Mark had inherited our father’s massive, pointy, witch-like nose. I think this as I stare at him in his open casket. Thankfully, I didn\u2019t get that nose. I wonder if he could smell better than me with that thing when he was alive. I don\u2019t know, won\u2019t know. Honestly, I\u2019d rather not have a nose than that thing. I\u2019d been blessed with a great nose.<\/p>\n
There are significantly less people at Mark’s funeral than had been at my parents or grandparents, but more than had been at our sister, Alicia\u2019s. People come to me after the funeral, hugging me, telling me they\u2019re so sorry for my loss. I find this part dreadfully boring. I count the water stains on the ceiling to try and pass the time. All I really care about is which season of Friends<\/em> I should watch next. I\u2019ve been skipping around with it, never watching it in chronological order. I figure I\u2019ll watch the season where Monica and Richard are together. I like that season\u2014and Richard\u2014I really like Richard. Something about them together makes sense. I think it\u2019s Richard\u2019s mustache that makes the most sense. I picture myself sitting with a jar of garlic filled olives, propping up my feet on my coffee table, and turning on the TV I took from Mark’s room the day after he died. It was nicer than mine.<\/p>\n One of Mark’s ex-girlfriends, Bertha, throws her arms around me and squeezes me tight. She smells like perfume you\u2019d buy at a thrift store, like the signature scent of a woman who had died decades ago and had hundreds of bottles of this pungent, citrus scent. I find the scent repulsive so it\u2019s perfectly fitting for Bertha. Bertha has so much hair, like miles and miles of frizzy, jet-black hair. I figure she could probably house an entire family of squirrels in that thing and never know they were in there.<\/p>\n \u201cHow are you holding up, doll?\u201d she says, her bottom lip sticking out in a pouty kind of way.<\/p>\n \u201cI think I\u2019m more like a Lego than a doll,\u201d I say. She stares at me then, not hiding the confusion in her expression. I make \u201cC\u2019s\u201d with my hands and move my arms up and down like a Lego would. Again, she just stares at me. Her eyes look around like she\u2019s a bit uneasy. I smile at her and say, \u201cthank you for coming, Bertha.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course,\u201d she squeezes my arms. \u201cYou call me if you need anything. Seriously, I\u2019m here for you.\u201d I want to laugh at this since I truly find it funny. I haven\u2019t seen this woman since her and Mark dated in college over 6 years ago. I don\u2019t even have her phone number. I promise myself right then that if I were ever in a situation where I need to turn to Bertha for help, I\u2019ll simply kill myself.<\/p>\n I remember the time Mark came into my room after hanging out with Bertha one night \u2013 his face was all pale like he was about to be sick.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat the hell is wrong with you?\u201d I\u2019d asked.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s Bertha,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat about her?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe gave me a hand-job and had such a tight grip,\u201d he shuddered then. \u201cI thought she was gonna pull my dick off.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat did you expect? Her name\u2019s Bertha,\u201d I\u2019d said.<\/p>\n I go home shortly after I thanked everyone for coming, I figure they can do the burial without me. I was bored and my dress smelled like death\u2014or better known as lilies. I fucking hate lilies. I\u2019d requested that no one get me any lilies but they just kept coming. I didn\u2019t have enough garbage bags to fit them all. I decided to put all the lilies in my front yard with a sign that said, \u201cTake a fucking lily, and for the love of god don\u2019t give me any.\u201d<\/p>\n My parents’ house, which is now mine, is massive, cold, and extremely rigid. I write down all the things I want to change about the house in my little pink journal. I want everything redecorated. My mom had liked the style that I deemed \u201crich person style,\u201d which consisted of buying the most expensive things from furniture designers in Paris or LA. Things that you could never actually use or sit in, but they were there for when people came over and would say,<\/p>\n \u201cWow, that chair is amazing,\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh that? it was designed by Jean-Paul Phillipe,\u201d my mom would say.<\/p>\n \u201cMy god, John-Paul Phillipe? I hear he only designs one chair a year,\u201d the person would say.<\/p>\n \u201cOh yes, yes I know,\u201d my mom would say.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd the waitlist? Aren\u2019t they usually years long?\u201d The person would ask.<\/p>\n \u201cYes, usually. But I know Jean-Paul personally,\u201d my mom would say. She did not know Jean-Paul personally. My mom knew someone who knew someone who knew how to get to the top of the waitlist, but to my mom that was as good as knowing Jean-Paul personally.