The Loose Ends List

by Carrie Firestone

  “What makes you think we can drop everything and take a cruise?” Aunt Mary raises her flinty voice. “You are not thinking clearly.”

  “Well, let’s see. Aaron’s a teacher, you and Trish are homemakers, a term I use loosely, and the kids have summer break. Wessy and Bill can turn over the business to the staff for a while. I’m thinking very clearly, dear.”

  The air is trying to get into my lungs, but it can’t get past the growing lump.

  “Ralph has a few confidentiality documents for you to sign before I continue. Titi, I need a little nibble of a macaroon, dear.”

  “Mom, this is absurd. What documents?” Aunt Mary is shouting now. “Don’t you think we should talk to your doctors?”

  “Mary, when have you ever known me to involve you in my medical affairs?” Gram’s voice stays calm, but she’s getting annoyed. She crosses her arms and watches Crusty Head pass out the documents.

  I stare down at the stapled stack of papers with glazed eyes. My stomach quakes violently. I’ve never known how to process horrible news. When I was seven, I watched my Jack Russell terrier, Bub, get squished by my own school bus when he was running to greet me. That one required therapy with a woman who used puppets to talk about death. Dad’s mother died a few months later, but it didn’t bother me, for some reason. She was kind of mean and hard-edged, and she smelled like grease. The puppet lady said I probably couldn’t grieve her death properly because I was still grieving Bub. Then when I was thirteen, Grandpa Martin had a heart attack and died in his golf cart twenty minutes after he and I had shared a tuna sandwich. I was so traumatized, I refused to go to his funeral.

  All of that was awful. But this is my gram. She’s supposed to get me settled at NYU and take me to brunch and have my future college friends over for dinner parties. She is supposed to walk me down the aisle when I get married and plan my exotic honeymoon.

  I feel like puking, but I just start sobbing. I can’t help it. It hurts so much. The stupid document gets blurry, and tears drip shamelessly onto the paper. I hang my head, and my hair covers my face, the paper, everything.

  “Oh, my dear Maddie girl.” Gram comes over. Janie starts bawling, too. “Oh, my babies.” Gram kneels down on the floor in front of us. I focus on her hand, her blue veins popping out of waxy skin, her nails, still perfectly painted red. Her beloved sapphire, big as a bird’s egg, seems silly now on a hand that’s about to be dead.

  Across the room, Mom makes a terrifying huffing sound.

  “Oh, lord, Trish is hyperventilating.” Gram stands up. “Titi, please bring my children some cocktails. I am old, guys. Death happens.”

  It takes twenty minutes for Janie and me to gain control of ourselves. As usual, my stomach is a mess. Mom has a drink. Uncle Billy has a drink. Wes holds Uncle Billy’s hand and reads the document. Sour-faced Aunt Mary and Brit sit with their arms crossed. Aunt Rose asks Dad if he knows her husband, Karl. Jeb stares straight ahead. Crusty Head eats a macaroon.

  My phone vibrates on my lap. OMG Abby peed on my foot. Ethan wandering. Sooooo many hot college boys. Where the fffff are u? I cannot deal with Remy’s text right now.

  Gram returns to her spot behind the desk and clears her throat. “Okay, where was I?” she says. “Oh, yes: I’m dying. And I want to take you on a cruise. Don’t worry, it’s not one of those tacky, all-you-can-eat buffet ships. It’s a lovely ship, state of the art. And all the passengers are dying, or accompanying someone who is dying.”

  “Well, that’s terrible, Astrid,” Aunt Rose says.

  “No, Rose. It’s not terrible at all. We, the dying, get to plan the entire voyage. We get to customize it to satisfy our final wishes. Maybe we’ll tie up some loose ends around the globe or add a few items to our bucket lists.” Gram winks at me. I fake smile back. “The best part is while we’re at sea, and when I’m ready, I will go to my private cabin where a trained physician will inject me with potassium and a sedative. Then I will go to sleep, and you charming people will see me off.”

  “Oh my God, Gram. You’re freaking me out.” Janie buries her face in her hands.

  “There’s nothing to freak out about,” Gram says. I clutch Janie’s sweaty hand. “They will bag me and release me into the sea, my last wishes fulfilled. No invasive, silly, life-prolonging meddling. No pain. It’s death with dignity, the way it should be.”

