It's All Relative

by J. M. Snyder

  He stares at me like he’s not sure if he should believe me, but before I can assure him again, he nods. “Just let me know if you need to get away,” he says. “You hear me, Michael? If it’s too much for you, tell me and we’ll leave, I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I’m here for you, got it?”

  With a sad smile, I nod. “Got it,” I whisper, and I kiss his thumb before he pulls away. Then I take his hand and pull him through the open French doors into the living room.

  It’s like a party in here, people sitting on the sofas, the floor, leaning on the arms of chairs, draped over each other like guests waiting on their host. Some hold glasses of whiskey, bourbon, or beer, and the quiet chink of ice in the drinks lends to my surreal sense of being at a business dinner, moving among clients, Dan at my side like a dutiful spouse. I spy an empty loveseat and guide him to it, sinking to the cushions gratefully. He sits beside me, an arm across my shoulders to keep me close. I’m intimidated here—I can only begin to imagine how he must feel, among people he doesn’t know.

  My aunts move through the crowd like salesmen working the floor, refilling drinks, pointing out places to sit, ushering the children out of the room and down the hall to the basement stairs. I catch a glimpse of my mom on the far side of the room but I ignore the looks she throws my way, angry little stares that make me cuddle closer to Dan. My dad isn’t here, but I don’t expect him to be—chances are he’s in the den with a few of my uncles, watching TV. But Billy’s here, and Bobbie, Sarah, Doug and Tommy and Ginger, she waves at me as she goes by, her long curls almost platinum in the soft lamplight. My cousin Kenny sees me, crosses the room, a pretty Muslim woman beside him dressed from head to foot in a traditional habib. “Man, you saved my ass,” he says, perching on the edge of the seat beside me. He’s my Aunt Ruth’s son, about my age, and Bobbie’s right, he’s never been all there. One year he took a handful of Aunt Evie’s heart pills just because Ray told him they were candy. After a bottle of Ipecac and my dad holding him upside down over the kitchen sink to shake the pills loose, he ended up in the emergency room with an IV in his arm to flush his system. Not all there, no, but he’s always been nice to me.

  Holding out a hand, he introduces himself to Dan. “I thought I was gonna get chewed out for bringing Neeshi along,” he tells us. “If I hear one more thing about finding myself a good Catholic girl…” He shakes his head and laughs. “But then you one-up me, Mike. Aunt Sarah’s all over me about dating a terrorist and here you are with a boy. Jesus Christ.” At the look Dan gives him, he quickly amends, “No offense, man, really. It’s cool. You can’t help who you love, right?”

  That’s one way of looking at it. I smile past him at his girl—Neeshi, he called her, and she’s very pretty, just like Aunt Bobbie said she was. Beneath the hood of her outfit, she has skin like milk-laced coffee, and her eyes are dark beads set in her face. I introduce myself and Dan, and when she smiles, I nod at Kenny and ask, “What are you doing with a lug like this?”

  “Hey!” Kenny cries, wounded. “I could ask your boy the same thing.”

  I like the way that sounds, your boy. Ruffling my hair, Dan asks, “How did you put it? You can’t help who you love?”

  Kenny laughs. “I’m just glad you guys are here.” He elbows me, trying for playful but he’s always been a big guy, burly like a football player, and his arm rams mine harder than he intended. Dan’s hand drifts down to rub at the spot, almost as if he felt the nudge himself. “Get them off my ass for awhile, right? Already Momma’s like at least you’re not into guys.”

  Yeah, sounds like Ruth. Sarah’s daughter to the core, definitely, and I can’t think of anything to say in reply so I don’t bother to say anything at all. Losing interest in us, Kenny lets his gaze roam around the room until it settles on Theresa, who looks less harried without the kids dragging at her. “Terry!” he calls out. She cringes—she’s always hated that nickname, but Kenny doesn’t notice. Instead, he takes his girlfriend by the arm and leads her to the other sofa to introduce her to Theresa. “You meet Neeshi yet?”

  Dan says softly, “I’m not sure if I should be offended or not.”

  With a laugh, I take his hand in both of mine and lace our fingers together in my lap. “That’s Kenny,” I tell him, as if that’s all the explanation he needs for my cousin’s behavior. “You get used to him. He’s less annoying than Ray, but only by a notch or two. Idiocy must run in the family.”