<\/p>\n Mom had bought this big chair that was the shape of a hand when I was around 8 years old. It was white leather, stiff and horribly ugly. Once, only once, I sat in it. I\u2019d been eating a bowl of macaroni and cheese that the nanny had just made me. I\u2019d thought how cool it would be to be held in a big hand like that. Mom came out of her room and saw me sitting there. Swiftly she moved towards me and grabbed me by the hair. She said, \u201cdo you have $30,000 to replace this chair if you get macaroni and cheese on it? No? Then don\u2019t touch it with your disgusting little fingers.\u201d<\/p>\n I put the chair on the curb with a sign that reads \u201cfree.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I think everyone feels bad for me that Mark died. It\u2019s like I can feel what people are saying, \u201csuch a shame, that poor girl all alone like that.\u201d Meals and flowers are left on my front porch every day. I will admit, it\u2019s nice not having to cook for myself. I can just curl up on my couch with a fat joint and eat Mrs. Morton\u2019s taco soup or Mr. Rothbaums sirloin stakes, not having to do anything but push a few buttons on my microwave. There was a blissful silence in the house.<\/p>\n My parents\u2019 estate got split evenly between Mark and I, which surprised me. I figured it would all go to Mark. Even with the money split, it was an egregious amount. I bought a Ferrari with a small portion of it. Mark wouldn\u2019t get out of bed during that time. I\u2019d opened Mark’s door without knocking. He was completely covered by his blanket, but I could tell by the shape of his body that he was curled up in a ball on his side.<\/p>\n \u201cGet up, I need you to help me decide between either the blue or the red Ferrari,” I\u2019d said from his doorway. He didn\u2019t respond.<\/p>\n \u201cMark,\u201d I said. Still no response. I walked to him, put my hand out and lightly shook him. \u201cMark,\u201d I said again.<\/p>\n \u201cGo away,\u201d he said, his voice muffled under his blanket. So, I did. I walked out of his room, saying \u201cfine, but you\u2019re not allowed to drive it,\u201d and shut the door behind me. I didn\u2019t expect to see his brain splattered all over his wall the next time I went into his room.<\/p>\n I decided on the blue one.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I sit across from Mark’s estate lawyer. I\u2019m wearing a yellow sundress with pink flowers which shows a lot of cleavage. Most people look terrible after a family members death, but I look better than ever. My skin is glowing, my hair is thick and healthy, my teeth are perfectly white, my eyelashes are long, accentuating my green eyes, and God, my nose. My nose is amazing.<\/p>\n I remember a time when Mark and I had run into his lawyer at a Brewers game, Mark later explaining to me who he was.<\/p>\n \u201cIs he married?\u201d I\u2019d asked.<\/p>\n \u201cYup,\u201d Mark said, shoving a hotdog in his mouth.<\/p>\n \u201cAm I hotter than his wife?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n \u201cJesus, Eve. I\u2019m not answering that.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI am, aren\u2019t I?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat the fuck is wrong with you?\u201d<\/p>\n Mr. Bleeker\u2019s office is so clean I could lick the ground. I actually think about doing that, but I figure that might be weird. I just know I\u2019d taste bleach probably, or some sort of lavender floor cleaner. I like the idea of being on all fours around this man, even if it\u2019s just to lick his floors.<\/p>\n \u201cEvelyn, I want to start off by saying I\u2019m so sorry for your loss,\u201d Mr. Bleeker says. His brown eyes look into mine and linger there. \u201cNo one should ever have to experience the grief and sorrow that you\u2019ve experienced at such a young age.\u201d He has a softness to his expression that I have learned to distinguish as sympathy.<\/p>\n I soften my eyes.<\/p>\n \u201cThank you, Mr. Bleeker,\u201d I make my voice shake when I say this. I feel it makes it more believable.<\/p>\n \u201cPlease, call me Jim,\u201d he says. I nod because that name makes sense. He absolutely is a Jim. He is the kind of ugly where you\u2019d see an article of a child predator that\u2019s been arrested and they always look like Jim. His pants are 2 inches too small in the waist and two inches too short in the length and his hairline is receding in a way that makes him appear much older than he probably is. But he\u2019s a lawyer, and I\u2019m way out of his league. We both know that. Plus, I\u2019ve always had this thing for ugly guys. I find them easier to control.<\/p>\n \u201cJim,\u201d I say out loud, I want it to sound seductive but Jim is a hard name to say in a seductive way. The J is awkward and the length of the name makes it feel somewhat stilted. \u201cJim,\u201d I say again, and hold it in my mouth to decide whether or not I like the taste of it. \u201cThank you, Jim.