All The Small Joys
“Denise better not cause commotion at Mama’s viewing tomorrow or at the funeral. Why does she always mess things up?” Kathy asked, not wanting an answer.
“You’ve got to admit, it’s a half brilliant plan. Coco did sleep at your mother’s feet for the past fifteen years—and they were inseparable, even if she was Denise’s dog,” Frank said. “Maybe your mother died because she missed the dog too much. I mean, the dog went and then she went. Just saying.” Frank stifled a smile.
“Seriously, Frank?” Kathy said, sounding cross. “It’s not okay. Not remotely okay. Denise shouldn’t have asked. She’s not going to bury that stupid dog with Mama.”
Kathy breathed deeply to calm herself. She disliked Coco, a persnickety, temperamental animal with wiry fur that appeared as if it had been run through a wash cycle too many times. The feeling was mutual, considering Coca stared and growled at her whenever she visited Mama, who always referred to it as Denise’s dog. Now home after a painful day, Kathy felt drained. She and Frank had rushed to the hospital at the butt crack of dawn after Mama’s next-door neighbor called, saying she’d found Mama collapsed outside. Eva already had called an ambulance. They sped to the hospital, the wheels of the car jumping the curb of the ER parking lot ramp. Kathy didn’t realize she’d left the car door open before rushing through the automatic doors until she heard Frank shutting two doors. He followed her inside and they both stopped at the check-in desk to ask about Mama. Kathy immediately called Denise, who said she’d come after work. Annoyed, Kathy dropped her phone into her purse.
“Denise?” Frank asked.
Kathy held up her hand and shook her head.
They waited for hours until a skinny doctor with a beard, a ponytail, and tired eyes led them into a room where he told them Mama died. Kathy’s eyes watered from the shock and then she couldn’t stop weeping. Mama was going to vacation at Cape Verde. She couldn’t be dead! Mama was going to be foster grandmother now that Kathy and Frank completed the training.
“Aneurysm,” the doctor said. “We did our best…” he added, his voice trailing off.
On the ER gurney Mama’s candy-red hair—a pop of color against the white pillow and against her now gray, waxy skin—radiated from her head like a halo. Kathy touched Mama’s face and shoulders. She looked like an empty shell. Holding Mama’s hand, Kathy was shocked that her warmth quickly evaporated. Where was that spark that animated Mama? Many years later Kathy would regret that she didn’t pray for her mother then. All she could do was weep.
She called Denise, who began howling on the other end of the line, insisting she couldn’t possibly come to the hospital. Kathy then dialed the undertaker who took care of their father. The next day Denise joined them in the undertaker’s cluttered office, where they discussed funeral details. Kathy seethed as Denise, who never asked about money, took over the planning process as if she was paying for it until Kathy exploded in fury.
“Why don’t you want a limo for the family?” Denise asked, undeterred.
“There’s us and Frank!” Kathy yelled. “Fuck the limo. Who’s going to be pallbearers?” she shouted.
“The three of us can ride in the limo behind the hearse,” Denise said.
“No limo,” Kathy said, looking at the undertaker.
“Why are you being so damned cheap?” Denise asked.
Denise chose a pearl-pink metal casket with angel figures in the four corners and rectangular bas-relief plates of the Last Supper all along the sides. Kathy said nothing but she did nix the schedule Denise wanted that stretched the viewing and funeral to three days and instead opted for two viewing times on the first day and a simple prayer service at the funeral home before the interment on the second day. After Kathy gave the undertaker the down payment from Mama’s checking account, they went to the cemetery to purchase a grave site. Kathy paid for the grave space, then later, at the florist, for the casket spray. Now finally at home, Kathy lacked an appetite and her bones ached.
“They’re both dead. Who cares?” Frank said from behind a newspaper. He was sitting at the kitchen table, annoying Kathy by breathing. She wished he’d just shut up already.
