The past year had been a difficult one for Rachel. She had an unarguable abrasive demeanor, a “love it or hate it” vibe, as I had once overheard two mothers call it during our annual Christmas brunch. It seems that most students at her college had chosen the latter, and she graduated with a very small clique of unpleasant and abstinent girls and a crumbling sense of self. The timing of Phillip’s arrival was so perfect it was almost ethereal: something she could take care of, that would listen free of judgement, whose main priority was always her, exactly the way Phillip the Human could never be.
“Mom, aren’t you pissed that Dad’s been hiding a gun from you this whole time?”
Mom sighed impatiently, still rocking Grace on her hip. “It’s actually my gun, Nicholas.”
I looked at her, feeling both betrayed and exhilarated. “Are you kidding me? How could you? For how long?”
“Probably around when you were born and Rachel was three.”
“So we’re one of those families?”
“Someone broke into my house when I was in my twenties. It was very traumatic for me.” She explained as if describing a mild day in March. “Here, take Grace, I’m going out there.” Mom handed over my sister, and with that, the argument ended. Together, Grace and I watched her walk across the yard in her bathrobe like a fed-up woodland nymph.
The three of them stood over Phillip’s body and argued. Or at least, Rachel argued, shrieking and gesturing aggressively while Mom met her every move with her signature calming voice, until Rachel’s voice melted into a defeated whimper. Dad was mostly silent, probably still busy conversing with his manhood. Finally, they seemed to come to a resolution, even though by then their voices were so low it was hard to make anything out. They hugged: Rachel desperately, Dad uncomfortably, Mom smugly. Two out of three parties wore only underwear.
“Gross.” Grace pointed out.
“Very much so.”
Back in the kitchen, Mom cleared her throat as if preparing to make a toast. I could tell she was having a “this is my family and I love them” kind of moment. “We’re going to have a funeral for Phillip.”
Rachel was wiping her eyes dramatically and nodding in agreement. I turned to Dad, who was still holding our family gun.
“That’s a joke, right?”
“Nicholas, please.”
“Dad, is this true?” I asked, desperate for an ally.
Dad glanced at the two women next to him with subtle terror. “I think it would make your sister very happy.” While it didn’t make it more logical, none of us could argue with this.
“Can we have cake?”
“Of course, Grace.”
“Chocolate with sprinkles?”
“Whatever you want.”
Grace shrieked and clapped her hands. She wriggled herself out my arms and ran from the room, feeling satisfied.
The four of us stood in a contemplative silence.
“When?” I asked finally.
“Next weekend, so we have time to prepare.” Rachel explained while staring at the opposing wall. I tried to meet her gaze, to have the intimate exchange of eye contact only siblings are capable of that might pull her out of her insanity as it had many times in the past, but this time she wouldn’t budge.
“Great. Are we doing open or closed casket?”
Mom shot me a glance, even though I was truly curious.
“Well, I’m going to go get dressed.” Dad announced, finally recognizing his naked body.
The four of us dispersed to pursue the rest of our Saturday. On the way out, I glanced at the clock. It was 9:37am.
• • •