\u201d<\/p>\n He goes over Mark’s estate, and when he turns papers to show me the amounts that will be passed to me, I lean in and push my breasts up a little to expose even more of my cleavage. I just want him to look. When he finally does, I push a piece of my hair behind my ear and smile at him. His face gets a little flushed.<\/p>\n \u201cHas anyone ever told you that you have really pretty eyes?\u201d I say. He doesn\u2019t have pretty eyes; they\u2019re just brown.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Jim is a quick and disappointing fuck. When he pulls out of me, he starts muttering things about how much he loves his wife.<\/p>\n \u201cPlease, don\u2019t tell anyone about this,\u201d Jim says while zipping his pants. I laugh so hard. Keeling over, holding my stomach, laughing so hard that tears stain my cheeks.<\/p>\n Once I finally compose myself, I say, \u201cdon\u2019t you worry, Jim. I\u2019ve got no one to tell,\u201d and that was also nothing worth telling anyone even if I did.<\/p>\n I get an Oreo Mcflurry on the way home and it\u2019s such a blissful experience that I drive back to the exact same McDonalds only 20 minutes later to get another one. When I get home, I decide not to shower right away. There\u2019s something about smelling like a rich man\u2019s cologne that I like. I also like knowing that Jim probably feels terrible. It comforts me in some way.<\/p>\n I watch the episode of Friends<\/em> where Chandler, Ross and Rachel try to get Ross\u2019s new couch up his staircase\u2014I always laugh at that episode, even though I\u2019ve seen it a million times. But today, for some reason, I don\u2019t find the episode funny. It\u2019s just something I\u2019ve seen and felt before.<\/p>\n I go through some of Mark’s stuff later in the week and try to avoid looking at the blood stains on the wall. I throw most of his stuff away, but I keep his record player and record collection. I figure I can sell it. You could always tell Mark was home because music was constantly coming from his record player; music like Bowie, Lionel Richie, Nirvana, Sam Cook, The Beach Boys, John Lennon \u2013 his taste was all over, and in my opinion, kind of shit. But sometimes, not often, but sometimes, I\u2019d hear a song that I liked, and I\u2019d stand in the hallway, resting my forehead on his closed bedroom door until the song ended.<\/p>\n I can remember a short time when life felt normal. Me, Alicia, and Mark were all two years apart so for most of our childhood we played together. Well, I didn\u2019t really play. I was always much bigger than Alicia, even though I was the youngest, so she was usually my target. Mark would come to her aid, but I wasn\u2019t afraid to go toe-to-toe with Mark either. He was always bigger, but I was scrappy, and ruthless. I\u2019d scratch them or spit in their faces when I was pinned or cornered. I\u2019d pull their hair and pinch their skin. To me, the game was never over until I won. I always won.<\/p>\n We would go out with our parents to the movies every once in a while. They\u2019d buy Alicia sour patch kids and Mark a small popcorn and I usually never got anything because I\u2019d misbehaved earlier in the day in some way or another. Sometimes they\u2019d leave me home with the nanny while they all went together. When I was young, I\u2019d sob and scream and beg for them to take me, but when I got older, I would cross my arms and say, \u201cyou actually think I want to spend time with you?\u201d<\/p>\n My parents called Alicia their good girl. She was a good girl, always did the right thing. I thought she was unbelievably dull and uninteresting. I think I knew, even at a young age, that she wouldn\u2019t survive long. She was too soft; crying over spiders in her room or dead worms on the sidewalk. Sometimes, on rainy days, I would collect worms and put them in her bed so when she pulled back her covers, there were hundreds of worms. I only did that a handful of times though. Alicia would sleep in our parents bed on the nights I did that. Mom had a soft spot for Alicia. I think it was because Alicia was someone who needed a protector, and that gave my mom some feeling of purpose. Mom would burst into my room and scream at me. She\u2019d call me a terror, a menace, a bother, a pain, annoying, cruel, an agitator, and when she was feeling extra dramatic, she\u2019d call me \u201cthe shame of the family.\u201d Once she said, \u201chow did you come from me? How did I give birth to a devil-child?\u201d Those moments were often the only time my mom would speak to me the entire day.<\/p>\n There was a night during my freshman year of high school where I got home late. I\u2019d shut the front door quietly and tiptoed through the house. I noticed that the TV was on, and when I got closer, I saw that mom and Alicia were sitting on the couch, both of their backs to me. Alicia\u2019s head was resting on mom\u2019s shoulder and mom was scratching her back. They were watching Napoleon Dynamite<\/em>, the part where Napoleon dances on stage. They were both laughing. I stood and watched for a little while. I almost laughed a few times. I pulled out my phone and I took a picture of them; I figured it would be nice to have. I looked at that photo often, especially in the moments where I\u2019d think my mom wasn\u2019t that bad. I\u2019d stare at it until I remembered how much I hated her.