A Field Guide to Burying Your Parents

by Liza Palmer

  “You’ve got quite a family,” Sister Marjorie Pauline says, leaning over Dad. Dad gives Sister a big, crooked grin. This one statement sends a shock wave through the room. The awkward throat-clearing is almost instantaneous.

  “Okay, you’ve had a big day, I bet you’re exhausted,” Sister continues. Dad shakes his head yes. He says yes to everything. He says yes to everything.

  I don’t want to leave him. I don’t want him to be here alone. I’m not factoring in how sick he is. Dad is… well, right now Dad needs his rest. Sister Marjorie Pauline understands this. She dips in close to Dad one more time, whispers something that no one but he can hear. Dad is quiet, his eyes closed. They both nod at the same time. We all look on. Sister Marjorie Pauline hobbles back to her little red scooter and makes it clear that we’re supposed to follow.

  One by one, we say goodbye to Dad, and stream out into the hallway after Sister Marjorie Pauline. When it’s my turn, John quickly exits the room, indicating he’ll be just outside. I approach Dad, he raises his arm, and I take his hand in mine.

  “I’m so sorry about before,” I say, smiling into his eyes. “I’m glad you’re here now.” Dad’s face lights up and he tightens his grip on my hand. I nod and pass his hand over to Leo, who crumbles into tears the minute they make eye contact.

  “—handling all this?” Sister Marjorie Pauline is saying to John, as I catch only the tail end. I settle in next to him.

  “I’m an old friend of the family who just happens to be a lawyer,” John says, his smile easy. Sister Marjorie Pauline looks from John to me and back again.

  “Nice coincidence,” Sister Marjorie Pauline chuckles, inching the scooter closer to John. He backs up and apologizes.

  “We’re thinking they’re probably going to make quite a scene,” Huston says.

  “We’ve seen it all,” Sister Marjorie Pauline says, making googly faces at Emilygrae and Mateo. They squeal with delight. Evie narrows her eyes… intrigued.

  “We have quite a fight ahead of us,” Huston presses. We all wait. Listen.

  “But you’re up to it,” Sister Marjorie Pauline answers.

  “Yes,” Huston answers.

  “Ray knew you were up for it,” Sister Marjorie Pauline says. Huston nods, his entire face tight.

  She continues, “He knew all of you could.” She scans the entire group and peels off down the hallway. No one makes eye contact with anyone else.

  “How did that lady know all those things?” Emilygrae asks Abigail as we all shuffle toward the exit. Abigail looks over at Manny. He scoops up Mateo and makes it clear that this question is for Abigail to field… alone.

  “She knows people,” Abigail vaguely answers. Emilygrae immediately looks over to Manny with an expression of “That’s it?”

  “You’re making it sound like she’s connected, Abby,” Huston reproaches gently.

  “Not knows people, like knows people who know people. I meant that she knows people, like understands people,” Abigail explains, her voice quick, yet exhausted.

  “Because you’re making it sound like Sister is somehow connected to the Corleone family,” Leo says as the automatic door slides open. Abigail rolls her eyes.

  “Aha! In the Corleone family, I’d be the Michael!” I proclaim.

  “What?” John asks.

  “Before I was the Edmund, but now I’d be the Michael. And you’d be the Fredo,” I declare, eyeing Abigail. She shakes her head, smiling.

  “Before?” John asks, as you would.

  “When we were in Narnia,” I say easily.

  “Narnia,” John repeats. A nervous energy buzzes around our group, as around a table of little kids at a birthday party just after cake.

  “Why am I always a girl? First Lucy and now Connie,” Leo muses.

  “You do have a tendency to…” Abigail trails off, pulling Leo close.

  “Be a crybaby,” Mateo finishes.

  “I’m gonna make him an offer he can’t refuse,” Leo cracks. The fresh air feels good. Huston laughs. It’s good to see him smile.

  “That’s the worst Marlon Brando impersonation I’ve ever heard,” I say, laughing.

  The cool air wafts over us as we walk through the St. Teresa’s parking lot in search of our various cars. I feel the most tenuous of threads linking us, albeit a bit worse for the wear.

  “Is Gus’ Barbeque still on Fair Oaks in South Pas?” Leo asks, his hand woven through his motorcycle helmet.