“And the dog’s already cremated in a nice-looking box. You got to admit, Denise did pick an attractive box. Maybe your mother would like some company.” He appeared amused by the idea of the dog cremains in her mother’s casket.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kathy said, sounding irritated. Why is Frank colluding with Denise? she wondered.
“It’s a feasible plan to put Coco’s cremains in your mother’s casket,” he said.
“No, and no, and no again,” she said. She slammed the palm of her hand on the kitchen counter. “Shut up about Denise and that stupid dog,” she shouted. She imagined hurling a tomato at Frank. “Show some respect. Dammit.”
Kathy pulled cucumbers, tomatoes, lettuce, and other salad fixings from the fridge. At the sink scrubbing the cucumbers, Kathy smiled about the word “Mooooooooooooom,” the way Mama signed emails and notes to her and Denise for fun when they were in school. But now Moooooooooooooooooooom was gone. Tears rolled down her face.
“The undertaker did say he could slip the box in by her feet, and no one would be the wiser. The cemetery won’t charge extra for the dog if no one says anything. It’s a nice gesture, don’t you think?” Frank said.
Kathy scoffed.
Frank set the newspaper on the table. “Massachusetts passed a bill last summer allowing deceased pets to be buried with their owners. There’s precedent for it, you know, so your mother and Coco might have plenty of company over there at Holy Redeemer. Maybe it’s been going on quietly for years with no one the wiser except for a cadre of undertakers who consider it part of their services to make sure they help the bereaved as best they can. Maybe there’s a whole population of ghost dogs and cats frolicking in the cemetery while their ghost owners get to know each other. I can show you the article if you want to see it,” Frank said.
“We don’t live in Massachusetts,” Kathy said.
Pfffffffft. Even if it was legal, putting that silly box with Coco’s cremains into her mother’s coffin represented just one more of Denise’s indignities forced on their mother. Kathy bristled at the thought. Mama was gone now. After everything was done, she’d never see Denise again. Kathy paused. Mama’s gone. She allowed the concept to sink into her brain, ricochet around her body. Grief snuck up on her when she least expected. Twice now she’d reached for the phone to call Mama before remembering she was gone. She wondered if missing Mama would characterize the rest of her life. Kathy wiped the tears escaping down her cheeks. She wanted to wail and scream. Instead she focused on preparing the salad for dinner. She set the knife down on the cutting board and scraped vegetable peels into the sink. She reached for her cell phone and dialed Mama’s number just to hear her voicemail voice and started sobbing at the sound of it. Kathy buried her face in her hands still wet with cucumber bits. Damn brain aneurysm!
Frank set the newspaper down. He hugged her from behind and rubbed her shoulders. “Imagine all the foster children we’ll have soon. Maybe we’ll be able to adopt a few,” he said, whispering in Kathy’s ear.
After dinner Frank decided to stay home, enabling Kathy to take her time with choosing Mana’s funeral clothes. Relief flooded Kathy because Frank’s focus on the dog in the casket irritated her. Denise declined helping to select Mama’s clothing, saying she was too overwrought. At Mama’s house Kathy inhaled the spicy aroma—garlic, ginger, basil—that smelled like home. A full coffee mug sat on the kitchen table next to a newspaper, the feature section pages open. A frying pan sat atop the front burner; two eggs in a small bowl, the olive oil spray bottle on the counter beside the stove, comprised Mama’s uncooked, uneaten breakfast. Upstairs, clothes Mama had bought for her upcoming vacation to Cape Verde filled the open suitcase perched on a chair in her bedroom. Her travel jewelry bag lay open on the bureau. Kathy opened the closet, pushed the hangers first one way and then the other, searching for a suitable dress. She saw a white knit dress, a solid black sheath with a wide red belt, and a royal-blue lace cocktail number Mama had worn to a recent wedding. She held the royal-blue dress up to the light to make sure it was stain-free and laid it across the bed with the others. She pulled a fur piece from under the garment protector, and that’s when she saw a large manila envelope taped to the back of the closet wall with the words “IF I DIE” in large, red, block letters. Kathy pulled it from the wall and opened it, her hands shaking. The envelope contained all Mama’s email passwords and web and mobile bank passwords, the location of her insurance policies. A clear plastic envelope held all her important papers: birth certificate, marriage license to their father, a set of small keys in a plastic bag, and other stuff for Kathy to review. A letter was attached to the plastic envelope.
