The End of FUN (11 page)

“Just
listen
. Even right now,
at its very worst
—it isn't even that bad. It's like you've got…freckles. Think of it as your redhead phase, dear. Your face has a new—how shall I say it?—
geography
. Isn't that right, Aaron?”

“More like
topography
.”

“Exactly. Little points of interest.”

“Mountains and volcanoes.”

“Stop!” cried Evie. “This isn't helping.”

“Or like little towns.”

“Yes, exactly! Proud hamlets with British names: Northmouth, Eastmouth.”

“Westforeheadshire.”

“Spotford upon Eyebrow.”

“You shut your mouth right now,” said Evie. “Both of you.”

Sam went to the kitchen to make more tea, and after that it was just me and my sister. She
did
look fairly miserable, sitting there with her knees drawn up to her chin, scratch-scratching at the red spots on her ankles, and for a moment I felt my cold heart soften. I was just about to tell her,
Be happy, I'm cutting you in for half the inheritance, so snap out of it already
. I swear—I really was. But then I noticed the furniture: a cabinet of some kind. Or maybe more like a buffet. Some kind of dresser? I didn't know what exactly to call it, but I recognized it. I knew I'd seen it before, and I knew
where
.

“Hey. That's Grandpa's cabinet, isn't it? What's it doing here?”

“Dad brought it here,” said Evie.

Then I remembered the old record player back at Dad's place—it was from Grandpa's, too.
Right
. It all made sense. “You guys are already divvying up the inheritance!”

“No,” she said. “Dad was worried about someone breaking in, that's all. So he moved a few things. And then I commented that I liked the cabinet, so…” My sister shrugged. “It doesn't matter to me. It's all
yours
, right? That's what you're getting at,
right?
”

“Hey, it wasn't
my
decision. I guess he just liked me.”

“He was crazy, Aaron.”

“Look, I'm definitely going to cut you in for some of the profits, so don't even worry about that. You want the cabinet, you can have the cabinet.”

My sister scowled. “I don't want the cabinet! I just said it was
nice
. I don't want any of it. But you know who could use some help right now? Dad. Have you thought about him? I'd split it with him, if I were you.”

“Oh—wait.” I held up a hand. “
I
get it.”

“Get what?”

“It's all so very clever.”

“
What's
clever?” she said. “What are you even
talking
about?”

Yes, it was clear to me now: they'd discussed this. Planned it out. Hatched a clever plot. Evie and Dad would each say they didn't give a shit for themselves and instead ask for a portion on the other's behalf. It was actually pretty brilliant. They could each present their case as if they were only acting out of concern for the other. And here was the
really
clever part: if I refused,
I
was the asshole.

“Wow,” said Evie. “Just—wow.” She scratched her ankle. The little dots were, like,
glowing
red.

“What?”

“Dad's paying for your school! Or have you forgotten? And now you have the
nerve
to sit there and act like it's somehow
crazy
for me to suggest that you share some of the inheritance with him?!”

Here's the thing about my sister: it's a good idea to avoid pissing her off. She looks harmless and all, but there's a fire burning in that dork. The other problem is, she's usually right.

“Look,” I said. “Fine. Whatever. It's cool. I was going to share it anyway. I'm just maybe a
little
ticked off that everyone's always telling me what to do before I even get a chance to think about it. It's like everyone assumes I'm gonna be an asshole about everything.”

Sam came back with more cookies.

“No one assumes you're an asshole, Aaron,” he said. “Have a snickerdoodle.”

I grabbed a cookie. “Everything's just been happening really fast lately. I didn't know what I was stepping into. Also, I don't care what the will says, I'm not taking a retarded dog with me back to San Francisco.”

“San Francisco?” said Evie. “Why are you going to
San Francisco
? And the dog's not retarded. It has PTSD.”

I told her I meant
Sacramento
, and she didn't seem too suspicious, maybe because she was still so pissed off about me calling the dog retarded.

“Anyway,” she said, “I think Dad's going to keep the dog.”

“It's been quite a little journey for all of us,” said Sam.

“What's that mean?” I asked.

Sam turned to Evie. “Are you going to tell him, or do I get to?”

My sister frowned. “You mean about the vet's?”

“I mean the
freezer
,” said Sam.