  “It’s still there, but it’s been completely remodeled, I hear the food is great, though,” Abigail says, holding hands with Manny as they herd the kids between them.

  “Do you want to try it anyway?” Leo suggests. We were high on all the emotion, but there’s an awkwardness now that that we’re not with Dad or surrounded by all of the hospital drama.

  “It’s New Year’s Eve. I’m sure it’s either closed or packed,” Huston says, beeping his car unlocked in the distance.

  “New Year’s Eve is just the night before New Year’s Day,” Evie offers. Mateo’s mouth falls open. Un-believ-able.

  “We could do a little potluck thing at our house?” Abigail suggests, her voice sounding hopeful.

  “Can we stay up past midnight?” Mateo asks. Oh my God, this is going to be the world’s longest potluck.

  “I have to get out of these clothes,” I say, pleading with Abigail. She looks at John, raises an eyebrow and then looks back at me. I immediately blush.

  “Let’s say seven, then?” Abigail proposes. Huston walks in front of us all, not looking back.

  “Huston?” I call after him. He looks back at me. At all of us.

  “I’m exhausted, guys. I’m afraid to think what’s waiting for me back at the office,” Huston says, stopping at the back of his car.

  “Nothing’s waiting for you back at the office,” John says. Huston tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing.

  “Et tu, Brute?” Huston sighs. Evie and I immediately lock eyes. She can’t help but point at Huston and smile knowingly back. Ha! If she’s a Shakespearean scholar one day, she’ll have me to thank.

  “It’s the week between Christmas and New Year’s,” Leo offers. I think to myself that nothing is waiting for me, either. After I e-mailed all my end-of-the-year reports to Tim’s assistant, I officially began my seventeen days of vacation. Tim was very understanding.

  “Huston?” Abigail presses.

  Manny leads the twins and Evie over to their minivan. He swoops up Emilygrae and bets Mateo he can touch the car first. Of course, Mateo takes that bet. Evie glances back over her shoulder at the group of us.

  “I think it’d be nice for us not to be in a hospital for once,” I add.

  “We need to… We did a good thing here and we should… we should be together tonight,” Leo rambles. Huston shifts his weight.

  “So it’s settled?” Abigail presses.

  “We’re all going to worry about Dad tonight… we might as well do it together,” Leo says, across the parking lot. Huston’s shoulders lower. He lets out a long sigh. No one lets him off the hook. We all wait.

  “Fine. Seven,” Huston agrees.

  “We’ll do burgers and hot dogs. Grace, you and John bring some kind of dessert, Leo you bring buns, and Huston—why don’t you bring the beverages,” Abigail says.

  John and I watch as Huston pulls out of the St. Teresa’s parking lot, followed by the packed minivan and Leo’s motorcycle that sounds like a jet engine. The dusk zooms up around me. It smells like rain.

  “So we just got assigned a dessert,” John says, flipping his keys around.

  “We, huh?” I say. John turns around in the empty parking lot. Serious.

  “Yep,” he says, standing in front of me.

  “Wait… are you seriously equating getting back together with committing to bringing dessert to a potluck?” I say, tilting my head, smiling. Dad’s safe. Dad’s safe.

  “It does make it sound a little…” John trails off, pulling me close.

  “If
you say sweet, I swear to God,” I say, kissing him. And kissing him.

  “I wasn’t going to say sweet, because in my mind we were bringing some kind of cobbler,” John says, taking my hand.

  “Yes, that could have been misleading,” I say, walking to my car.

  “So, I’ll meet you at your house?”

  “Well, with the whole romantic dessert commitment, how can a girl refuse?” I say, unlocking my car.

  “See you there,” he says, closing the door behind me.

  “Remember—we have to take the southern route because of parade traffic,” I say, as he begins to walk away.

  “Right…” he answers, giving a quick nod.

  I smile and watch as he walks to his car. The red lights flash in the distance as he beeps it unlocked. He climbs in and waits.

  I put my car in reverse and head out of the parking lot, just as night settles in around me.

  John follows.