Kathy, if you’re reading this, the plane crashed either to or from Cape Verde. Or something else happened and I’m gone. Everything you need to know to dispose of my stuff and settle my affairs is in this envelope. A copy of my will is here. Uncle George keeps the original in his office. And please, look after for your sister. Take care of each other. I know Denise is difficult. She’s a high-octane person—but her heart’s in the right place. Most of the time. If you’re reading this, then you know that all you have is each other. And Frank, of course. Remember to cherish all the small joys.
Love, Mooooooooooom
Mama’s rough line sketches of misshapen cats, high-heeled shoes, and flowers both in pots and floating festooned the note. The envelope contained information on her banking and insurance policies, her will, some instructions, but nothing about what to bury her in. Maybe she thought her body would be left in Cape Verde? Kathy hugged the envelope to her chest and cried before searching through bureaus for new, never-worn pink matching panties and a bra. She found a never-worn slip and was holding it up to the light, deciding if she ought to include it, when the front door opened.
Denise ran up the stairs. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“I thought you couldn’t make it,” Kathy said. “Getting Mama’s clothes together.”
“You said tomorrow morning,” Denise said.
“We have to deliver them to the undertaker tomorrow morning,” Kathy said. “Find Mama’s shoes to match the blue lace dress on the bed. Do you think we should include this slip?” Kathy asked, showing it to her sister.
“You think she needs a slip? Or shoes?” Denise scoffed and picked up Mama’s jewelry case. “Why’s this out?”
“She was packing for Cape Verde,” Kathy said, blinking back tears.
“She didn’t say anything to me about any trip,” Denise said, her tone sharp. “When was she leaving?”
“Next Wednesday,” Kathy said, her voice nearly a whisper.
“Why didn’t she tell me?” Denise sounded accusatory. She stared intently at the jewelry pieces in the case, examining the contents and fingering the items in the pouches beneath the plastic. She plucked a pair of good gold earrings out of the case and examined them closely.
Still holding the slip, Kathy stared at her sister, wondering why she showed up at Mama’s when she thought Kathy wouldn’t be there.
“We’re not burying her with jewelry,” Denise said, still examining the earrings. “Not even the fake stuff.”
“It’s hers,” Kathy said.
“Why waste it?” Denise said.
Kathy resented Denise at that moment. She’d spent endless hours defending Denise in court for her animal activism, springing her from the city lockup for disturbing the peace, trespassing, malicious destruction of property, and any number of charges. Denise acted as if she believed she deserved her sister’s legal services, without a thank-you or a payment. After Denise adopted Coco, she abandoned the dog with Mama once the newness of a shiny new puppy wore off and she had to actually care for it.
“If you’re not helping with Mama’s clothes for the viewing, you can leave,” Kathy said, sounding harsher than she meant. “Put the earrings back. We need to go over the will.”
“I forgot how you excelled at being a bitch,” Denise said, tossing the jewelry case onto the bureau, setting the gold earrings beside it. “Mama died, but you’re still an A-number-one bitch.”
Denise thundered down the stairs and slammed the front door behind her. Kathy replaced the funeral clothes in the suitcase, including her mink fur stole and a pair of silver pumps to match the blue dress, after emptying the vacation clothes out of the suitcase. She dropped a tube of lipstick from the half-packed travel bag into the suitcase and snapped it shut. Kathy pushed Mama’s vacation clothes to the foot of the bed before burying her face in Mama’s pillow, squeezing it tight, smelling Mama’s scent in the fabric. She sobbed into the pillow. All the plans they made together, she and Mama, who suggested Frank and Kathy take in foster children after she saw Kathy’s purple-and-yellow bruises from all those failed IVF hormone injections.