“What about the freezer?” I said.

“Check it out,” said Sam.

“No! Don't,” said Evie.

I went to check it out—a Frigidaire
®
v180 with frostguard
™
(YAY!). Inside, where the frozen peas or whatever should be, there was a single yellow bag, and on it was written the word
BIOHAZARD
in red capital letters.

“You don't want to open that,” said Sam.

“Why not?”

“
Because
,” said Evie. “When you see a bag that says
biohazard
, you do not open it. Common sense.”

“Yes,” said Sam, “but is it also not common sense to
not
store biohazardous materials in a residential kitchen freezer? I can never unsee what I saw!”

“Why? What's in there?”

“Puppies,” he said.

“Puppies?”

“For the record I did not authorize this. I told your sister that freezer is a public space, and she
knows
how much I like my frozen pizzas and ice creams and bagel dogs. Oh my God—did I just say that? Bagel DOGS? Anyway, yes, after she heard about the abortion mistake, dear sweet Evelyn marched down to the veterinarian's office and demanded to be given the puppies.”

“It was so awful! They deserve a proper burial.”

“Dear, that's all well and good, but in the meantime—”

“So why haven't you buried them yet?” I said.

“Yes,” said Sam. “Why
haven't
we?”

Evie sat up glowing red. “In case you didn't notice, I happen to have superpox. Also, it's freezing cold outside. Also, there's a foot of snow on the ground. But if you clowns want to go bury the puppies, by all means please grab a spoon because, oh yeah, we
also
don't have a shovel.”

No one wanted to bury the puppies in the snow with a spoon, so instead we sat on the couch and ate snickerdoodles. Homie
™
popped up to ask if I wanted a recipe. Sam kept teasing Evie about something, but I couldn't follow where he was going, only that it wasn't the puppies—something else she didn't want me to know.

“Sam
…
”
she warned him.

“Oh, come now. You can't keep love a secret forever, dear.”

My ears perked up. “Keep love a secret?”

“
Sam!
I thought we agreed—”

“Shush. We didn't agree on anything. Why don't you share the good news with your brother?”

“What good news?”

“Boyfriend,”
he sang.

“Sam!”

“That's right! Evelyn has a
boyfriend
!”

“He is not my boyfriend!”

“Oh, really? Then what
is
he?”

“I don't know. Just a
good
friend.”

Sam turned to me. “His name is
Isaac
, and he's about
this
tall, and he's got beautiful brown hair, and beautiful brown eyes, and a beautiful nose, and all his teeth and fingers—and he's an Ivy League–educated
scientist
.”

“Environmental impact engineer,” said Evie.

Evie getting freaky with a scientist? This was news.

“And they are in
love
,” said Sam.

“No! Isaac is just—he's a person I'm becoming friends with.”

“Really?
Friends?
Friends don't let friends put their hands where you two friends have put your hands!”

“Aaron,” she said. “Don't listen to Sam. Isaac is a very nice person, but he lives in New York and—”

“And he's out here practically every other weekend!” said Sam.

“For his
research
! He's studying the effect of optical radiation on birds, and it's just—it's nice to meet someone once in a while who you have, you know, an intellectual connection with because—”

Sam laughed. “So that's what the geeks are calling it these days.
Intellectual connection.
”

“And what about
you
?” said Evie.

“What
about
me?”

“Mr. International is what, fifty years old? And do you know where they met, Aaron? In some filthy chat room.”

“A pox on you, Evie!” Sam touched her nose. “Oh, wait—you've already got one! I just can't fathom where you get your ideas. If you want to know, we happened to have met the old-fashioned way: face-to-face in a ladies' restroom. The men's was out of order. And he isn't fifty—he's not even forty.
Barely
even thirty.”

“You distinctly said it was a filthy chat room.”

“No. I said we
chatted
in there about how
filthy
it was. The women's side is supposed to be the clean side, right? At any rate, it was a lovely encounter. We exchanged numbers and have been in touch. The only problem is, he lives in Canada half the year, and also he's having FUN
®
, so even when we're hanging out, it feels like he's only half there….Sigh. But he
is
beautiful, and he has a cottage on a lake, and I'm going to visit it one day and go rowing through the mist at dawn.”