  “Mom, there is no such thing as a death-with-dignity cruise ship. You’re goddamn delusional. Aaron, do you have psychiatrist friends at Sloan Kettering, too?” Uncle Billy is turning red.

  “Ralph, will you tell these jackasses the truth? I’m exhausted.”

  Everyone looks at Crusty Head. He steps forward. “Don’t kill the messenger, folks. Astrid has indeed booked you all on a ship that caters to the dying. It is technically a death-with-dignity ship, part of a kind of underground movement. Trust me, this is all recent news to me, too.” Ralph pauses and neatens the stack of papers. “The nondisclosure agreement also protects Astrid, since she has been a benefactor of the movement for a few years now, and she would prefer to keep her involvement confidential.”

  “What are you even talking about?” Aunt Mary says. “Speak English, Ralph. Are you saying there are ships where they kill people and throw them overboard? And Mom has been bankrolling this?”

  “Not overboard, Mary. There’s a cute little door they slide you through. You’re so melodramatic.” Gram walks around the desk and stands next to Ralph. “I had the privilege of joining my friend Ruth on her ship. We took quite a ride around the Horn of Africa.”

  “You said Ruth had a heart attack at the McDonald’s drive-thru,” Mom says.

  “That was her alibi. Mine will be more nuanced. So that’s it. I have a fantastic ‘Astrid’s Last Hurrah Mystery Tour’ planned for us, kids. Are you in or out? I need to know tonight.”

  “How much is this going to cost?” Aunt Mary says.

  “Oh, of course Mary brings up the money,” Uncle Billy says, throwing his arms up in the air.

  Aunt Mary glares at Uncle Billy. “It’s a valid—”

  “I don’t know.” Gram cuts Aunt Mary off. “It’s a lot. Don’t worry, there’s plenty more for you to squander when I’m gone. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a minute.” Gram leaves through the secret passageway.

  “Nice going, Mary,” Mom says. “You know what? Maybe this isn’t about you. Maybe Mother is serious about all of this.”

  “Oh, shut up, Trish. I still don’t believe she’s dying. She’s a drama queen. I can tell you I will not be going on a death-with-dignity cruise. I just can’t believe she’s doing this.”

  Mom shakes her head back and forth violently. “No!” she shouts. “Mary, you will not do this. It’s always about you and your life and your issues and what’s going to inconvenience Mary. So, for once, just stop. She may or may not be dying, but we’re going to do what she wants.” Dad puts his arms around Mom and plants kisses all over her face.

  “Gag.” Janie turns away from them.

  “Tell me about it,” I whisper. “But good for Mom, though, standing up to her.” I nod toward Aunt Mary, who sits staring straight ahead.

  “What are we going to do with the business?” Uncle Billy’s face is still flushed.

  “We’ll figure it out. Donna can take over,” Wes says. “And we’ll find a temporary chef. Whatever, Billy. We need to do what Assy wants to do.” Only Wes is allowed to call Gram Assy.

  Brit sits hunched in her chair, texting furiously, with an ugly scowl on her face.

  “Brit, come sit with us,” I try.

  “No thanks, Maddie. Don’t you have a party to attend?” asks the cyberstalker.

  “Did you not hear anything Gram said? She’s dying, Brit. Gram is dying.” Janie’s eye makeup is smeared all over her face. I grab a tissue from the desk and dab around her eyes. Janie has always been the prettiest cousin. She looks like her dad, blond and cute and Scandinavian. Brit got all the ugly Aunt Mary troll genes.

  I used to be
so jealous that the twins lived two blocks away from Gram. She kept snacks for them in her pantry and had Titi fix them dinner on school nights. Please let me live with you, I begged her. I won’t be difficult like the twins. She always responded the same way: Your parents wouldn’t like that very much.

  The room buzzes with all kinds of tones and salty language. Nobody’s crying anymore. There’s too much to complain about.

  It feels like we’ve been sitting in these folding chairs for hours. Janie pulls me toward her and whispers, “How the hell are you going to do this cruise? You can’t even be in the same room with Grandpa’s ashes.”

  They burned Grandpa Martin’s body like he was a marshmallow. I went back to the puppet lady because I couldn’t handle knowing his ashes were in Gram’s apartment. I was terrified somebody would knock them over and my quiet, red-faced grandfather who loved golf and whisky and Irish music would spill out onto the floor.

