A week after the funeral, they sat facing one another. The cafe was busy enough that neither one would create a scene, but each was tempted to. Someone brought them water, but one of them politely refused and asked for mineral instead, sternly adding, “No ice.”
The younger of the two snorted, “Jesus Christ Dee, it’s just fucking water.”
Deanna rolled her eyes, “I just hate when they do that. You ask for mineral water and they pour it right into a glass of ice.” She paused, then snapped up the cloth napkin from her plate, setting it open on her lap. “So, Sarah, what was his name this time, or did you even bother to ask?”
Biting her bottom lip, Sarah closed her eyes; she was used to this. She then sighed, “Tom. His name was Tom.”
“Oh.” Deanna raised her eyebrows, fluttering her fingers. “Surprise, surprise.” Someone brought her her mineral water, opened the chilled little bottle and attempted to pour, but she stopped them with a curt smile. “It’s all right, I’ll do it.”
Waiters came and went, trays of brunch hoisted on their shoulders. Sarah leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, fingers deep in her hair. “I don’t understand.”
Deanna was flipping through the leather-bound menu. “Neither do I, little sister. Neither do I.” She closed it, having decided what she wanted without really knowing if it was something they offered or not. “Was?”
“What?”
“You said his name ‘was’, past-tense. Is he dead or have you moved on already?” Deanna poured herself half a glass. “But with you, there really wouldn’t be a difference.” Just before drinking it, she added, “Shame, really. You found one that could afford a decent suit.”
Sarah didn’t move. It seemed as if nobody moved at all, then the clink of glasses somewhere behind her. She leaned back and opened her menu. Actually reading the contents of the breakfast page, she asked, “How’s menopause? Those hot flashes must be the highlight of your day.”
“Oh, must you be such a-“
“Be a what, Dee? A bitch? A cunt?” She snapped the menu closed, dead stare. “Like looking in the mirror, isn’t it?”
Through clenched teeth, Deanna hissed, “Not here, Sarah. Have some respect for yourself.”
Sarah laughed, “You are so out of your mind, Dee. I don’t know how Dad put up with you.”
“The same way he did with everything else.” Deanna watched the hostess seat another couple by the bay windows. “With a bottle of bourbon and a mountain of contempt.”
“He didn’t hate us,” Sarah whispered, fingering the edges of her menu. Their waiter made a beeline for their table, caught the look on Sarah’s face and thought better of it, veering off.
“Obviously didn’t hate you. You were the mistake, but he left you everything now, didn’t he?” Deanna drank from her glass again, then stared at it, already warm. “Why don’t they make mineral ice? I bet you could make a fortune.”
“I wasn’t. A mistake.”
Deanna nodded her head, looking for the waiter. “Oh, that’s right. Dad knew Mom stopped taking the birth control. He absolutely knew she was a wreck when he got his first book published.” She caught sight of the waiter and made a ‘come here’ gesture. A single bracelet slid down her thin arm. “He was fully aware.”
Staring out the bay window, watching sunlight ripple across the marina, Sarah bit her bottom lip again. The waiter finally came over, hesitant.
Deanna ordered a Spanish omelet, with two eggs white and one yolk, salsa on the side, please, cottage cheese instead of potatoes, rye toast well done but not burnt. Sarah, in turn, ordered scrambled eggs and bacon and smiled weakly, handing over her menu to the waiter’s pristine hands.
Deanna emptied her bottle into her glass. “Richard’s fine, by the way. Thank you for asking.”
“He seemed to take Dad’s death pretty hard.” Sarah lifted her glass, wet her lips. The cafe seemed to get warmer as the sun drew across the marina.
“Yes, well, he did lose his cash cow.” Deanna folded her fingers beneath her chin. “Guess he’ll now just turn his attention to you.” She smiled. “As if he wasn’t paying enough attention already.”
Sarah couldn’t unclench her fists. “Enough, Deanna. Enough.”
“No, dear,” Deanna shook her head, not a hair out of place, eyes on her sister. “Not ‘enough’ at all.”
“You can have it, his journals, the rights, whatever, all of it.” She finally unclenched her fists, set them on the table. “I fucking bequeath them to you, okay?”
Deanna suddenly pitched forward. “No. It’s not okay. I held that man’s hand through all of it, practically wiped his ass at the end, and he left me shit.” She caught herself, leaned slowly back, played with the silverware by her left hand. “I more or less raised you. He didn’t, I did. While he was running around doing readings and book tours and God knows who he was fucking-“
“Stop it,” Sarah rubbed her temples, “please stop.”
The waiter brought their food, setting each plate expertly with a flair that neither one noticed, both now staring out the window.
Composing herself, Deanna picked up her fork and knife, touching the sides of her plate, appraising it. “I’m just saying,” she cut into the omelet, took a piece and dabbed it into the salsa set off to her right. “Like father, like daughter.”
“Enough!” Sarah shot up out of her seat, pitching it back. One of the couple behind them dropped their utensils.
“Sit down,” Deanna was wild-eyed. “Sit down, Sarah. Sit down right now-“
“No,” Sarah jabbed a finger at her sister mid-air, leaning over the table. “I will not sit. I will not hear any more of this, this stupid bile out of that pathetic mouth of yours. He left you the house, goddammit, the house we both grew up in-“
“The house you left,” Deanna spat. “When it was no longer convenient for you-“
“I got a writer’s fellowship, Dee! It got me the position at Santa Cruz, he wanted-“
“HE WANTED YOU TO SUCCEED WHERE I FAILED!”
Deanna had stood, trembling and furious. Neither one could catch their breath; the entire cafe hung, waiting. Then, the clatter of plates somewhere else, and Deanna slowly sat back down, her eyes fixed on her plate, settling in her seat again.
Sarah remained standing, closed her eyes, exhaled. “I can’t stay. I have a flight.”
“Fine.” Deanna reset her napkin on her lap. “The eggs are cold anyway, but I’m famished.” She picked up her empty bottle of mineral water, looked around and past Sarah, caught the attention of a nearby busboy and held it up so she could get another one. He nodded, and she put the bottle back down. Focused back on her plate, she dabbed into the cottage cheese.
Sarah bit her lip and started to walk past her. Quickly, Deanna set her knife down and touched her sister’s elbow, not looking at her. “When will you visit again?”
“Soon. The semester’s almost over.”
They finally looked at one another. Slowly, Sarah leaned down and hugged her sister. With one arm, Deanna awkwardly did the same. “When it’s over then.”
Sarah nodded, taking a deep, final breath of her sister. “When it’s over.”