  “No, just the hot dog. No bun. No… no ketchup or anything.” I can hear Manny bringing Huston up to speed on Mateo’s Spartan eating habits over by the grill. Mateo is trying desperately to keep the required distance between himself and the grill. This is a feat of great strength and control; the grill pulls men of all ages toward it. John and Leo have already succumbed to the tractor beam and stand idly by as Manny scans the yard. Mateo is going to make a run for it. I walk inside to the kitchen and find Abigail and Evie bustling around the kitchen. I spy a bowl of chips and can’t help but partake.

  “So?” Abigail asks, as she pulls a bottle of sparkling water out of the fridge.

  “No, but I knit a little,” I say, popping a corn chip into my mouth.

  Abigail sniffs. Waits.

  “You and John?” Abigail begins.

  “He’s hot, Aunt Gracie,” Evie offers.

  “Evelyn Grace Rodriguez,” Abigail warns.

  “Well, he is,” she says, smirking. I can’t help but smile back. Evie gives me a little peck on the cheek, the look of distrust in her eyes gone. I got another chance. She heads outside unaware that she just made my night.

  “Didn’t you guys break up?” Abigail presses.

  “Yeah,” I say, dipping another chip into the guacamole.

  “What changed?” Abigail asks, carrying the bottle of sparkling water out onto the deck.

  “I don’t know,” I answer. Abigail turns around, blocking me.

  “You don’t know?” Her voice is dripping with contempt.

  “No, I mean—I did, I guess.”

  “Well, you’d better not mess it up this time,” Abigail finally says, her body stiffening as she awaits my comeback. I think of my old upright piano now sitting in my living room and don’t say a thing. Abigail looks back confused, waits a beat, shakes her head, smiles and continues out onto the deck.

  “We’ve got hamburgers, hot dogs, grilled chicken, and one gross veggie blob,” Huston announces, setting a tray of barbeque fare down in the center of the table. I grab my gross veggie blob and wave off the cries of disgust from the table.

  Abigail has set a silvery runner down the center of the table, dotted with candle-filled hurricane lamps. The brisk night air has kept us all bundled up throughout the evening, but not quite enough to take this little party inside.

  “Mateo, get away from the grill!” we hear in the distance.

  “Thank you all for coming over tonight.” Manny smiles, lifting Emilygrae up into her seat. He tucks a napkin into the collar of her shirt and begins to cut her hamburger into tiny pieces. Her little face glows in the candlelight as she looks around at everyone.

  “John?” Abigail says, motioning at the tray, pushing Mateo’s seat under the table. Mateo eyes my gross veggie blob. John grabs a burger.

  “It’s vegetables smushed up into a blob,” I whisper to Mateo.

  “Ewwwwww.” He laughs, watching as Manny sets one single hot dog on his plate. The tiny bespectacled superhero tilts his head, scouring the hot dog for absolutely any unfamiliar hangers-on. A speck of relish? A crumb from a nearby bun? He’s vigilant.

  “Have a seat, Huston,” Manny calls from the head of the table. Huston climbs the stairs to the deck and tucks in next to John.

  “You know that took the longest to cook, right?” Huston announces, eyeing my gross veggie blob.

  “It’s very dense,” I explain, whipping my napkin into my lap.

  “Insert dense joke here, just about any one will apply,” Leo cracks, reaching into the center of the table for a hamburger. The table erupts in laughter.

  “Evie, mija, did you get your hot dog?” Abigail asks, as Evie holds up her plate. Satisfied, Abigail squeezes in next to Manny and reaches into the center of the table for a chicken breast. Leo picks up the pasta salad.

  “Who’s hungry?” Huston and Abigail both say at the exact same time. The four of us share a moment. Just like in the old days. I sigh. I’m part of something. Again.

  “Before we go on… here’s to a new year,” Manny toasts, raising his glass. We all follow Manny’s lead. The center of the table is crowded with jelly jars, sippy cups, wineglasses, and two pint glasses.

  “To a new year.” We all toast. Huston keeps his glass up.

  “To Dad,” Huston adds, lifting his glass just that much higher.

  “To Dad,” we repeat, lifting our glasses. The flickering candlelight reveals glimmers of smiles, welling eyes and worried looks. But underneath is the most unbelievable thing—we just toasted our father. This is unprecedented. We are silent. Awkwardly silent. I cut into my gross veggie blob and stuff it into my mouth.