  “We don’t have a choice, Janie. Right? I mean, do we?” The throat lump has migrated to my stomach. The anxiety is almost unbearable.

  “Why does Gram have to be so over-the-top about every single thing?” Janie says.

  “You sound like your mother.”

  “Never say that again.”

  The main library door slides open. It’s Titi with a man I’ve never seen before.

  “That is definitely not Titi’s husband.” Wes elbows me in the ribs.

  “No. I don’t know who that is,” I whisper. I’ve met Titi’s husband. Joe is a male version of Titi, short and squat with glasses and orthopedic shoes. This guy is tall and broad, and older, maybe early eighties, and he has the longest salt-and-pepper dreads I’ve ever seen. He’s wearing a fitted white T-shirt and army-green cargo pants with leather sandals, and turquoise rings that somehow suit him, a rare exception to the guys-look-stupid-in-jewelry rule.

  Dread Guy gives us all a nod and sits on the desk next to where Crusty Head is standing. I can’t imagine Gram would want a random stranger sitting on her imported mahogany desk with gold etchings.

  Gram comes back in, probably from standing in the secret passageway with her ear against the wall. She’s still so normal looking in her tailored jeans and cropped leather jacket with the double strand of pearls. How can she have cancer?

  “What’s the plan?” she says. “Who’s in, who’s out? I have a lot to do, so let’s get this settled.”

  “Who’s the black man?” Aunt Rose blurts.

  Wes looks at me and, with a smirk, mouths, Oh. My. God.

  “You don’t recognize him? It’s been a long time, I suppose. It’s Bob Johns, Rose.”

  Aunt Rose squints as if squinting will help her remember this person. “Is that you, Bob? My goodness, you’re as handsome as ever,” she says. “What on earth is Bob Johns doing here?”

  Dread Guy jumps off the desk, pulls Aunt Rose to her feet, and picks her up into a big bear hug. Aunt Rose giggles and gives the guy an awkward kiss on the chin.

  “Who the hell is Bob Johns?” Wes and Janie whisper at the same time.

  I shrug.

  “Everyone, this is Mr. Robert Amos Johns, the love of my life.” Gram extends her arm toward the guy like a magician’s assistant and looks up at his dread-framed face.

  “Funny, Astrid. The jokes keep coming,” Dad says.

  “Nope. Not a joke. Bob is the love of my life.” Gram takes a sip of Uncle Billy’s drink.

  Janie pinches my leg.

  “Mom, stop. We’re having a tough enough time here,” Aunt Mary says through clenched teeth.

  “Hi, folks,” Bob Johns says. “I’m thinking this might not have been a good night to meet you all.” He has some sort of an accent and a deep baritone voice.

  “Bob’s coming with us,” Gram announces, slapping Bob on the back.

  “I’m done,” Aunt Mary says as she grabs Brit by the arm. “Not happening, Mom. This is ridiculous. Dad was the love of your life. Dad. Remember him?” She pauses for a moment as if her body wants to stay, but she won’t let it. “Come on, Jane.”

  Gram walks over to Aunt Mary and faces her. She puts her hands on her shoulders and looks up at her miserable face. “My funny little Mary Mae. It’s okay if you don’t approve,” Gram says as if she anticipated Aunt Mary’s reaction and practiced her response a hundred times. “I love you just the same. Always have. Always will.”

  Gram turns to Brit, who looks like she’s going to hurl. I can’t tell if she’s sad or mad. “I love you, too, my sweet baby girl.” Gram tucks a strand of hair behind Brit’s ear and smiles. Brit can’t bring herself to look Gram in the eye.

  Aunt Mary’s lip trembles furiously. She motions for Janie to get up.

  “I’m going on the cruise,” Janie announces, as she stands to follow Brit.

  “Enough, Jane,” Aunt Mary snarls.

  Aunt Mary and Brit storm out. Janie hugs Gram and follows them. “See you on the water,” she says.

  “Keep it real,” I yell. Whatever that means.

  We’re all tired. Gram tells us about how she met Bob at a jazz club where he was playing trumpet and they had to keep their relationship a secret from her uptight parents and the rest of the backwards-ass world of the 1940s. I watch her lips move and wonder what the cancer looks like inside her. It is a dream. I will wake up and she will be fine.

  It’s nine o’clock, but it feels like midnight.