  “I’m glad it skipped over you,” he murmurs, rubbing my arm where Kenny socked me. “Speaking of idiots…”

  I look up as Ray enters the room. He has a beer in one hand, ever his father’s son, and laughs a little too loudly when my mom tells him to sit down. Caitlin comes up behind him and without breaking her stride, lashes out with one small fist to punch him in the arm. When he turns to glare at her, she hits him again. “Mom,” he whines—I can hear him from over here, twenty-eight and can’t even defend himself against his little sister. Out of spite, Caitlin hits him a third time. Ray tries to hit back but she’s quick—she moves out of reach and then slaps him again. “Mom! Tell Caitlin—”

  Mom doesn’t even look at them. “Caitlin, stop it,” she says.

  Caitlin sinks into the seat beside her before Ray can, and hits him once more. The look on Ray’s face is priceless, and Dan’s snickering into his hand now, I’m giggling stupidly. There’s no sport in it really, like shooting fish in a barrel, but Caitlin keeps it up and Ray can’t seem to grasp the concept of trying to get away. “Mom—”

  “Raymond, move,” Mom says, suddenly angry. “Go sit somewhere else and leave her alone.”

  He stands there a moment longer and frowns around the room. When he sees the seat next to me, Dan groans. “Ray, no—” I say as my brother squeezes down next to me. “It fits two people, not three, moron. It’s a loveseat, not a ménage à trois seat.”

  Pouting, Ray asks, “What’s that mean?”

  “It means get up,” I tell him, giving him a shove.

  He doesn’t budge. “You get up,” he mutters into his beer. Dan rubs my arm, hugging me closer, then slyly moves his hand to the back of the couch, his arm spread out behind me. When Ray takes a sip from his mug, Dan smacks the back of his head, hard enough to splash beer up into my brother’s face. “Hey!” he cries, glaring at me.

  I can’t stop laughing. “I didn’t do it!” I tell him, but I’m the one giggling here, not Dan, who sits like a statue beside me, innocent. Ray punches my arm, already sore from Kenny’s friendly nudge, and I hit him back, causing more beer to splatter onto his pants. “I didn’t—don’t start with me, Ray. I’ll kick your ass and you know it.”

  “Bullshit.” Ray hits me again.

  This time Dan catches his wrist. He gives my brother a look that can terrify new recruits and squeezes his hand until I can see muscles stand out like cords in his arm. Tears fill Ray’s eyes, his face goes red, and across the room I hear Caitlin laugh. “Dan,” I caution. My brother gasps in pain, tries to twist away. “Dan, please…”

  He lets go. Ray clutches his injured hand to his chest and glares into his beer as he pretends we’re no longer here.

  Chapter 18: End of a Long Day

  When the couches and chairs are filled, people sit on the floor, and when there’s no room left to walk through the living room, those standing congregate in the doorways and spill out into the hall. We’re all here—the great-aunts, my own aunts and uncles, my adult cousins. We talk quietly among ourselves, telling each other of our trip to Sugar Creek, where we were or what we were doing when the phone rang Saturday night. Like survivors of a terrible disaster, come together to reminisce, to prove to ourselves and each other that we made it, we’re still alive, we’ll get through this if we only stick together.

  Only it’s not over—this ordeal has barely begun. Dan stays at my side, his arm draped behind me, his body a comfort where it presses against mine. I keep a hand on his knee as if to assure myself he’s still here. Ray dozes into his beer at the
end of the loveseat, curled into himself in an effort to get as far away from us as possible, and across the room, Caitlin rests her head on Mom’s shoulder, though I don’t know if it’s because she’s tired or upset—her hair hides her face, and Mom keeps rubbing her arm in a soothing gesture, like she’s six again and has just lost her best friend. On Mom’s other side is Penny, her arms wrapped around herself as she rocks gently, her eyes glazed and staring. Aunt Bobbie sits with her, talking low, and every now and again, Penny will nod at something that’s said, though I get the impression that she doesn’t understand the words, simply hears them. Maybe at this stage, that’s enough.