<\/p>\n When the cancer spread to Alicia\u2019s brain, she\u2019d already been sick for years. I\u2019d stopped picking on her when she was diagnosed. She looked too tired, and I had outgrown it. I was in high school at that time; skipping classes to smoke weed under the bleachers or trying to fuck anyone who wanted to. I didn\u2019t like being home then. There was this lingering scent of unease.<\/p>\n It had this way of seeping into my pours and making me feel heavy and tired. Anytime mom would see me then, she\u2019d find something wrong with me that she needed to point out. Whether that was something about my clothes, my skin, my hair, how ugly the bags under my eyes were, or something about my crooked bottom tooth, she would always find something. One morning before school, she said, \u201cGod, Evelyn. Why are you wearing that? You look like you\u2019re a slut.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou are what you eat,\u201d I\u2019d said, and walked out the door before she could say anything else.<\/p>\n I think my mom was jealous that I was prettier than her. When Alicia was sick, I became even more beautiful. It was like all of Alicia\u2019s youth and beauty drained from her and went to me. I felt it in the way mom looked at me, that potent jealousy. It was the same way girls at school looked at me. They saw me as a threat, and I absolutely was a threat. I threatened their already fragile adolescent self-esteem by being really beautiful. I was much more beautiful than any of them. They knew it, I knew it, their boyfriends knew it, their dads knew it too.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Dad and I didn\u2019t talk much. You\u2019d barely know we lived in the same house. We\u2019d pass each other in the hallway, me leaving for school and him coming from or going to another surgery. He would always leave enough coffee in the pot for me though, that was something I noticed. He worked all day, every day. Often, he\u2019d sleep at the hospital in-between surgeries or fall asleep on the couch while watching TV. He missed my graduation because he\u2019d scheduled a gallbladder removal for the same day. He\u2019d texted me a few minutes before my name was called, Eve, can\u2019t make it. Work<\/em>. Dad was around for Alicia in her last few years of life, I noticed that too. I saw the compassion he was able to give. I saw his subtle softness towards her. He didn\u2019t coddle Alicia like mom did, but he made it known that he was there. He was her voice when she started chemo and radiation. He knew exactly what questions to ask, what treatments to inquire about, knew the side effects to every drug. I watched this like a bird through a window.<\/p>\n Often, my dad and Mark would go golf together. I asked only once if I could go with them, to which my dad said, \u201cNot a chance. I don\u2019t have the energy to deal with you today.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re just afraid I\u2019ll beat you,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cNo, they\u2019re afraid you\u2019ll ruin the day like you always do,\u201d mom said.<\/p>\n \u201cI won\u2019t,\u201d I said. \u201cI promise.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cRemember when you promised not to embarrass mom and dad at their 20th anniversary party and then you ended up fucking the waiter in the coat closet? Everyone at the party could hear you moaning,\u201d Mark said and took a sip of his coffee. \u201cOr the time that you opened all of our Christmas gifts before we woke up? Or the time that you stole dad’s Porsche and took out the Waltons’ and Clifftons’ mailboxes? Or the time\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAlright, alright. We get it, I\u2019m an icon.\u201d I said.<\/p>\n \u201cHow\u2019d she turn out like this?\u201d mom said to dad who shrugged his shoulders without looking up from the newspaper. \u201cDo you want an award or something?\u201d mom said. I grab the bottle of creamer in front of me and clutch it to my chest.<\/p>\n \u201cGod, this is so unexpected. I didn\u2019t even prepare a speech,\u201d I said. \u201cI\u2019d like to thank my parents for this award. I owe it all to them.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDial down the dramatics,\u201d dad said.<\/p>\n Mark vowed at a very young age that he would be a general surgeon like my dad. Because of this, dad always had a special bond with Mark. Mark would often shadow my dad at work, watching his surgeries, taking notes, asking detailed questions about his techniques. They had all sorts of inside jokes with each other. Sometimes when they\u2019d get home from golfing or dinner or beers, I could hear them cackling like hyenas through my closed bedroom door. I would put my headphones on in those moments and turn the volume all the way up. I figured the joke probably wasn\u2019t even that funny.