I expected to feel nothing after he said this. After all, I had been helpinghim. I was doing the favor. But there was a pit in my stomach after he spoke, and I felt it all the way home. I felt it when I went to bed that night. And I still felt it when I woke up thinking of my funeral.
When my dad finally came home, I found him making business calls at the kitchen table. After he got off the phone, I asked him if there was a new funeral he was planning, but he didn’t answer me.
“C’mon,” I said. “What is it? A funeral for a stray cat? A marmoset?”
Silence.
“Just give me a hint.”
More silence.
Eventually I went upstairs and called Grace. I asked her if I could come over for a little while. Surprisingly enough, she told me to pack a bag and stay for the weekend.
“Your dad just needs more time to get over it,” she said.
“Over what exactly?” I asked.
“His heartbreak.”
“Oh,” I said.
41
So I showed up with a backpack and sat on Grace’s balcony while she went to work. There was an egg-shaped wicker chair hanging outside of her small, stylish apartment downtown and I claimed it for my own.
It had been a while since I lived with a woman and the perks were pretty awesome right off the bat. Cleanliness, for one. Grace did a natural deep clean of her entire apartment every weekend, she told me. And she used a fancy cider vinegar that made the whole place smell like apples. Also, there were no freakishly long pubic hairs on the toilet seat, so that was a plus.
Another perk was the grocery shopping. Grace’s fridge was stocked with organic produce, and I was given full access. I began to eat fruits and vegetables like a sailor staving off scurvy. And finally, there was the library, mostly composed of books about the alternative death movement. After spending some time just scanning the shelf, I beganto read through them, taking in large gulps of information about backyard burials and nature cemeteries.
That evening, Grace still wasn’t home, so I ignored my best instincts and went into her home office. I only had to look in two drawers before I came across the baby pictures. Grace appeared in one after the other, along with a man with the same blue eyes and turned-up nose as the child. And, of course, the closer I looked, the more the baby girl resembled Grace, too. Her hair was an identical shade for one thing. And her top lip curved in just the same way.
Later that night, over vegan lasagna and a glass of wine, I asked her if I could volunteer at Greener Pastures the next day. Grace looked surprised, but only for a few seconds. She finished chewing a bite of lasagna, and simply said, “I don’t know how your dad will feel about that.”
But I showed up the next morning and she didn’t turn me away. So, for the next week, while I waited for my dad to talk to me again, I went to Grace’s office in Northeast Minneapolis. Mostly, I helped with record keeping and answering the occasional phone call while Grace’s assistant was at lunch. But a few days in, I began to keep a blog, writing short entries about hand-carved stoneware urns, funeral photographers, recycling pacemakers, and finally,on day five, I began an extensive entry about how to remove deceased family members from social media.
I started it with no trouble, writing about proof of authority and login information. It was only when I felt the urge to comment on the topic that I froze up. By the end of the morning, I broke down and visited Jonah’s Facebook page. The page had not been taken down like I thought. Instead, in the time since I’d last checked it, it had become a full-on memorial page.
“Missing you, J!” wrote a former classmate. “Had a dream last night that you were still here, man. Wish it were true.” “Your birthday’s coming up, soon. I didn’t forget!” Extended family were present, too: “We’ll be setting a place for you at the lake this year, Jonah. Be sure to pay us a visit.” “Hope you’re enjoying your journey.” “Your cousin just graduated high school. I know you’d be proud!” I scrolled down the page.
Since I wasn’t a “friend” anymore, I didn’t have access to all the pictures, but I was surprised to find that I still had most of them memorized. There were so many times I’d used them as placeholders to picture him when I hadn’t seen his face in months. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been staring at the screen when Grace tapped me on the shoulder. I jumped.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I didn’t answer, and Grace looked at the screen over my shoulder.
“There’s a food truck down the street with decent tacos. You ready for lunch?”
It would have been so easy to say no, to say I was almost finished with my blog post. But I darkened the computer screen in front of me and stood up. I followed Grace out the door and out onto the street. Summer was here in earnest and I was sweating the instant the hot sun hit my neck.
“You’ve been doing some nice work on the blog,” Grace said. “I’ve gotten a lot of compliments.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’m glad.”
“I think it’s time to start paying you for it.”
I heard myself laugh.
“I’m eating all of your food,” I said. “I live in your house.”