  As if by some unspoken signal, we grow quiet, each of us pensive, lost in our own thoughts, almost moody from the late hour and the alcohol. Somehow a small tumbler of spiced rum has appeared in my hand, a gift from Sarah when she last walked by the loveseat, and I sip at the tepid liquid. It was cold but the ice has long since melted. I offer some to Dan, who takes a quick swallow the first time, then shakes his head when I hold it out to him again. He rests his nose against my hair and whispers to me, “I’m fine, Michael.” Every time he speaks to me, he does that, leans in real close so no one else will overhear.

  Finally we start to look around like lost children—Aunt Bobbie rubs Penny’s shoulders, trying to persuade her to talk to us, tell us what has happened, what’s going on, what next. Aunt Sarah and Aunt Billy sit on the floor by their feet, one on either side like sphinxes, impenetrable, waiting. We’re all waiting. “Heart failure,” Penny says softly. The rest of the room is silent, and even those out in the hall can hear her clearly. Her slow, halting speech makes me suspect she’s had another Valium.

  With an encouraging nod, Aunt Bobbie prompts, “That’s what the doctor said?”

  “Yeah,” Penny murmurs. “Evie was a big lady, you know.” A low sigh runs through us, and I smile into my drink as I remember Aunt Evie. Even now I can’t think of her as fat, because that word has such negative connotations in our society. Fat means slovenly, unhealthy, overweight. Evie’s body was merely an outward portrayal of the size of her heart, her arms enveloping you in her generosity, her hips wide as if she was mother of us all. My vision blurs and I take a deep breath, inhaling the heady vapors of the rum. I should’ve come this summer.

  Dan massages my neck, puts his lips to my ear. “Are you going to be okay?” he wants to know. I nod, yes, but can’t seem to find the words to reply.

  Across the room, Penny sighs, a desolate sound like wind through trees. “Her doctor told her to slow down,” she says, “but you know Evie. Always on the go, doing for others and never thinking of herself. Said she’d have plenty of time to rest when she was dead. And now…and now…” She dissolves into fresh tears that come sudden and intense like a spring shower. Those tears scare me. They hint that, for all her earlier laughter, her composure, she’s really not holding up well at all. They make me think that maybe my own calm is nothing more than a thin veneer over the grief that swells inside of me, and I’m afraid that it won’t be long before it overflows as well, consuming me.

  Aunt Bobbie clucks soothingly. “It’s okay, Pen,” she murmurs, holding Penny as she cries. I feel like crying now, too, and around the room people shuffle their feet, shift in their seats, uncomfortable. Caitlin buries her face in Mom’s shirt, and beside me Ray sniffles into his beer. Aunt Bobbie’s soft voice speaks to us all. “You’re doing beautifully, hon. Few more days, we’ll get through this.”

  No one dares to ask what will happen after that—I don’t think any of us can even plan that far ahead. From the hallway, Aunt Lennie asks the one thing that’s on everyone’s mind. “What do we do now?”

  On the floor, Aunt Sarah answers, “We need to go through the house, for starters.” She looks at Bobbie, who nods. “It needs a good cleaning—”

  “I’m sorry,” Penny says, wiping her eyes. “God, I haven’t had a chance to get things together here. It’s been a rough week.”

  Aunt Billy pats Penny’s knee. “We know, dear. We’ll take care of it.”

  “And the…” Penny gropes for the words. “The casket, and the service, all that…” She trails off, uncertain.

  My hand tightens around Dan’s knee. I don’t want to hear this. “We’ll handle it,” Aunt Sarah assures her—she’s stronger than I am. I don’t even want to think about this right now, picking out a casket and buying a burial plot and getting a priest for the service—no. I drown the rest of my rum, the alcohol searing a path down my throat to coil in my stomach like dragon’s breath. I’m going to need more if I have to sit through this.

  But Penny simply nods and fortunately my aunts don’t elaborate on the details of the arrangements. Let someone else handle it, please. “Wednesday,” Penny whispers. Another low murmur rises through the room. Wednesday. If we can make it that far, then we’re going to be fine.

  Looking around the room as if seeing us for the first time, she asks suddenly, “Is everyone here? I’m not—are we still missing a few folks? Everyone needs to be here for this.”