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I didn\u2019t visit Alicia much the year she died since I lived on campus at Loyola about an hour and a half away from home. I also hated having to visit her. Alicia also had nothing interesting to say during that time, so I found myself rolling my eyes when it was time to visit. It was a Wednesday night in March when dad called me. I was walking through the slushy melting snow of Chicago when his name popped up on my screen. I stared at my phone ringing in my hand. I knew, I just knew and because of that knowledge I didn\u2019t want to answer. Once I finally did answer, he told me exactly what I knew he was going to tell me. So, I drove home to see her. I drove the speed limit and prayed that she would be dead before I got there. She wasn\u2019t. She looked like some embryonic being. She had a blue hue to her skin like a baby born with the umbilical cord wrapped around its neck. She looked alien and unearthly, death hovering above her like her own little spaceship.<\/p>\n \u201cHey,\u201d I said, mom was sitting in the hospital room with her. Mom was holding her hand. I couldn\u2019t remember the last time mom held my hand. Maybe I was a baby, taking my first steps, holding onto her pointer fingers as I tried to gain balance. I wondered if I were to hold her hand if she\u2019d pull away from me. Would I hold it and feel like I was holding my own in some way? Would I clutch her hand with a desperate grip or just enough for the skin of our hands to hesitantly brush against one another \u2014as if not to scare the other away? Either way it didn\u2019t matter.<\/p>\n I also couldn\u2019t remember the last time I\u2019d seen mom without makeup on. The bags under her eyes were dark and looked heavy. Her sunspots and wrinkles painted her face, showing the age she\u2019d always tried to hide. I thought, for the briefest of seconds, that my mom was stunning like that. It was the most human I\u2019d ever seen her. Tired, undone, naked.<\/p>\n I had two cups of coffee in my hand. I bought Alicia one, even though I wasn\u2019t sure whether or not she could have it. \u201cCoffee?\u201d I said to Alicia.<\/p>\n Alicia looked at me, and so did mom. She had an oxygen mask over her face, but I could see the blue in her eyes like they were sparkling. Mom responded, \u201cYou think she can drink coffee? Are you stupid?\u201d<\/p>\n Alicia put her hand on mom\u2019s arm, and only slightly shook her head. Mom took a deep breath like one would if they were in the middle of meditating.<\/p>\n \u201cCoffee?\u201d I asked mom.<\/p>\n \u201cI haven\u2019t had caffeine in years, you know this.\u201d I didn\u2019t know that.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s decaf,\u201d I said. It wasn\u2019t decaf. Mom didn\u2019t respond, just stared at me.<\/p>\n \u201cFine,\u201d I said. \u201cMore for me.\u201d Mom\u2019s phone rang then, and she stood to answer it, walking into the hall.<\/p>\n Alicia pulled her mask down a bit to say, \u201cThanks for coming, Eve.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s no big deal. I already had all my homework done for the week,\u201d I said. She nodded, putting the oxygen mask back over her nose and mouth, pointing to the chair mom had just been sitting in next to her bed. I sat down, sipping from my coffee cup, and looking at the hospital room my sister had been staying in for months. I put my feet on her bed and stretched my legs. I took off the lid to my coffee cup and watched the steam billow.<\/p>\n \u201cThis place sucks ass,\u201d I said, looking anywhere but her. \u201cIt smells like rubber and plastic and piss.\u201d She pulled her oxygen mask down again.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t think I\u2019ll be here much longer,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, probably not,\u201d I said. She laughed a little and then started coughing. \u201cCan I vape in here?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t think so,\u201d she said once she stopped coughing. \u201cBut I also don\u2019t care.\u201d<\/p>\n I take a long drag of my vape and blow it up to the ceiling.<\/p>\n \u201cI wish we\u2019d been closer,\u201d Alicia said.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, right.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI mean it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t believe it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI always wanted to be more like you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFuck off.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s true.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSeriously Al, fuck off with this.\u201d<\/p>\n Alicia died a few hours later, and then I drove back to school.