Page 8 of Play Nice

We hit traffic and don’t get back to Dad’s until after nine. Leda and Daphne sit at the kitchen table drinking tea. They pretend like they weren’t anxiously awaiting our return.

Tommy kisses Leda on the top of her head.

“Hey, honey,” he says. “Awful traffic. There was an accident. Hope everyone’s okay. We saw an ambulance.”

The TV is on in the family room, Dad and Amy watching an episode of a sitcom they’ve probably already seen a thousand times before.

I sit down and steal Leda’s tea. Daphne drinks hers black—same with coffee—to be cool and low-maintenance, and to never have to put anyone else out by asking for sugar or cream. Leda takes hers with a splash of milk and a packet of stevia, the same way I like mine.

“Excuse you,” she says as I take a sip. The tea is cold. They’ve been sitting here awhile.

My sisters are both dying to know what it was like, but they don’t want to admit it, to have to ask. I could be mean and let them squirm in their curiosity, but that would be a strategic misstep, considering where this conversation is headed.

“It was fine, since you’re wondering. I saw Roy. He’s good-looking for an old warlock. Everyone there had lovely things to say about Mom. No one tried to cleanse my aura or anything. No one tried to convince me of the supernatural. No one brought up the demon. Tommy did get a reading, though.”

Leda and Daphne’s heads swivel to Tommy.

“I need to be open to new experiences,” he says, pulling out the chair next to me and sitting down. “That’s what my reading said. Though I suppose I was open to the new experience of getting my cards read…”

“Why would you subject yourself to that?” Leda says.

“What? Like you’ve never looked up your horoscope or whatever?” Daphne asks, spinning her mug around for something to do with her hands. “It’s harmless. Not like the shit Alexandra put us through.”

“It’s a gateway drug,” Leda says.

“Chairman of the D.A.R.E. program over here,” I say.

“Oh, fuck off, Clio.”

It’s harsh, out of character for Leda to curse at me like that. I turn to Daphne, her jaw hitting the table. This is why I like having two sisters. There’s always a witness.

“I’m sorry,” Leda says. Even more shocking than the curse, an apology!

“It’s okay.” It’s easy to forgive her because she’s obviously not in her right mind. Not guilty by reason of temporary insanity. “I can admit it was harder than I thought it’d be. Seeing Aunt Helen again. Seeing Mom in an urn. But it wasn’t a circus. No one offered me Kool-Aid.”

“Must not have been too traumatizing since you posted a picture,” Daphne says.

“Don’t shame me for doing my job,” I say.

“I wasn’t.”

I give her my meanest look. Tommy shudders. He can’t handle it. Neither can Daphne.

“I wasn’t!” she says, hands up.

“Good,” I say, smiling. I take another sip of Leda’s cold Earl Grey and slide the mug back across the table, then stand up, push my chair in. “Only development post-funeral is that I will be taking the lead on the house we now own.”

Daphne closes her eyes, which is proof that she already knew about Edgewood and that she’s not prepared to fight over it. She doesn’t have the energy. Plus, she sucks at fighting. She prefers peace.

“Clio,” Leda says.

“You knew I’d find out from Helen at the funeral. Is that why you didn’t want me to go?”

“Why can’t you see that I’m trying to help you?

Both of you,” she says, gesturing to Daphne, whose eyes are still shut, who’s probably wishing she’d stayed up in Hudson, where she spends her evenings cooking in the state-of-the-art kitchen of a beautiful restaurant, or eating braised rabbit and truffle risotto and turnips that she plucked from the earth with her own two hands, or eating box, her true favorite dish.

“And what do you mean by ‘taking the lead’?”

“I feel like it’s pretty self-explanatory.

I’m going to take care of all house-related stuff and whatever.

You and Daphne don’t have to worry about it.

You’re always telling me that I don’t remember the worst of it, that I was too young.

It’s not going to affect me to be there. Not like it would with you.”

Daphne finally opens her eyes, looks at Leda.

“We’re selling the house,” Leda says. “I’ve bought and sold property before. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Let me figure it out. You disparage me for being the baby and then you baby me.”

“She has a point,” Tommy says. I appreciate him standing up for me, especially because I know there will be hell to pay.

“Tom,” Leda says, jaw clenched even more tightly than usual, an angry vein appearing on her forehead. She’s going to break something.

“I’ll go by and check it out. See what work needs to be done.

What potential there is. I could spend time there over the summer.

Paint, rip up carpet,” I say. “I’ll throw in some sweat equity, and then we can put it on the market in the fall.

List it for way more. No one’s going to want to buy it as is, especially with its history. ”

There’s a lull, and I notice the volume on the TV has been lowered and realize Dad and Amy are eavesdropping from the other room.

“You’re assuming it’s still in rough shape. Alexandra might have…” Daphne trails off.