  “Sylvia’s coming in tomorrow night,” Aunt Billy says, meaning her daughter in the Navy. “Don’t worry, dear. We’ll all make it. Craig, what about Molly?” My Uncle Craig rouses himself where he sits on the sofa between Kenny’s girlfriend and his own son, Marshall. “Is she going to be able to make it?”

  Last I heard of Molly, she was an intern at a geological facility out in the wilds of Alaska. “She should,” Craig says. “I wired her the money for a flight last night.” Though dry-eyed, my uncle looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but here. Me too, I think. I stare into my empty glass and wonder how bad it’ll look if I get up now to get more drink.

  And then…“What about Jessie?” someone asks. I’m not sure who.

  Suddenly the room drops ten degrees. I scoot closer to Dan, uneasy. Aunt Jessie…when I glance around at my relatives, none of them meet my gaze. Only my sister looks back. Leave it to her to be the only one who dares to ask, “Does she even know?”

  Aunt Sarah’s reply is quick and caustic. “I don’t care if she knows or not,” she says bitterly. “She hasn’t been welcome in this house in almost twenty years. No need to change that now.”

  “Why not?” I ask, surprising myself as much as anyone else with the question.

  The look Aunt Sarah gives me could curdle milk, it’s that sour. Before she can snap back, though, Aunt Billy is on her feet, a plastic grin on her face. “Refills?” she asks, a ploy to change the subject. “Michael? Theresa? Anyone up for another drink?”

  I need one. Holding out my glass, I tell her, “Sure.” She plucks it from my fingers, gathers a few others before hurrying from the room. I should follow her, I think. I don’t want to be here, this quiet time in the evening among the grown-ups is nothing I thought it would be. I’m still a child, I want to say. I don’t belong here.

  But Dan’s arm is heavy where it rests across my shoulders and I can’t move. “Someone could at least call her,” Caitlin mutters.

  “She’s not invited,” Mom says. She sounds like a petulant child, and when I open my mouth to ask again, she covers her eyes with one trembling hand. “Michael,” she warns. “Now is not the time.”

  Dan squeezes my arm and I keep quiet. When Billy returns, filled glasses in her hands, I take my rum and drink from it greedily, stare at the ground between my feet so I don’t have to look at my mom. How can someone not be invited to a funeral? Not welcome at the house, I can see. Not invited to a wake, sure. But the funeral is the last time Aunt Jessie will be able to make any kind of peace with Evie—the other sisters can’t deny either of them that. Can they?

  As if thinking similar thoughts, Kenny clears his throat and asks, “What if she comes anyway?”

  “She won’t come here,” Aunt Sarah replies, but there’s a tremor in her voice that suggests she doesn’t quite believe that herself. Behind her, Penny starts to cry again, silent tears that trail down her cheeks to drip from her jaw and stain her
jeans in dark tiny circles. “I’ll talk with Jay. If she has the audacity to show up, they’ll see to it she doesn’t make a scene. I knew that boy’s father. They’re good at what they do.”

  She’s talking of Jay Morrison, not anyone I would call a boy by any stretch of the imagination—he was old when I was a kid, a tall, spindly man with a shock of white hair that sticks up from his head like a mad scientist’s. The mortician—Morrison’s is the only funeral home in Sugar Creek, of course we’d use them. Softly, almost as if she’s talking to herself and we’re not supposed to overhear, Penny murmurs, “He’s so efficient. Came right when I called, praise the Lord. I was in Union City all day, just doing the weekly shopping, you know? Evie wasn’t feeling well and begged off. I came home and she didn’t come down so I thought she was just taking a nap. She liked to lie down in the early evenings.”

  I don’t want to hear this. But I can’t get up and leave, I can’t be that rude, I have to be strong. It’s what Evie would want, I tell myself, if she were still here. My rum has disappeared—did I drink it already? Aunt Billy must have filled the glass only halfway. My throat burns and I feel parched, as dry as dust, as bone. I can’t breathe. “Dan,” I sigh, finding my lover’s hand. I pull it into my lap and frown at his fingers, wrapped around mine but I can’t feel them.

  Penny sounds far away, like she’s moved into another room and is still talking to me. I try to focus on her words but I can’t seem to concentrate. I’m too thirsty. “I made dinner,” she says, and I have to strain to hear her speak. “Set it out and called up to her. No answer. Went halfway upstairs, called again. Nothing.”