But Mom was having none of it. She waved her hand dismissively. “They want to be buried by a Day, and it’s an honor and a privilege to do so! I won’t send them somewhere else when we can give them the best ending.”
It was next to impossible to argue with Mom when she had her mind set. Much like Alice, she was immovable. Carver was the sensible one, but he also knew when it was a lost cause. He shook his head and mumbled something under his breath （that sounded suspiciously like “this is why we never went on vacation”）， and I was left sopping up the syrup and asking, “Can I do anything to help?”
“Oh, sweetheart, I don’t think so,” Mom replied. “Besides, Alice has most of the funerals this week under control. I just have to be there to—to be there. Xavier would haunt me if I didn’t. Though I don’t think I can do all the heavy lifting.”
“I can do that,” Carver suggested. “I have some time accrued.”
I frowned down into my waffle. Business as usual, even though one of us was gone, and it was strange in the way that The Twilight Zone was strange. As though, on the plane ride home, I’d fallen into a parallel dimension. Everything was off-kilter enough to be wonky. How everyone’s life was still running, still going, still pushing forward when Dad—
I fisted my hands. “But what about Dad’s funeral arrangements?”
“Aren’t they just so eccentric?” Mom sighed wistfully.
“Someone needs to do them, Mom.”
“Meaning us,” Carver guessed, and stirred his glass of water. “I’m afraid I can’t help all that much. I have a tech report due at the end of the week, and if I’m helping with the other funerals . . .”
“I won’t have time between the two services and the embalming processes,” Alice added, somewhat annoyed. “His requests are just—just so—so inane.”
“They’re what Dad asked for.”
“I know, but we don’t have the time, Florence.”
That struck a nerve. “Well, I have time, so I’ll do all of them.”
My younger sister rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to do all of them. I just meant—”
“You don’t have time, I get it.”
She threw up her hands. “Sure! Whatever! Do it yourself. Florence Day, always being the lone hero!”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it—”
“Girls,” Mom interrupted in her steady, soft voice. Alice and I both sank back into the booth. “Fighting about this won’t solve anything.”
No, but I wasn’t the one picking the fights. I began to say as much, when Carver checked his smart watch and said, “Karen’s supposed to come by with Dad’s finances in a few. Want to go ahead and head over there, Mom?”
“If we must,” Mom sighed. “Xavier could’ve at least given us a hint on how to go about the Elvis one . . .”
Yes, but I’d figure it out.
I wanted to ask about the lawyer, and the finances—I hadn’t heard anything about a meeting, but it seemed like my siblings had. Maybe they didn’t want me to be a part of it, or I’d missed the memo, or . . . I didn’t know. A myriad of things.
But whatever—I tried to brush off the feeling that I was missing out on something that I should’ve been a part of as I grabbed the ticket for the bill.
“Go on, I’ll pay,” I said. “I think it’s my turn, anyway.”
My family scooted out of the booth and started talking about the funeral and how widely to send out the invitations. To the relatives in the Lowcountry, and the poker club, and most of Mairmont （including the mayor, Fetch, a bubbly golden retriever who had won reelection three times）。