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Mark handled Alicia\u2019s death much better than he did our parents’. Mark and dad planned Alicia\u2019s funeral so quick you\u2019d think it was a race. Mark barely cried for Alicia, but he fell to his knees when the sheets were pulled back revealing our parents. He laid there, on the ground of the Milwaukee General morgue, clutching his knees and rocking back and forth like a child. He was crying so hysterically that he threw up all over my shoes. That\u2019s when I started laughing. I was laughing so hard that tears were streaming down my face. It was an uncontrollable kind of laughter that made me fall to the ground, roll around, flailing, banging my palms on the floor. I couldn\u2019t stop. I laughed until I, too, threw up, and that made me laugh even harder.<\/p>\n Mark and I drove home in silence, covered in each other\u2019s vomit.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I hired the best home renovator in Milwaukee. Luke was shorter than me, big, bushy beard, long scraggly hair, ring on his finger.<\/p>\n \u201cHow long have you been doing this kind of work?\u201d I ask while twirling my hair around my pointer finger.<\/p>\n \u201cMy whole life,\u201d Luke says, not looking at me. \u201cMy dad owned this business and passed it down to me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAh,\u201d I say. \u201cMy dad owned this house and passed it down to me.\u201d He nods but says nothing else. I tell him all the things I want to change about the house, and he scribbles things in his notepad. He looks like the kind of guy who wouldn\u2019t know how to write or read so I\u2019m surprised when I catch a glimpse of his notes and see that he writes in cursive.<\/p>\n I show Luke the bedrooms upstairs. We walk into Alicia\u2019s room first. The walls are colored lavender purple, with white flowers that had been hand painted by some Italian artist my parents liked. The curtains have a yellow hue from the sunlight. Her bed is perfectly made, no crease or wrinkles in sight. There\u2019s even a sweatshirt of hers sitting on her bed, folded like it just came out of the dryer, ready to be worn by Alicia and Alicia alone since I\u2019d never wear a sweatshirt that ugly. For one second, just one, it feels like she is still alive. That she\u2019ll walk in and say, \u201cWhat the hell are you<\/em> doing in here?\u201d<\/p>\n A few weeks after Alicia had died, I\u2019d gotten home late from a party and was walking down the hallway to my room when I saw Alicia\u2019s light was on. I was extremely drunk, leaning against the wall of the hallway to stay upright. I looked into Alicia\u2019s room and saw mom laying on her bed, clutching Alicia\u2019s favorite teddy bear. It was the same teddy bear I stole from her room when I was younger and hid in the basement for months so she couldn\u2019t find it. Mom clutched it to her chest as she lay on her side, curled up. She was crying in a way that made me sure that she was trying not to. She didn\u2019t see me standing there at first, but once she did, she sat up and quickly wiped her face.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy are you still awake?\u201d mom said.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m just getting home.\u201d She looks at her watch.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s almost 4 am.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m aware.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhere were you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA party.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou get invited to parties?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, the guys like it when I\u2019m there. I make things interesting.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat do you do?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhoever I can.\u201d She stood from Alicia\u2019s bed and walked towards me. She paused in front of me, studying my face and tilting her head. She looked me up and down.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat are you going to do when you\u2019re no longer beautiful?\u201d Mom asked.<\/p>\n \u201cI guess I\u2019ll be just like you.\u201d Before I knew what she was doing, I felt her open palm connecting with my face, making a loud and perfect smacking sound. I\u2019d put my hand to my burning cheek and stared at her. I was surprised by how much it hurt, even with how drunk I was. She hadn\u2019t hit me since I was a child, and even then it was a rare occurrence. There was a silence then, long and drawn out. I stepped to her, our faces so close I could smell her breath and I was sure she could smell the tequila on mine.<\/p>\n \u201cIf you ever touch me again, I\u2019ll rip your face off with my teeth,\u201d I said in a clear, dangerously steady tone. I walked out of Alicia\u2019s room and into my own.<\/p>\n I tell Luke I want Alicia\u2019s whole room torn up. He nods and flips to a new page in his notebook.