by kj lewis
“So, tomorrow is movie Monday?” Finn asks on his second helping of green eggs and ham. I have to admit, there’s no difference in the taste, and the scones Finn baked made it even better.
“It is,” Zinnie says. “Which one is tomorrow?” she asks Sam.
“Movie Monday?” I interrupt.
“Sam’s been taking us to movie spots on Mondays. We already had a Home Alone Monday, a Ghostbusters Monday. What else? Oh, An Affair to Remember Monday. That one was my favorite.”
“Home Alone was mine,” Poppy says, licking strawberry jelly off the side of her hand.
“Tomorrow is Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” Sam says. “We are going to have Danishes and coffee,” Poppy crinkles her nose. “Or hot chocolate,” Sam corrects, “outside of Tiffany’s and stare longingly into the window at the millions of dollars of jewels,” she says with the raise of a shoulder like it will absolutely be a glamourous experience.
Breakfast out of a paper bag, standing on the street. Yep. Glamourous.
Zinnie is saving for a new pair of boots she wants for the fall, so she elects to do the dishes for the extra cash. Finn helps. Any opportunity to spend time with her.
“You know, I love how much time you’ve been spending with the girls lately. I feel like I see you more now than I ever did before,” I tell him while the girls are all outside on the terrace. They gave in to Poppy’s begging and are now in Wellies, jumping in puddles. I see legs spinning through the air. Zinnie and Sam are teaching Pops how to do cartwheels.
“It’s because you do. See me more,” he clarifies.
“So, West isn’t going to work out?” I ask him about the man he was weak in the knees for a few weeks ago.
“No, he is hopelessly in love with Blake.”
“Are you seeing anyone?”
“Not at the moment, no.”
“What about just to get off?”
“Romantic, but no. Just me and my wanker.”
“Could we not.”
“You started it.”
“You can’t hide out here with the girls. You need to get out more.”
“I’m not hiding out.”
“You are. And you can for a while longer because I rather enjoy having my little brother around, but don’t wait too long. I don’t want to have to kick your arse into gear.”
“What are we doing today?” Zinnie asks, coming through the terrace door. Sam and Poppy are still hopping from one puddle to the next.
“What would you like to do?” Finn asks her.
“You said the headstones we’re delivered this week? I would like to put flowers on mom and dad’s grave.” Her voice is a mixture of nervousness and resolve.
“Sure, we can do that,” I nod.
“We can go dressed like this. Mom and Dad would want it that way.”
“Alright. Let me get my shoes and we’ll go.”
“Will you go with us?” Zinnie asks Finn, and I know there is no way he could possibly say no to her.
“Of course.” He kisses her forehead.
Everett and Jenny were buried in a plot Jenny’s family has owned for years. Her parents will be buried here when they pass. Her grandparents are laid to rest on the same section of land, two plots over. I had to grease some hands because, evidently, it’s illegal to bury two people in the same casket. I had one special made to fit the two of them together, then paid the family that runs the cemetery to look the other way. I just knew Everett would want to be with Jenny. So, next to Jenny, holding hands, was how they were laid to rest.
It’s a gray day and a long quiet drive to the small town in Connecticut where Jenny’s family is from. It’s about an hour from Greenwich where Everett and Jenny lived, a blue-collar town. No pomp and circumstance here like you’d see in a cemetery in Greenwich. This one is pretty and well maintained, but no flash. We pull up to a curve in the road inside the stone walls that stand guard over the loved ones buried here.
Slowly, almost cautiously, we exit the car. Sam pops the boot handing me and Finn each an oversized umbrella in case the dull mist turns into rain. She tried to insist on staying behind, but the girls weren’t having any of it. I can still sense some apprehension in her body language.
Leaning back into the boot, Sam hands each of the girls a bouquet of zinnias and poppies she grabbed from the open aired flower shop on the corner next to Eatly. I recognize them, because they are the same flowers she has placed on a weekly basis around the apartment and next to the girls’ beds. A small touch I’ve never thought to tell her I’d noticed.
