Two Birds, One Sister

Content warning: Some adult language

“So sorry for your loss, dear.”

Rude much? I’m in the middle of something. Do I know you? Oh. Cathy Talbert. Mom and dad’s neighbor. Honey, that black dress isn’t as slimming as you think it is. Aren’t you like, in your 60s? Dress your age. And size. Don't you know this room is for family? There’s even a sign. Like, why are you in here?

“What’s that?” I say. So annoying.

“So sorry dear. You must be inconsolable”

Oh no. A hand. She’s going to touch me. How do I get her to go away? “Thanks for coming, Cathy. I’m sure it took immense effort to get out of the house.” Good one.

Thank god, she pulled away. Oh no, here comes a lecture. “I don’t know why, after all these years, I still try to be nice to you.” Whatever, I didn’t ask to grow up next to you. Ha. I forgot how she waddles when she walks. Like a chubby penguin. She’s stopped. Round two. “You know, it’s in bad taste to be on your phone during any funeral, let alone your own father’s.”

Yeah yeah. Go find the finger foods. Come on Face ID. Work. Ugh, I need a new phone. One. Nine. Nine. Four. Pictures. Pictures. Pictures. Ew, none of these are any good. Try again. Ok that’s better. Mmm, the lighting sucks in here. More to the side. More boob. Wait, who’s behind me? Oh god. My sister.

“Wow… A selfie at a funeral?” She laughs. “I guess I’m more surprised that you’re here at all, Steppy.”

She picked the wrong one. “Good to see you too, sis. Wasn’t sure if you’d be able to afford the gas for the trip.” Torched.

“Oh well, your husband left some cash on the nightstand.”

What a moron. “Did you just call yourself a whore?”

“Oh please. He left it out of habit. Is he here? Or are you and the mistress alternating weekends?”

She just loves pushing my buttons. This is why I didn’t want to come. Get out of my face. My poor Hermès handbag. It’s going to crease it if I keep squeezing it like this. Emma has decent features, I guess. Too bad she’s so chubby. She has dad’s build and face. Mediocre looking at best.

Mom and dad used up all the good genes on me. I’m tall, like at least five foot nine. And like, decently lean. Could probably drop a few. But I don’t wanna lose my ass, ya know. These caramel highlights were not cheap. Neither were these teeth. And I have a great rack.

”I am not playing these games with you, Emma. I’m here to mourn dad and you’re twisting the knife.”

“Girls, knock that off.” Mom to her rescue. “Today, of all days, can you two please get along.”

Emma. Stepping back. Thought so.

“I need to talk with you both for a minute.”

Ooo sounds serious.

“Now, this is going to sound odd, and it’s short notice, but we’re having a will reading on monday.”

Emma looks surprised. This is giving morbid vibes.

“But… mom, you’re still alive.” Brilliant observation, Emma.

“I won’t be much longer. And I don’t want the reading to take place without me there.”

“Mom, stop. Don’t say that.” Emma. Always so dramatic.

“I know it in my bones. I’ve always followed your father.”

“Stephany. Come on.” God, Emma’s eyes are so blue. Is she wearing colored contacts? “Tell mom she's being ridiculous.” What am I supposed to do? I can’t help it if mom is hysterical.

“Don’t you have anything to say?” Emma is so pushy. We’re getting off topic.

“I think…” Pause for effect. “She has more to say about this will reading.”

“I do.” Knew it. “And you won’t like it.”

That’s a deep breath. This can’t be good.

“Stephany, I know you and your father had your differences. But what I’m about to tell you does NOT mean he didn’t love you. He did…. He just wasn’t good at showing it.”

Eye roll. Boriiiing.

“And while I don’t agree with your father’s decision on this, I have to respect it. It was his dying wish and…legally speaking… there isn’t really much I can do about it. Your father hid some things from me as to whose name was on what.”

Enough with the monologue. Spit it out.

“Your father decided that when the inheritance is distributed…”

“This isn’t the place, mother.” Not Emma butting in as usual. Color me shocked.

