show him just how easy it’s not. Instead, he takes a deep, steadying breath and exhales through his nose. There’s no point in revealing all the paraphernalia he has to sort through, how many keep-trash-maybes he has to make decisions about. Not unless he wants Karl to head down and take over.

Wearily, Ves pinches the bridge of his nose. That’s the last thing he wants. His dad wouldn’t worry about making the wrong decision and accidentally throwing something precious away. Karl would be ruthlessly efficient, no second-guessing to slow him down.

The same way he handled Maeve’s funeral: a hurried, out-of-town affair given that Maeve was away from home when she passed. The fact that she was only in upstate New York for another cousin’s funeral didn’t faze his father at all. Karl simply planned something convenient: minimal fuss, just him and his father’s family at the service. No thought given to those from Piney Peaks who may have wanted to pay their own respects.

With just his indifferent father and kind-but-distant stepmother there, Ves’s twelve-year-old sister, Hanna, hadn’t hesitated to slip her hand in his, squeezing tight, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. The grateful way he’d held on to her, the way he hadn’t since she was a small child and their age gap didn’t seem quite so vast.

It strikes Ves that every family event he can remember has been about duty. Making an appearance, lingering just long enough to be noticed, and then leaving as fast as he can.

“I want to do right by Aunt Maeve,” he says firmly. “Like she did for me. However long it takes.”

“Sort through the valuables, sell the house, stick the remains in an urn vault. It’s that simple, Ves.”

“In a dark, dusty mausoleum? She would hate that.”

“Didn’t know you could commune with the dead,” says Karl.

Ves ignores the snippiness. “I’m just saying, it sounds miserable. I thought I’d come back in the spring to scatter her ashes somewhere pretty. She always loved this place in full bloom.”

“How do you know that? She was always pretty reserved with me.” His dad’s voice is more complaint than curiosity.

“It was just something she mentioned when she visited me a few years ago in the city.”

“Right. Well, do whatever you think is best. Just let me know if I need to show up.”

Ves hesitates. “I was wondering what you think about me holding a—well, not quite a wake, but just a little farewell drinks thing in her memory. For the town. Sometime before I leave. Since we took care of the funeral in New York and no one got a chance to pay their respects, I just thought...” He trails off.

“Jesus. For the town?” Karl sounds incredulous.

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