She piles her arms with six bouquets of red roses.
“I want to carry some roses, too,” Poppy says.
“Actually, honey, you have your mommy’s favorite flowers for her grave.” Sam points to the blooms clasped in her small hands.
“Then what are those?” Poppy asks.
“For my family,” Sam explains quietly. “These are my mom’s favorite.”
“You have family sleeping here, too?” Poppy asks wide-eyed.
“Yes,” Sam answers almost inaudibly before clearing her throat. “My family is resting on the hill there.” Sam points to our right. “Under that tree. While you visit your parents. I’m going to go visit mine.”
“You’re not going with us?” Zinnia asks.
“No, babe. This is something to do with Walt. I’ll be right over there if you really need me.”
“I’ll go with Sam.” Finn thumbs in the direction Sam pointed, and I think his announcement startles her. She appears unsure, but eventually nods her head and hands him half
the bundle of roses resting against the crook of her elbow. The girls and I watch as Sam and Finn turn towards the hill.
“This way girls,” I coax gently. Poppy takes my hand in her little one; Zinnie follows suit not even a step later. This is the first time Zinnie has ever reached for my hand, and it awakens a clarity that I have never experienced before. It’s not just about me anymore, but the three of us. I know in an instant that their well-being and security are my top priority.
Finn has always been the life that I valued more than my own. In a life and death situation, I would sacrifice my own for Finn’s. I never thought anyone would supersede, not even Camilla.
The crunch of leaves and acorns under our feet, announcing fall, give way to the soft green grass that is laid out like a carpet around the gravestones. None of us have been here since the day of the funeral. A day that is a complete blur but yet so clear to me. It was sunny. The girls were walking zombies. Quiet from the shock that had yet to wear off. And, if I’m honest, didn’t actually wear off until Sam came into our lives.
Zinnie was surrounded by her friends. Poppy was passed around from one of Jenny’s friends to the other, all shocked to learn Jenny chose me to take care of her most cherished possessions.
I’m not naïve. I knew people assumed Everett and Jenny chose me because I could give their daughters the financial security that less than one percent of the world experience. They didn’t have the privilege of knowing that Everett was a better businessman than I am, and it’s only by the luck of the draw that I was born into this wealth. They didn’t know that Everett didn’t need to pick someone with money because he has already ensured his girls and at least two more generations after them could be cared for on the wealth he has earned.
All of these misconceptions were underscored by their choice to be laid to rest in a working-class town, in a nondescript cemetery. But they didn’t know the real Jenny. She appreciated the financial comfort Everett awarded her, but she was just as comfortable in this town as she was in Greenwich.
“Will I sleep here one day?” Poppy asks as we come to a stop at their shared headstone.
I was not in favor of letting Poppy think her parents were just asleep; I wanted her to learn early what death means, I was afraid it would confuse her as to what was really happening. Also I didn’t want her to think her father just decided to go to sleep and leave her behind. But Zinnie was the on
e to settle Poppy during the first few days, and it was either because of the trust she has in her sister or because Zinnie just knew it’s what Poppy needed, but it clicked. Asleep or not, Poppy understood they weren’t coming back.
Zinnie squats before the headstone and her fingers trace the names of her parents, pressing hard into the etching. Poppy joins her, kneeling just like her sister. The headstone is unique and stands out from the ones around it. It’s large with a beautiful carved tree that stretches the length of the stone, and etched into the space below the canopy are two girls on tree swings. Under that are Jenny and Everett’s names with the days they were born and the day they died.
Poppy stands up and walks back to me. Her arms shoot into the air and I lift her into my arms. She snuggles against me and we stand there together, while Zinnie silently finishes a conversation with her parents. I hear a sniffle, and when she stands and takes my hand again, her eyes are red-rimmed and watery.
