“My sweet girl, he loved you even if he didn’t know how to show it.”
I shrug. “Well, it’s too late now.” There’s a part of me that wants to tell her about the times he hit me, but I think Nana needs to believe something good about my father. She needs it to make sense of his relationship with my mom. “That’s what hit me the hardest. It wasn’t the loss of the man that he was; it was the loss of the man I’d hoped one day he’d be.”
The door buzzes. I hold up my hand to Nana. “I got it.”
“Darby.” Rachel says with a slight huff as she brushes past me. Her eyes don’t look the least bit puffy and her usual bitch mask is firmly in place. I’m sure when she heard the news of my father she probably popped a few Xanax and continued on with her day after putting a reminder in her phone to stop by the hospital to pick up his personal belongings.
“Let’s hurry up and get through this. I’m way behind on work, not to mention I have to be back in New York by Saturday.” Rachel slips her gloves into her handbag and shrugs off her full-length coat.
Nana and I share the same expression. What the fuck? Okay, Nana’s might be “Who the hell does she think she is?” but mine is definitely “What the fuck?”
“By all means, Rachel, we’d hate to dawdle too long over something as trifling as my father’s death.”
Rachel could freeze fire with her scowl and medusa eyes, but lucky for me, I’m immune to her evil glare.
“Life goes on for the living.”
Nana purses her lips, but I can see the smirk she’s trying to hide. This might be very inappropriate timing, but I can’t blame her. If we don’t laugh at Rachel, we’ll end up strangling her.
“That it does. So what do you need from us?” Nana sips her coffee.
“As I’m sure you both already know, Cal left detailed instructions with regards to his funeral. However, one of his wishes was to have a closed casket.”
Nana and I share another look, this one says: Who really gives a shit? Okay, that may be mine, but Nana’s is at least “get on with it, bitch, you’re wasting our time.”
Rachel stands looking at us with her hands on her hips like she’s waiting for us to what? Gasp? Scream in protest?
“Christ! Would you get to the point?” Nana sighs in exasperation.
I cough to hide my amusement. Nana’s just too funny.
Rachel’s Botox lips make a sorry attempt to pull into a firm line. “My point is I’m coming out with a men’s line of formal wear in less than a month and it would be absurd to not have Cal wearing one of my designs!”
“So dress him in your suit. You don’t need our permission for that.” I roll my eyes, even if it is disrespectful and rude.
“That’s my point!” She grinds out the words, but no matter how growly she sounds, her point is still out of my radar of comprehension. “I’m not going to have him wear my new design if nobody’s going to see him!”
My stomach and chest ache from holding in the impending laughter dying to escape. Nana’s right, Rachel is batshit crazy.
“Well … dear … then leave the lid up,” Nana says with admirable control as I bite my lips together.
“I can’t, not without consent from both of you. Changes can only be made if there’s unanimous agreement among the three of us.”
“You have our blessing.” Nana has donned her kid gloves to talk motherese with Rachel and it’s laugh-out-loud hysterical.
Rachel grabs her coat and marches to the front door. “Fine, then. Duncan will be calling you both for your consent. The funeral is Thursday at eleven.”
She slams the front door and we fall into a fit of laughter. I’ll give Duncan, my father’s attorney, my consent on this deathly important matter, but it won’t be without conflict. I’m stuck in the middle. Part of me wants to piss off my father, wherever he may be, by letting his wife dress his corpse like a mannequin and put it on display against his wishes. Then there’s the other part of me that wants to deny Rachel this, just because it’s so much fun watching her have her little tantrums.
*
Wednesday evening we spend at the visitation where I try to channel a few of the emotions I had the night we arrived so I can play the part of the grieving daughter. The problem is I already used up my initial shock and now I’m settled into the orphaned child role that I’d become accustomed to over the years.
If anything, my biggest challenge is fighting off an untimely case of the giggles as I have to listen to Rachel describe to everyone how the suit my father’s wearing brings out the natural warm hues of his skin. Maybe it’s my medical background, but I’d always assumed once all the blood was drained from the human body the skin no longer had “warm natural hues.”