“It can’t wait.” What can’t wait? “She might Irish goodbye before I have another chance.” That’s true, I do do that. I’m so quirky. Sometimes I just have to get away from people. I’m like, so introverted.

“Your father decided...That when the inheritance is distributed… Emma will have her choice of 80% of the assets.”

Huh? Of everything? 80? Say what? No, no, no. Unh uh. I don’t think so. “Excuse me?... Her choice?”

“She can have whatever she wants up to 80% of our total assets.”

Ok, Ashton Kutcher. You can come out now. “You’re kidding?” I say.

Wow, can’t even make eye contact with me. My face has to be so red right now. I cannot with this. What kind of sick prank. Oh, poor Hermès. Hang on. Don’t crease.

Say it loud. “80%?!”

“Stephany, please, don’t make a scene. I had to tell you now. I didn’t want you to be blindsided on Monday.”

Yell it. Make a scene. “But I’m the oldest!“

No, don’t you dare shush me.

“Soooo, the house, the car? Emma gets whatever she wants and I’m left with table scraps?”

“I’m so sorry, honey.”

This is unbelievable. I think I’m finally done with dad and he gets me from the grave. Emma has that stupid, shit-eating grin on her face. “Did you know about this, Emma?”

“Of course I did!” Throwing her hands in the air. Like she has any right to be pissed off. “Did you really think no one would figure out you’ve been forging dad’s co-signature? Like, you had to put their address on the applications. How stupid are you? They get every credit card statement and late notice. Or do you just not care?”

Oh shit, they know. Cut in. “Name calling. Real mature Emma.”

“It’s a good thing mom and dad built a savings ‘cause you’ve ruined their credit. If it wasn’t for mom, your ass would be in prison for fraud. And then you have the gall to post about your lavish vacations? God forbid you ever get your hands on our childhood home. It’s been in this family for 3 generations, and dad knew you’d immediately sell it to pay for your absurd and selfish lifestyle.”

“Oh and you’re the perfect daughter?” She will not get the last word. “I’m an entrepreneur while you…”

“Fifty thousand instagram followers doesn’t make you an entrepreneur, Stephany.” Stop interrupting me!

“First of all, I have almost 100,000 followers, Emma. And not that you’d know, but it takes time and money to curate an image. I have to go on those trips. Brands don’t sponsor people with a boring life.”

“An image? You really are delusional, huh? You’re 30 years old! Grow up! You’re flat broke and you spend all your money on plastic surgery. Look at you! You look like a walking pair of tootsie pops with that ridiculous buttlift. It’s so cringe to think…”

I could strangle her! “You’re the one that’s delusional, Emma. You have no clue what you’re talking about. I'm literally an actress on TV. I know you’re too caught up in your own little world to support your sister, but don’t take your sad life out on me.”

“Signing up for dating shows doesn’t make you an actress! You’ve been on three and got sent home on like episode two of them all. You ain’t even D list, bitch.”

Shut up! Shut up! Make her shut her loud mouth. Slap her. Slap her hard. That landed GOOD. Jesus, I think I broke a nail.

“You do NOT talk to me like that!”

I have to get out of here before I lose my mind. I can’t believe what is happening. Ugh, shouldn't have worn heels. Ouch. Damn ankles. Outside. Go outside. Away from Emma. Watch your step. Go to the car. Get in. Take a pill. I am so furious right now. His own daughter? I could just SCREAM. Who parked so close to me. Dumbass car. Red Tesla. Kick it. Ow! How could he do this to me? It’s so wrong. Who does something like that? I’m literally shaking.

“Woah, woah! Don’t hit my car.” Oh no, someone’s getting out. Someone was in there.

Guy. Good looking guy. Holy shit. Slim-tailored black suit. White shirt. Gray tie. Well coordinated. Wow, he's cute. He’s tall and so muscular. I like his arms. He reminds me of Steve Howey. Except his hair has that wavy quaff and his bangs hang in his face. So boyish, but like, still manly. Like Henry Cavill wears it.

”Oh my god. I am so sorry. It was a total accident. I’m so upset right now. I wasn’t paying attention.”