“Ready?” I ask gently, and she nods.
When we near the car, Zinnie tugs on my hand, guiding me to where Sam and Finn have been this whole time. This area isn’t as cared for as the others. Pierce handled Everett and Jenny’s tombstone and has someone care for the area weekly. Here, the grass is trimmed but the fallen leaves haven’t been removed.
Finn and Sam are clearing off the last of the debris. There are four gravestones. All simple and modest, embedded into the ground. None of them stand at attention like the one we just left. One is slightly larger; Samuel and Jeanette Abbott, her parents I assume. There are three smaller stones: Rory Abbott, Jonathan Abbott, Frank Abbott.
There’s a soft gasp next to me when Zinnie realizes what I’ve already noticed. They all died on the same day. I do the math. Rory would have been 15 at the time; Jonathan, 12; and Frank, 7.
Samantha lays the last bundle of roses against the last stone, and when she stands, Zinnie asks, “Your family all died on the same day?”
“Yes.” Her voice is shaky. It’s alarming. Since I’ve known her, her voice has never wavered.
“Sam,” Zinnie says. Samantha draws Zinnie to her, holding her in an embrace as Zinnie weeps, apologizing for their fight the other night and for telling Sam she couldn’t understand what this feels like. Sam rocks her gently, reassuring her everything will be okay. They stand there, two people connected in ways others never will be.
Poppy reaches for Finn who boosts her out of my arms and carries her back to the car. I observe each headstone. They died nine years ago this coming Wednesday, September 1st.
“I wouldn’t have asked you to come today if I had known,” Zinnie says, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. I pull a hankie from my pocket and give it to her.
“I’m a big girl. I could have refused.”
“Do you come see them often?” Zinnie asks.
“No.” Sam shakes her head. “This is my first time since their funeral.” Neither speaks but Zinnie tugs on Sam to move her in the direction of the car.
“I have one more place I need to stop,” Sam says, tilting her chin, motioning to the car. “Go ahead. I’ll just be a minute.” Zinnie gives her one last embrace before heading to the car. Sam walks in the opposite direction, and I surprise myself when I follow behind her, quickly matching her pace.
About fifty yards from her family is a headstone that reads, “Daughter, Sister, and Friend, Kathryn Michelle Yates”. Her date of birth puts her at the same age as Sam. She also died on September 1st. The same year as her family. This grave has fresh flowers already on it and has been cared for.
“Hey Kitkat,” Sam whisper as she lays the roses on the grave. She closes her eyes for what must be a short prayer, and when they open, they’re glossy and heartbreakingly sad. It’s like someone sucked the life out of the woman in front of me.
“Ready to go home?” she asks. Something about the way she calls my apartment “home” makes my heart soar to a level that feels quite dangerous.
I want to say “no”. Demand that she unzips that protective shell and let it fall to her feet so I can see what is really underneath. I want to know so that I can protect her from whatever is hurting her.
Instead I tell her “yes”, and we make our way back to the car.
The drive home is somber and quiet. Finn retires to his house and I decide to work in the office for a while, making a few phone calls. Not long after we get home, the heavy rains that were expected this afternoon are here. In search of Pops to see if she has more puddle jumps in her day, I find the three girls passed out in Poppy’s room. Three sets of socks-covered feet pressed around each other. Their chests rise and fall to the same tempo. Today was difficult. For all three of them. I observe them while they sleep trying to imagine what each must feel when they think about their parents. I lost a friend, a best friend, but what they’ve endured goes deeper. The room is already a muted gray from the weather, but still I hit the button to close the blinds to the large window, soundlessly closing the door behind me.
The weather doesn’t let up, and when dinner rolls around, Finn shows up with enough Chinese food to feed a small army while I wake the girls.