  “Good to meet you, dude.” Jeb gives Bob Johns a fist pump and grabs his bag of groceries. “Gram, email the plan.” I realize Jeb hasn’t said a thing the entire time, which isn’t unusual. Mom always says to leave him alone, that he’s an introvert and he needs to get his energy from a quiet place inside himself and that she can relate. I think he gets his energy from paint fumes and really good weed.

  Our exit is full of awkward hugs and misplaced kisses and small talk. How do you leave an evening like this in any normal way? I look back as the elevator opens. Gram is standing there, her arm around Bob Johns, his arm around her. They grin and wave, as if they have been doing it this way every day for sixty years.

  THREE

  I DRIVE THE minivan to Connecticut while my parents snuggle in the back. Mom is talking in her baby voice about how she’s in shock while Dad rubs her neck and goes on and on about his friend at Sloan Kettering. I decide to dump them off at home and go to the party.

  By the time I get there, everybody is in the pool.

  Remy runs up and tackles me. She’s soaked, and it feels cold and awful, but it wakes me up. It’s good to be back to my normal state of being.

  Yesterday everything was perfect. I took my CPR class for lifeguarding with Lizzie and got my nails done. I helped Ethan with his math homework, we made out a little and ate pizza, and I organized my summer clothes. I wish I had appreciated yesterday more.

  I could use a hug.

  I get a text from Janie. Mom and Brit are def not going on that cruise. FYI. Thank you, God!

  I scan the crowd of bobbing wet heads for Ethan. I don’t know when or how I’m going to tell him that I’m leaving for the entire summer.

  I spot his yellow baseball hat moving back and forth. At first it looks like he’s dancing. Then I see the misshapen head of Ellie-the-sophomore, who pushes her way into every party. She is not cute. Her head is shaped like a pineapple. My boyfriend is making out with Ellie-the-sophomore in the unmistakable way Ethan always makes out, with his head ramming back and forth. My brain can’t begin to wrap itself around this little surprise.

  I back into the shadows of the pool shed and gather my thoughts. If this were any other night, I would have ripped that girl off my boyfriend and yelled Ethan is a premature ejaculator for everyone to hear. But this isn’t any other night. It’s the worst night of my life.

  Why did I leave? I should have stayed with my gram.

  I peek around the shed and see Ethan and Pineapple sitting on a lounge chair chugging from red cups. Remy and Abby run right past them, holding hands, probably about to pee on each other’s f
eet again. Then it hits me. Ethan needs this girl to boost his pathetic ego.

  I sneak over to the other side of the pool and pull Lizzie off Kyle. She’s confused, but I give her the look we give in emergencies and she follows me. I point out Ethan and Pineapple. Lizzie looks ready to dig their eyes out. In a split second, she’s processed what this means: No more meeting up at Starbucks. No more four of us going to the movies and sitting by the lake with leftover popcorn. No more four-way texts to discuss the next plan. Lizzie’s life is about to turn upside down.

  “I’m done, Lizzie.”

  “You need to kick that ugly girl’s ass. How dare she mess with us?” I grab Lizzie and pull her toward them, as Pineapple tosses her stringy hair and laughs, oblivious to our approach. I’m right behind her when I spot Abby and Remy running in our direction.

  I tap Ethan on the shoulder. He turns. His face looks like he just walked into a surprise party, but the ones shouting surprise are maggot-covered demons. I should say something to ruin him, but I don’t like him or hate him enough.

  “Hey, Eth.” I smile. “Hi, Ellie,” I say with unwavering lightness. They don’t move. “I see you two are getting to know each other. That’s really special. I wish you both the very best. I’m sure you’ll be so happy together.”

  I turn and walk away before Ethan has a chance to grovel, and I essentially spend the next twenty minutes in a headlock until I promise, double promise, and swear on my family’s life that I won’t kill myself over Ethan. The E’s finally let me go.

  I send a quick Please pick up the E’s text to the Sober Sisters, our school’s designated driver club—the Sober Sisters’ summer just got a lot busier. I have three missed texts from Rachel. What’s the news? What’s the news? and Helllloooo? What’s the news? I text back: Tonight was a star imploding after a nuclear meltdown on the night before the SATs and pull away to the strangely soothing noise of my hundred closest friends as the clamor blends with the beat of the music.

  When I get to my driveway, I see ever-dependable Rachel sitting on her front step.