“Might have what? You know she didn’t take care of that place,” I say. “She didn’t have the money, and she didn’t live there, and that wasn’t her thing.”

“You’re underestimating the amount of work it takes,” Leda says. “It’s not just about the cosmetic. It probably needs a new furnace. A new roof.”

“I’ll hire people to do that stuff,” I say, walking over to the fridge to get a seltzer.

Leda follows me. “It’s expensive.”

“I have money. I made five K off a single post last month. And besides, I’ll make it all back when the house sells,” I say, offering her the last can of lemon. She accepts it, and I take a cherry. “Daph, you want a fizzy?”

“No, thanks,” she says. “I mean, I agree you’re underestimating what it takes to flip a house.”

“See?” Leda asks, self-satisfied.

“But…” Daphne says, and Leda’s smugness suddenly disappears. “If you really want to do it, if you think you can, that’s your call. I have no objection to you trying.”

“Great,” Leda says, slamming her seltzer down on the table. “Thanks, Daffy.”

“What? She’s going to find one spider or spot of mold and immediately give up,” Daphne says.

“Hey!”

“Prove me wrong, then.”

Leda taps her nails on her can. “It’s so Alexandra to do something like this.”

“What? Die?” I ask, opening my seltzer and taking a sip. They all stare at me.

“No. Leave us with that house,” Leda says.

“That fucking house,” Daphne says.

“It’ll be money in the bank soon enough. Out of our lives for good. Forever.” I wave my hands like a magician after disappearing something into his sleeve.

My sisters exchange a look. Leda relents. “Okay.”

“Cool,” I say. “I’m going to go change into comfy cozies. You want to watch a movie?”

I don’t wait for them to answer because I know it’s a yes. I know they can’t say no to me.

—

Everyone sleeps in the next morning except for me.

I set my alarm early, put on a pair of jeans and a vintage Rolling Stones T-shirt, find some old Adidas in my closet with the soles worn smooth.

I also discover a hoodie that once belonged to some guy I hooked up with in high school, a band geek with good hair whose name I can’t remember. Sean? Scott? Sam?

The hoodie is big in just the right way and still smells like Axe. Makes me want to go to second base.

Last night, after a viewing of Thelma & Louise , I opened the little pouch from Roy to find one of my mother’s rings—chunky silver with a white stone.

It’s beautiful, and I think it would fit, but I’m hesitant to wear it, considering there’s a nonzero chance she had it on when she died.

I pretty much suspect that the contents of the pouch were all things taken out of her pockets or off her body while she still had one, prior to cremation.

Also inside was a strange silver coin, some sage, a vial of clear liquid that I sincerely hope is holy water, and the key to a haunted house.

At least, I assume it’s the house key.

I grab the key, and the sage and holy water because why not? I put them in my purse along with my cell, then head downstairs wondering whose car I’ll “borrow.”

“Morning. I made coffee.” Dad sits at the kitchen table behind his open laptop, probably reading the news, an article about something depressing he’ll tell us about later at an inopportune moment.

“Good morning, Daddy,” I say, tying my hair up with a jumbo scrunchie. “May I borrow your car?”

“Don’t go buy coffee,” he says. “That’s why I made some. Your generation wastes so much money on coffee.”

“My generation is never going to be able to retire regardless.”

“You’re saving for retirement,” he says. He knows because he set up my account and logs in sometimes to make sure I’m being a good girl. A responsible girl. “That seven bucks could go into your IRA.”

I almost tell him I’m not going out to buy coffee, that I’m going to Edgewood, but decide it’s better if he thinks I’m venturing to Starbucks. “Please, may I borrow your car to go buy a seven-dollar latte that will make me forget my troubles for all of ten minutes?”

He sighs. “Keys are next to the fridge.”

There’s a stretch of counter space in the kitchen that’s used more as a desk, where the landline used to be. There’s a stack of takeout menus and pens and a cell phone charger and photos of us. Dad’s wallet. His car keys.

“Take my credit card. Get some for your sisters. And Amy. And what the hell? I’ll have a mocha.”

“A mocha?” I say, turning around with my pinky up.

“If I’m going in, might as well go all in,” he says. “The blue one.”

I reach for his wallet and get out the blue Chase card. “I have to run an errand first. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Okay,” he says. “Drive safe.”

“Venti mocha,” I say, opening the door to the garage. “With whip!”

“No whip!” he calls out as the door shuts behind me.

He won’t be getting that mocha for a while, if at all. It’s about a half hour drive to Edgewood from here, and I want to look around.

I’m excited about it.

It’s a new project. A new opportunity for content creation. The chance to make something pretty, curate an aesthetic. My favorite.

I get to take the setting of the worst time in my family history and transform it into something else. Make it unrecognizable as the place where Mom lost her mind, the place where she died, the place where her demons lived.

It’s the next best thing to burning it to the ground.