“Why torture yourself when too many children already born need good parents?” she asked. “Do something else. Foster children to adopt them!” Mama said. “Better than that,” she said, pointing to the bruises staining Kathy’s torso.
Kathy kicked off her shoes and phoned Frank to say she was spending the night and would deliver the clothes to the undertaker on her way home. She tossed Mama’s vacation clothes off the bed. They sailed to the floor in a cascade of greens, pinks, oranges, blues, and blacks. Kathy climbed into Mama’s bed and fell asleep, weeping.
At the funeral parlor the next afternoon, before the first viewing, Kathy heard a row the minute she and Frank stepped inside. Unmistakably, Denise’s voice dominated the fray. Kathy forced herself to take slow, measured steps toward the Peach Room. Frank squeezed her hand. Kathy’s heart beat ferociously against her chest, and once inside the Peach Room, Kathy stared at the ceiling to avoid crying. The unwelcome sight of Denise and a funeral parlor employee fighting over Mama’s fur piece greeted her.
“She’s my moooooooother,” Denise shouted, stretching the word “mother.” Denise clutched a red-and-gold box to her chest—Coco’s cremains. Denise and the employee engaged in an odd game of keep-away, the kid, probably the undertaker’s son, unable to capture the stole despite his height.
“You’re not supposed to touch the guests after they’ve been prepared,” the kid said, sounding earnest.
“Guests? Is this a fucking hotel?” Denise yelled.
Flowers, plants, and sympathy cards filled the room. Metal tripods with collages of Mama’s life flanked the casket, collages Kathy, unable to sleep, made the previous night. Behind Denise a strange man shuffled foot to foot, looking confused. In the casket Mama’s glasses sat askew on her face, and a large red splotch on her cheek looked as if a tornado had blown lipstick clear off her lips and smeared it there. Denise’s outfit—a flowy black pantsuit—sported a garish-looking golden lion that appeared to encircle her body from foot to head so that its printed, large lion face stared from her shoulder. As Denise moved and the fabric shifted, the giant lion print appeared to be climbing her petite frame. Where on earth did Denise find that awful outfit? Kathy wondered. Rivers of black mascara streaked Denise’s cheeks under her plastic, bug-eyed-framed glasses.
“Get out!” Denise yelled but the kid stood his ground.
“You gave them this fur?” she screamed at Kathy. “She’s not being buried with this fur. Or red lipstick.”
“It’s not about you,” Kathy said, working to keep her tone even.
Kathy found herself wishing Denise would have had the aneurysm instead of Mama. Denise sucked in air, sobbed, sounding fake. Kathy glanced at Frank, who bugged out his eyes, their signal for “crazy.” Kathy extended her hand to the confused man in the hideous vest. “Katherine. Denise’s sister. I don’t believe we’ve met. Frank, my husband,” she said, nodding toward Frank. “Denise didn’t introduce us to her new boyfriend,” she said, irked that this stranger would be present.
“Herb is Mama’s boyfriend,” Denise said between fake sobs.
Why would Denise know an important fact like this? Kathy wondered.
“Berry said you both treated her like her mothers-in-law,” Herb said. “She thought neither of you would approve.”
“How do you know Denise then?” Kathy asked, wishing she’d looked more closely at the IF I DIE file.
“Accident,” Denise said, sniffling. “I came early and he was here.”
“Doing what?” Frank asked.
“Avoiding them,” Herb said, pointing to Denise and Kathy. “I wanted Berry to have something special.”
Kathy studied the man, disbelieving Mama would hide a lover.
“Now let’s wait a New York minute here,” Frank said, stepping in front of Kathy and Denise. “Where’s the proof? Just because you say you’re Berry’s boyfriend doesn’t make it true.”
Denise honked into her tissue. Kathy squeezed Frank’s fingers in gratitude. Her brain had been foggy since Mama died. “Mama never mentioned a boyfriend,” Kathy said.