Your car’s fine. See, no dent. Look at me. “Are you ok?” Aw, he’s concerned. How sweet.

“I'm fine.” Straighten your dress. Fix your hair you slut. “Funerals, ya know.”

“You sure?”

I like persistence. “Just… got some bad news is all.” To put it mildly. 

“Don’t tell me, they’re already out of booze?”

What an ADORABLE smile! Ahh I love his dimples. His teeth are so white.

“Sorry. Probably not a good time or place for jokes.”

“Joke to cope, amirite.” I’m so witty. Keep it going. Ask him a question. “How did you know Phil?”

“Um, I didn’t, really. I’m here to support my girlfriend.”

Girlfriend? Who? Who do mom and dad know that could pull this guy?… Besides me.

“Lucky girl.”

He’s looking at the door. No, look at me. What is it? Black vest, white shirt. Funeral home employee. Oh, they’re just closing the door.

“I think they’re getting started. Hope you feel better.” He says.

No, don't go. Italian leather on his feet. Just my type. Hate to see you go. Ooo I wish I could be those tight slacks. What I would do to him in that car. He’d have to put on the autopilot.

But now that I think about it, he was kinda rude. He didn’t even ask me my name. Or introduce himself. Or offer to walk me inside. That’s a red flag for sure. He didn’t say anything about my hair or dress. He really felt the need to mention he has a girlfriend? Does he think I was hitting on him? Cocky. Tell him you’re married and not interested. Before the ceremony starts.

Get it together Stephany. Shake it out. Breath. Breath. Breath. Ok, feeling better. You are smart. You are talented. You are desirable. You are smart.

You are talented. You are desirable. Damn, this engagement ring has shrunk. Get. Off. In the bag you go.

Better go inside, I guess. Seriously, who could that guy's girlfriend be? I bet he works for a studio. Shit, did they lock the door? Oh, wait, gotta pull, Steph. Ha. I don’t know, I’m just spacey sometimes. This place is full of old people. Ugh, smells like moth balls. What’s with this sad elevator music? 

“Everyone please find your seat. The service will begin in 5 minutes.”

Perfect time for a drink.

There's the bar. No bartender? Oh well. Where’s the gin? There it is. Just plastic cups? Fine, I guess. A few more microplastics won’t kill me. Just a liiiitle bit more. Any tonic water? How about a lime? Mmm, refreshing. Maybe I was a bartender in another life. I could almost just watch the ceremony from here. But I’d be fine if they closed those double doors. Sitting up front is so awkward. There’s mom. There’s Emma. Next to her. Who’s that?… Who is that?… No way…. It’s the man…. That I just met outside. Damn it. Just spilled half my drink. Clumsy Steph. With an arm around her? A hug? A kiss? Supporting his girlfriend? Emma?... He’s dating Emma?

What the actual fuck? You cannot be serious. Emma? Of all the places and girls in California, he’s at a funeral with my sister. This does not compute. Ha. Clever. How did she possibly bag him? Where could they have met? She’s a loner. Dating app? What does she have? What does she have that I don’t? Well, nothing. I’ve got more, even. He just doesn’t know it. I bet if he did, he’d try a little harder to make conversation. Can I talk to him? Without Emma knowing? No. She’d see. Or he’d tell her. Even if I got his name I couldn’t DM him without Emma finding out. Then she’d poison the waters. Has she poisoned them already? He would’ve mentioned it if he recognized me. How do I talk to him without Emma knowing? They’d have to break up. Well, no… 

Emma could be out of the picture in other ways. But I still don’t know how to find him. Another funeral. That’s it. He’d be at Emma's funeral. And we could have sympathy sex after. And that would mean… inheritance problems. Gone. I could guilt trip mom so easy. Who else would it go to? Two birds, one sister.

But how? Without becoming a suspect? Without getting caught? Can I do it here? Now?

In my mind, I see a vision of my childhood. Me, Emma, Gail and Phil. We’re all at the Talberts’. Food is on the grill and we’re gathered together, setting a picnic table. Mrs. Talbert's watch begins beeping. She grabs her wrist and resets the timer. She goes inside and when she returns, she’s carrying a black case. She unzips it, and removes a needle. She flicks the side, exposes a small portion of her stomach, wipes it with an alcohol pad, then sticks the needle in.