<\/p>\n I avoid going into Mark’s room because his blood and little chunks of his brain are encrusted on his wall. There was no way in hell I was going to clean it and every cleaning service I\u2019ve called claims it\u2019s too \u201cemotionally disturbing\u201d for them to do it.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat if I pay extra?\u201d I said to the woman on the phone from Frank\u2019s Cleaning Service.<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n \u201cSeriously, I\u2019ll pay whatever, name your price.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe don\u2019t want to put our staff through that.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCunt ass bitch,\u201d I said into the phone and hung up.<\/p>\n I decided to call one of my ex-boyfriends, Tucker, since I know he still lives in the area.<\/p>\n \u201cEve?\u201d is how he answers his phone.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, hi Tuck.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow are you?\u201d he asks.<\/p>\n \u201cNot good, Tuck,\u201d I say, making the tremble in my voice noticeable.<\/p>\n \u201cOh, baby,\u201d he says. \u201cIs there anything I can do?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cActually, yeah,\u201d I say. \u201cThere is.\u201d<\/p>\n When I open the door, Tucker is standing with a bag full of cleaning supplies. He still looks exactly the same as he did when we dated. Shaggy brown hair, cargo pants, a hoodie, his small lips, his massive forehead a pilot could land a plane on. He puts the bag down and pulls me into a hug. I can\u2019t remember the last time I was touched like this, so tender. It makes me feel like I\u2019m suffocating so I pull away.<\/p>\n \u201cThanks for coming,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n \u201cAlways,\u201d Tuck says. He puts his hands on my arms, and rubs them up and down. God, I always hated when he did this.<\/p>\n \u201cMark’s room is the third door to the right,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n \u201cI remember,\u201d he says and smiles without showing his teeth. \u201cHow are you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m fine.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cC\u2019mon Eve. How are you, really?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll feel better once that shit is cleaned up.\u201d He stops rubbing my arms and nods.<\/p>\n When Tucker opens the door, he gasps.<\/p>\n \u201cHoly crap,\u201d he says. That was one thing about Tucker that used to drive me crazy; he never swore. He\u2019d call people frickers instead of fuckers. It was so unbelievably embarrassing, and I\u2019d respond with Fuckers, Tuck. Just say fuckers<\/em>.<\/p>\n \u201cOkay, so you\u2019re good in here?\u201d I say.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re not going to help me?\u201d he asks.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s just too much for me right now,\u201d I say and put my hand over my mouth.<\/p>\n \u201cOf course,\u201d he says. \u201cGo make yourself a cup of tea or something. I\u2019ve got this.\u201d<\/p>\n An hour later, Tucker comes out of Mark’s room looking paler than when he arrived. He sets the cleaning stuff down on the table where I\u2019m sitting with a glass of wine in my right hand, and a joint in my left. I don\u2019t offer him a glass because I don\u2019t want him to stay. He sits down, reaching over and plucking the joint from between my fingers and putting it to his lips. This action made me want to reach across the table and strangle him to death.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s so quiet in here,\u201d Tucker says, blowing the smoke out.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah,\u201d I say. \u201cIt\u2019s nice.\u201d I reach over and snatch the joint from his fingers. He stares at me as I take a long drag and blow the smoke up to the ceiling.<\/p>\n \u201cI should probably go,\u201d Tucker says. \u201cI\u2019m meeting my fianc\u00e9 for dinner soon.\u201d<\/p>\n I put my hand on his hand, stopping him midway through standing.<\/p>\n \u201cYou should stay,\u201d I say, lightly stroking his hand in small, intrinsic circles. \u201cJust for a little while.\u201d<\/p>\n The next morning, I wake up early, make a cup of coffee and stand with it on my back porch. The sun is just rising behind the trees and painting the sky in a shade of orange that severely washes out my skin tone. A bee starts buzzing around my coffee and I swat at it, but each time it dodges me. The birds chirp aggressively, and I find the sound to be so insufferable that I stand abruptly, letting out a loud sigh of frustration. Once I\u2019m inside my house again, I lean my head on the wall and bathe in the silence.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Megan McKay Mark had inherited our father’s massive, pointy, witch-like nose. I think this as I stare at him in his open casket. Thankfully, I didn\u2019t get that nose. I wonder if he could smell better than me with that thing when he was alive. I don\u2019t know, won\u2019t know. Honestly, I\u2019d rather not have… <\/p>\n