Page 49 of Don’t Tell Me How to Die

FORTY-SEVEN

There was no way I could tear myself away from Lizzie. I called Alex.

“The kids are going to need sustenance,” I said, “and you’ve been elected to pick up a pizza, feed them, and then be ignored.”

“No problem,” he said. “What are you going to be doing?”

“Lizzie is home, and the two of us are bonding.”

He laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“I believe I detected a hint of dysarthria in your voice.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’re slurring your words. ‘The kids are going to need shushtenance’ was my first clue. My medical brain immediately started to wonder if you had a ministroke, but the party boy in me is guessing that you girls are well into your first bottle of wine.”

“One of you is right on the money, Dr. Party Boy. You figure out which one. I’ll see you later.”

“Hold on, pal,” he said. “I will either pick you up later, or I’ll see you tomorrow. As good as I am at providing nourishment for their adolescent bodies, the kids still do better with two parents.”

It was an innocent joke, but it was a total gut punch. Two parents . I couldn’t speak.

“Did you hear me, Maggie? I don’t care if you and Lizzie get shit-faced, but promise me that neither of you will be driving tonight.”

“Promise,” I said meekly. “See you tomorrow. I love you.”

“What an incredible coincidence,” he said. “I love me too.”

It was a tired old line, but it always made me smile.

I hung up. “That clinches it,” I said to my sister. “You’re stuck with me for the rest of the night. Doctor’s orders.”

“Perfect,” Lizzie said. “You can help me with the laundry.”

I followed her into the laundry room and watched as she rooted four days’ worth of dirty clothes out of her suitcase, threw them in the washing machine, and headed for the kitchen.

The first bottle of wine seemed to have evaporated, so we popped the cork on a second.

“We should make a list,” Lizzie said, picking up a pad and pencil from the counter.

“Of what?” I said.

“Criteria,” she said as we went back to the living room. “It’s like online dating. You’re the gold standard. If we’re looking for your successor, we should write down all the special qualities you have that Alex adores.”

She sat down and started to write. “Let’s see... pushy, annoying, control freak, adequate boobs...”

“I see you’ve lost no time finding the humor in all this,” I said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said innocently. “Now, how do you spell ‘intransigent’?”

“You know what would be extra special?” I said, playing along. “It would be great if we could find a woman whose grandmother was the only female physician in a county of more than fifty thousand people. Dad loved that about Connie. And Alex is a doctor, so he’s bound to love it even more.”

We drank and laughed our way through the most serious conversation we’d ever had. Fifteen minutes and another half bottle of wine into the exercise Lizzie put the pencil down.

“I think we’ve got it,” she said, looking at the pad. “This is solid.”

“Read it back to me, Miss Moneypenny,” I said.

“Wanted,” Lizzie said. “New wife for successful doctor with two slightly annoying but incredibly adorable teenage children. Candidate should be incredibly intelligent, fun loving, moderately patient, really, really great with kids, have an amazing sense of humor, adore long walks on the beach, and be able to suck dick like a Park Avenue call girl.”

“Wait a minute. I don’t remember saying anything about dick sucking,” I slurred, my dysarthria in full bloom.

“I thought you told me Alex said you give world-class blow jobs.”

“I do. But that should be my legacy. When I die, that title is retired. Strike the dick-sucking part,” I said.

She scribbled on the pad. “Okay. Did we leave anything out?”

“Duh... what about healthy? The first one broke down halfway through the race. The next one should have great genes and no family diseases coursing through her veins. The only things she should have inherited are a trust fund and the loyalty and devotion of a Labrador retriever.”

“Damn it, Maggie, you’re making her sound spectacular. Alex can’t marry them all. Maybe if I’m lucky there’ll be a dyke in that pile of applicants.”

“What about Olivia?” I said.

“Oh my God,” Lizzie said, laughing hysterically. “I completely forgot that I have a girlfriend.”

By the time the clothes were ready to come out of the dryer, we were both too plastered to fold.

We staggered upstairs and crawled into the same bed for the first time since we were kids.

“Thank you,” I said as I curled up next to her.

“For what?”

“For making me laugh.”

“That’s the thing about the McCormicks, Maggie,” she said. “It’s in our DNA. We know how to laugh through the pain.”

“God knows,” I mumbled as I drifted off, “we’ve had plenty of practice.”