Leah is still talking. “Mom wanted me to call you, since she offered to do all the food for the funeral reception and she wanted to know if you’d come up and help her. She’s all stressed out, elbow deep in dips and casseroles. You know how she gets, I’ll be there, but she’s stressed. And she said you make the best Jell-O molds, which apparently Josh loves and she said it’d make him feel better. Kids let’s go, it’s time for school! Call Mom, okay Gem?”
“I…Leah…I…” My fingers dig into the metal edge of the old laminate countertop. I’m about to tell her, to tell her everything. But then I realize the line is quiet, and that she’s already hung up.
I stare at my phone and at my distorted reflection in its surface. My chest aches and I’m surprised when a tear drop falls from my cheek onto my phone’s screen. I swipe at my cheeks and then scroll through my contacts to find Josh’s number.
The phone rings, and rings, and rings. Until finally his voicemail picks up.
I swallow down the hard lump in my throat, “Hey, it’s me. I just heard. I’m sorry. Josh, I’m so sorry. I’m coming, I’ll be there soon. I…” I stop and press my hand against my stomach and draw in a shuddering breath, “I’m coming. I’m sorry.”
I take the train up and then spend the next eight hours in the kitchen with my mom and sister making funeral foods. Creamy potluck potatoes, seven layer salad, five bean salad, savory meatballs, stuffed mushrooms, macaroni salad, potato salad, chocolate chiffon pie, Texas sheet cake, lime, lemon and raspberry Jell-O molds.
Every three to five minutes I glance out the kitchen window. It overlooks the front yard and the street. Josh is out with Dylan and my dad. They’ve been at the funeral home all day, and then, according to my mom, at the lawyers, and then back at Josh’s dad’s house, and then back at the funeral home.
I want to see him, I want to hold him, I want to tell him I’m sorry. But I’m glad that if I can’t be the person he needs that he has my brother and my dad. They haven’t let him down like I have, that’s for sure.
Josh said he’d be alone when his dad died, but he’s wrong. He has my brother, he has my dad, he has my mom and my sister.
He has me.
He has all the people in town that have stopped by to drop off flowers and cards and food. People care. More people than he knew.
Leah plops down a bubbling hot tray of spaghetti casserole onto the counter. It’s one of dozens of dishes lining every surface. She arches her back and lets out a groan as she stretches.
“I’m beat,” she says.
My mom clucks then dusts the flour off Leah’s face with a kitchen towel even though Leah is going on forty and well beyond having her mom wipe her face down. Leah wrinkles her nose. “Thanks Mom.”
My mom taps her finger on Leah’s nose. “You girls were life savers today. Josh the poor dear, when he showed up on Saturday I knew something was wrong. He looked so lost. Luckily, your father was there, and Dylan too. You girls are lucky to have each other, don’t forget it. It’s hard losing a parent when you’re an only child. No one to share the load. But that’s why we’re here.”
Leah bumps her shoulder against mine and says. “Hear that, Gemma? We’re lucky to have each other.”
My throat goes tight and hot, so I turn and pretend to readjust the chicken casserole cooling on the counter. “That’s right,” I say.
I hear the front door open and voices coming in from the front hall. I quickly turn and look toward it expectantly.
“Oh good, they’re back. We’ll have dinner. Leah, I’ll give you a Tupperware to take home to Oliver and the kids.”
Dylan strolls into the kitchen, looking tired and rumpled. I look behind him, but there’s no Josh.
“Where’s your dad? Is Josh joining us?” my mom asks.
Dylan looks around the kitchen and then meanders over to the counter and grabs two meatballs from a cooling tray and pops them in his mouth.
“Dylan Michael, that food is for tomorrow,” my mom scolds.
I bite my lip and wait for my brother to answer my mom’s question. “Dad’s getting changed,” he says. Then he waits for my mom to turn back to the beeping timer on the oven and he grabs another meatball.
I wrap my arms around myself and look out at the front yard. It’s dark out, dusk has come and gone.
“Where’s Josh?” I ask.
Leah looks over at me, and Dylan frowns. “He went back to his dad’s.” Dylan shrugs. “We invited him for dinner but he said he had some things to take care of.”
I imagine him alone in his childhood home, the quiet and the dark. I bend down and pull a Tupperware container from the cupboard. “I’ll run over and take him dinner.”
Dylan shakes his head. “He’ll order pizza.”
I start scooping spaghetti casserole into the container. Then I grab another plastic tub and scoop in fluffy lime Jell-O salad full of whipped cream and lime zest.
“He should have a homemade dinner,” I say.
“Why do you care what he eats?” Dylan asks. “You haven’t paid attention to him in decades.”
I stop scooping, the metal spoon hangs in the air. “That’s not true.”
Dylan gives me his big brother, I’m always right look. “Oh right, you had dinner together in the city one night. So what, you’re friends now?”
“You had a date with Josh?” my mom asks.
“Mom,” Leah says, “please. Remember two years ago, when you had the harebrained idea to set Gemma up with Josh? Remember what she said?”
My mom’s mouth turns down in concentration.
Dylan raises his hand, “I do. Josh and I were in the next room. We heard.”
I flinch and drop the spoon back into the Jell-O bowl. I don’t remember, but by the look on Dylan’s face, I’m sure it wasn’t nice.
“What did you say?” my mom asks.
I shrug and shake my head. “I don’t know.”
But Leah remembers. “Gemma said, and I quote, ‘Me and Josh Lewenthal? Are you kidding? He’s been with the entire female population of this town, he doesn’t have a career or direction, and he thinks life is a big joke. Why would I ever date Josh Lewenthal? I’d rather date Greg Butkis.”