Herb’s face crunched in disgust as if he was eating a lemon. “I was going to propose again at Cape Verde.” Herb smiled but Kathy remained skeptical. “I wanted to slip the ring on her finger,” he said, holding up a gold ring fished out of his pocket.
“NO!” Kathy and Denise shouted at the same time.
“I don’t need your permission,” Herb said, sounding indignant.
“Mama wouldn’t want to be buried with valuable jewelry,” Denise said.
Just then the undertaker entered the Peach Room. After a glance at the casket, at Mama’s glasses askew, at the blotch of lipstick on her cheek, her mouth crooked, the undertaker erupted in fury.
“Who did this?” he thundered, glaring at Denise.
“No fur or that awful red lipstick,” Denise said.
“She can do both,” Kathy said, as if Mama could exercise a choice. “No dog cremains in the casket.”
“What about what Berry wants?” Herb asked but no one paid attention.
“Why do you get to decide everything?” Denise asked, wanting to argue.
The undertaker bent over the casket to assess the damages.
“Stop being ridiculous,” Kathy said.
“Ridiculous? Red lipstick and a mink fur stole are ridiculous,” Denise yelled, holding the stole.
“She’s not being buried with dog cremains either,” Kathy said, her voice rising. She snatched the red-and-gold box of dog cremains from Denise, holding it away from her in the same manner that Denise held the stole. “It’s not about you, Denise!”
“Mama always liked you best!” Denise roared, rushing Kathy to reclaim the gold-and-red cremains box. She accidently pushed the undertaker into the casket, pushing it off the bier, the casket bottom hitting the floor with a loud bang. The casket’s crown struck Kathy’s hands, jerking the cremains box into the air, its loose lid allowing Coco’s cremains—a course, gray dust cloud—to rain on all of them, covering them, the two peach-striped sofas, and the peach rug. Her face filled with rage, Denise tackled Kathy. In that odd lion suit, it appeared as if a lion were mauling Kathy.
“Stop it!” Herb yelled but no one listened or heard.
He pulled a referee whistle from his vest pocket and blew it for three solid minutes, his face turning crimson as he kept the long, loud, obnoxious tone sounding. Everyone covered their ears until the whistle stopped. Frank helped Kathy stand while Herb pulled Denise to her feet. The casket hung off the bier, and the men and the kid worked to right it. In the casket a slit cut into the zipper area of Mama’s lace dress exposed her back and her new pink underwear.
“This because you two can’t decide which dead animal can be buried with your mother?” the undertaker said, each word staccato with anger. The undertaker grimaced as he surveyed the ruins of the Peach Room and Mama’s dust-stained face. Coco’s cremains polluted everything in the room.
“Give me the stole, the box of cremains—what’s left in it,” the undertaker said. “No time to fix things. It’s a closed casket.”
Kathy opened her mouth to speak, but the undertaker held up his hand.
“Not a word. From either of you,” he said.
The undertaker wrapped the fur piece around Mama’s shoulders as if he was swaddling an infant. He arranged the gold-and-red box in the leg portion of the casket and situated Mama’s body in the center of the casket before gingerly shutting and locking the lid. Denise sobbed.
“I can’t put this ring on her finger?” Herb asked.
The undertaker shook his head. Herb wore disappointment on his face as he pocketed the ring and the whistle. Kathy glimpsed Herb’s disgust before he turned to welcome Mama’s friends at the Peach Room threshold, all of whom knew and greeted him with warmth.
© Rosalia Scalia
Rosalia Scalia is the author of the story collection Stumbling Toward Grace (Unsolicited Press 2021) and a second collection, Under the Radar, forthcoming in January 2025 from the same publisher.Her fiction has appeared or is forthcoming in The Oklahoma Review, North Atlantic Review, Notre Dame Review, The Portland Review, and Quercus Review, among many others. She holds an MA in writing from Johns Hopkins University and is a Maryland State Arts Council Independent Artist’s Award recipient. She won the Editor’s Select award from Willow Review and her short story in Pebble Lake was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. She lives in Baltimore City with her family.
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