That’s right. Mrs. Talbert is a diabetic. Insulin. Apology for earlier. Steal it. Then what? Bottles. Behind the counter. Do they have it? There. Whiskey. Her favorite. Empty the syringe in a glass of whiskey. “No hard feelings.” Give it to Emma. Overdose. Untraceable. Game over.

“Phil was a loving husband and wonderful father.” Mom is speaking.

Where’s one of those programs? There. Hurry. Hurry. Open it up. Gail. Gail. Gail. Here. “Eulogy: Gail Marshal.” “Prayer.” “Closing.” 5 minutes, max.

Grab the Maker’s Mark. Plastic cup. Pour a shot. Little more. Ice. Two cubes.

Ok, need both hands. Put it down on the counter then head for the reception room. Wait here. Behind the double doors. Wait for it to end. There’s Mrs. Talbert. Back row. Empty chair to her left. Purse in the chair to her right. Sitting alone. Hmm. Too bad.

“Amen.”

Almost done. Where’re those drops? We’re gonna get through this Hermès. Did I take it out? There you are. “Menthol oil.” One drop under each eye.

“Thank you all for coming.” That’s the pastor. “If everyone could please make your way to your vehicles and we’ll begin lining up for the procession to the gravesite. Please remember, we’ll be gathered at the northeast end of the Brookstone cemetery located at 1200 Fulton st. Thank you and drive safe.”

Now. Before Mrs. Talbert can stand up. Sit next to her.

“Stephany?” Ha. She’s so confused. “Why weren’t you upfront with your fam…”

Cut her off. “I just wanted to tell you I’m so sorry if I offended you earlier.” Cue quivering lip. Here come the tears. Works every time. “I’m just so upset about my dad and all… and I guess I was taking it out on you.”

Let ‘em roll. Let the tears roll.

“Oh… It’s alright dear.” Patting my leg. Again with the touching. “I’m sure it’s a tough time right now.”

“It is. It really is.” Sniffle. She’s grabbing a Kleenex. Oh, that’s actually pretty helpful. Blot the tears. Don’t wipe. “Thank you for understanding.”

Grab her. Give her a hug. Seal the deal. She wasn’t expecting that. Quick. Reach into her purse. Grab the black case. Got it! Cover it with poor Hermès. Ok that’s enough of that. Get off me. Stand up. Time to GTFO girlfriend.

“God bless you, Cathy.”

Back to the bar. To the glass. Hurry. These damn heels. I’m gonna break an ankle. Unzip the black case. Two syringes. In the glass. Ew. A little got on me. Wrap them in a paper towel. Trash can? Trash can? There. Behind the bar. What about the case? I have to return it, right? Yes. Otherwise, Mrs. Talbert will suspect. Will you fit in Hermès? Promise, this is almost over bestie.

Now the hard part. Grab the cup. Back to the double doors. Scan the reception room. Where’s Emma? Still at the front with mom and her Stockholm Syndrome victim. Ha. I’m so clever. Not yet. He can’t see me. Careful. Will he leave her side?

No way. Lucky break. He’s walking toward me. Oh shit, he’s walking toward me. Dip behind the door. There’s that amazing backside again. Men’s bathroom. Great, then I have a few minutes. Go.

Move. Move. Get out of the way. Ugh, brushing arms. So many strangers touching me today.

Get in front of her.

”Emma, can I talk to you for a second?”

“Stephany. Where’ve you been?”

Fan your eyes. “Truthfully, I was just too angry to be in front of all these people. So I stayed in the lobby to try to cool off a bit you know. And then I saw a bottle of Maker’s Mark and it made me think of how when we turned 21 dad let us drink a glass with him.”

Here come the waterworks. Those classes are worth every penny.

“I don’t, like, want any drama. Ok? I just want to focus on processing the grief right now. Here.” Offer the glass. “I poured you this as a gesture of my good intentions.”

Take it. Take it. Take it! TAKE IT!