After multiple servings of fried rice and Moo Goo Gia Pan, we settle into the TV room, lights dimmed, blankets and pillows everywhere as we watch Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Zinnie, Pops, and I share one oversized couch. Finn and Sam share the other, her head resting on a pillow against his thigh. I love my couch mates, but I admit I’m a little jealous of my brother.
“Have you always been with men, or have you dated women before?” Zinnie asks, looking up from her phone.
“It’s always been boys for me,” he answers cautiously.
Zinnie shrugs. “You and Sam would make a cute couple.”
Finn has been absently playing with Sam’s hair while she has been dozing off and on. Even though she slept this afternoon, I get the feeling she is still exhausted.
“Sam and I are really good friends. I would go as far as to say she’s one of my closest, but she’s missing a key element.”
“What?” Zinnie asks.
“Do not answer that question,” I warn.
Sam giggles and turns to her other side. “Trust me, Zinnie, if it was in the cards, I’d be the luckiest girl there is.”
Finn’s ministrations falter momentarily as he gently massages the back of her neck.
“Thank you, Sam,” Finn says with a knot in his throat. My brother. He’s a fucking catch. For a guy or a girl. He’s got a heart of gold. I don’t understand why he struggles to believe it.
“Aren’t you the one that started Movie Monday? Shouldn’t you be watching?” I ask Sam’s back.
“I’m listening. I know this movie by heart. It’s one of my favorites.” She burrows in.
“I can’t believe I missed the week you guys watched Ghostbusters,” I mumble.
The girls are still asleep when the buzzer sounds alerting me that my packages have arrived. I must remember to write a letter of gratitude to the personal shopper at Bergdorf’s. To pull this together after hours on a Sunday goes above and beyond.
The doorman brings in the last of the packages and I set about following the directions the personal shopper provided.
Dear Mr. Nelson,
Thank you for entrusting Bergdorf’s with your needs. If there is ever a time we can be of service, please do not hesitate to contact us. I have included a business card with exclusive 24-hour access to our team.
Attached is a detailed description of your purchases, organized by gift recipient. I have numbered them for your convenience.
Sincerely,
Jessica Smith
Vice President of Private Services
Dandy. If only everything I did came color-coded and numbered for me.
I grab a pen and check off the inventory as I hang the garment bags on the backs of the barstools around the island. I want them to see these first thing in the morning.
Twice checking the list to make certain I have each item
set out accordingly, I stand back and admire my hard work. Tomorrow morning, they will walk into all the goodies I just organized, each pile with its own colored-coded silk ribbon. Ms. Smith included a single white envelope and card as I instructed, and I jot a note to my girls telling them to enjoy their day, whom each ribbon color belongs to, and request they meet me for lunch at Pierre’s.
I’ve never taken pleasure in giving. I give endlessly. Finn and I both do, but it’s always been an expectation. I would expect anyone with my wealth to give back. This is a different kind of giving and there’s something about it. Something I like.
“Care to clue me in?” my brother asks while we wait for our next meeting. It’s only seven in the morning; we’ve been in meetings since five. When more than half your clients are on the other side of the globe, you make adjustments with your time.
“What do you mean?” I ask, turning the page on the financial section of the newspaper, a bagel from this morning’s breakfast cart dangles from my mouth.
“You are almost giddy.”
“You make me sound like a little girl.”
“If the shoe fits…”
I roll my eyes, fold the paper back to its original size, and take a large swig of black coffee.
“Would it have anything to do with checking your phone every five minutes?”
My smart-arse answer is interrupted by a buzz on my phone. Finally.
Sam: The girls are gonna flip! When did you do all this?
Me: Some of us were working while others were slumbering
Sam: Some of us work hard and were tired.
Me: Are you implying I don’t work hard?
Sam: Seriously, the girls are going to love this. This is so special. ❤
My fingers hover over the keypad. Fuck it. In for a penny, in for a pound, right.
Me: And you?
The little dots seem to pulse forever.
Sam: I love anything with my name on it tied in a satin bow ;)