  “Mmmmmm,” I coo. The entire table cringes, but everyone is glad for the distraction. Those few quiet seconds brought flashes of Dad in the hospital, Connie screaming at the top of her lungs, and pain. Leo passes the pasta salad to Huston. He scoops out a generous helping and waits as he watches me overact swallowing.

  “She ate it!” Emilygrae screeches with her mouth full, pointing her fork across the table at me.

  “Em,” Abigail warns, her smile negating her scolding tone. Emilygrae giggles into her plate. Huston passes the pasta salad to John, shaking his head. John scoops out a helping and passes it over to me. In his struggle to make sure the bowl, as well as its contents, doesn’t touch his hot dog, Mateo chokes, hacking up the tiny morsel of chewed “meat” onto his plate. Manny pats his back and holds out a glass of water (no ice) for him to take. Abigail watches intently. Emilygrae shoves a forkful of pasta salad into her mouth, seemingly unfazed by her fallen comrade.

  “Drink this, Matty,” Manny says, sweeping Mateo’s mouth with his finger. Mateo hacks again, takes the glass and drinks in. He coughs a bit and hands the glass back to Manny.

  “There was sumfin on it,” Mateo declares, wiping his mouth of any disgusting remnants. We all relax.

  “Phew,” I say, shoving a giant bite of gross veggie blob into my mouth. He scrunches up his face and re-situates his glasses in response. I make a silly face at him, wobbling my head around. Mateo just stares. Quiet. Disgusted.

  Visions of Connie and Dennis are thankfully far away.

  For now.

  I awake the next morning to the sound of a B-2 stealth bomber and two F-22 fighter jets flying overhead. The Rose Parade. I check the time. Just before eight a.m. Visiting hours start at ten a.m. Two hours until… well, just two hours.

  It’s New Year’s Day.

  I rub my eyes and stretch my arm across the impression John’s body left in my bed. I let my eyes get accustomed to the sunlight and whip the covers off to go investigate. I am unreasonably proud of myself that my initial thought wasn’t that John fled sometime during the night.

  Stepping out into the chilly hallway, I am forced to pull my robe tightly around my pajama-less body to keep warm. I walk past Mom’s picture in its little niche. I have a flash of regret that I didn’t make the niche bigger—am I going to have to add another picture soon? I cinch my robe tighter as the chill settles in.

  I smell coffee.

/>   I am just about to walk into the kitchen when I spot John out in the backyard. At least I hope it’s John—either that or I’m being burgled by the most lackadaisical criminal in history. I am about to open the French doors, but find myself just staring at him through the wavy glass. He’s bending down to test the temperature of the pool in the backyard. He’s wearing the same suit as yesterday, but now it’s being worn in a far more intimate, early-morning deconstruction. The pants are loose and hang just above his bare feet. The crisp white oxford-cloth shirt hangs open and unbuttoned. His thick black hair is a ruffling muss in the early-morning chill. He whips the water off his hand and stands, finally catching sight of me through the French doors. A smile breaks across his face as I approach. A light in the darkness.

  “Surprisingly warm,” he says, pulling me in for a long kiss. I breathe him in with unending pleasure.

  “Me or the water?” I say, my lips centimeters from his.

  “Both,” he answers, pulling me in again.

  “I forgot how much I love having an outside,” he finally says.

  “You’re still in that downtown loft?” I ask, remembering and remembering.

  “Go ahead and say it.”

  “The Furnished Downtown Loft with No Soul,” I rattle off.

  “Yes, I’m still in the Furnished Downtown Loft with No Soul,” John admits.

  “Before I saw it, I would never have believed in the devastating power of an all-black leather d��cor,” I joke.

  “Well, then see—right there, you learn something new every day.”

  “And all those Lichtenstein prints really warmed the place up.” I twist the knife further.

  “I don’t even notice them anymore,” John argues.

  “Yes, well—that’s really the purpose of art: to not notice it after a while.”

  “I didn’t know you swam,” John says, motioning to the dark blue pool in the middle of the backyard.

  “It was just a concrete slab when I moved in. I redid all of this about a year ago. I wanted it to feel private and away from everything,” I say, surveying the blooming lavender, the outside dining area with real, working fireplace, and the pool I had to have, but have yet to swim in.