Free A Field Guide to Burying Your Parents by Liza Palmer Page B

she?” I ask.
    “Abigail talked to her for a bit this morning. She’s from here, works as a receptionist at the elementary school where Dad
teaches band. Seems nice enough. I just feel bad for her, you know?” Leo says.
    “Dad teaches band?” I ask. I have so many questions.
    “I know,” Leo says, smiling to himself.
    “She seems pretty upset,” I say, as we finally pass through the double doors and out into the main hospital.
    “Yeah, must be tough for her,” Leo answers.
    “Was she upset when she called Abigail? You know, to get us to come up here?” I ask, looking off—trying to seem nonchalant.
    “Connie didn’t call Abigail,” Leo says, opening the door to the waiting room.
    Three of the most adorable children I’ve ever seen are scattered around the room. They all look up at the same time. Evie
has grown into a young woman in the five years since I’ve seen her. She looks even more like Mom than I remember. I mean,
to the point where I just may lose it. The light brown hair, the giant green eyes.
    Two children I can only assume are Abigail’s and Manny’s twins are sprawled on the floor. They’re surrounded by coloring books
and picture books, but both are glued to a television that’s showing some animated movie.
    “Guys? This is your aunt Gracie. She’s been, well… she’s been on a
trip
for a while, but she’s back!” Leo announces.
    “Really?” I say, to his ridiculous lie about my whereabouts. But what was he supposed to say?
    “A trip?” Evie drawls, looking up from her book. Her light brown hair is long and straight. Why am I relieved that her haircut
is still appropriate for a young girl? She folds her body in an impossible tangle of coltish limbs, ballet flats and leggings
under miniskirts.
    “It’s good to see you again,” I say and smile, walking over to Evie.
    “Mom said you were just being difficult,” Evie says, not standing as I approach her. I’ve lost her trust. I can see it in
her eyes. The irony of this moment is jarring. I’ve been so selfish.
    “Yeah, that’s closer to the truth,” I say, holding out my arms with an expectant look. She stands like she’s waiting for the
hangman to place a noose around her neck. I pull her in for a long hug. At first she stands stick-straight, her arms at her
sides. I can sense her eyes rolling and feel her inconvenienced sighs. I know one thing that’ll crack that indifferent demeanor.
Or at least it cracked it for the first ten years of her life.
    “Washing machine… washing machine…” I joke, twisting and turning her lanky body around in my arms as if she were a load of
laundry.
    “You…
you
… hahahahaha.” Evie finally succumbs and laughs.
    “It’s good to see you again,” I say, pulling her in for a hug again. Evie wraps her arms around me and pulls me close. I breathe
her in. I won’t let this second chance slip away.
    “You, too,” she says, her head tucked into the crook of my neck. A baby girl I saw ten seconds after she was born and I walked
away. Never again. I pull her tighter. She’ll be lucky if I ever let her go.
    “You’re weirdies,” a tiny voice shrieks.
    Evie and I break from our hug. I look over my shoulder. A little boy with a tangle of dark brown hair, giant apple cheeks
and that perfect little kid skin stands with his arms akimbo. He’s wearing a tiny pair of glasses that are secured to his
head with a neoprene strap. I can see splotches of dirt and spit on his lenses from here. I wonder if he can actually see
through them. As we take him in, he unsheathes a plastic sword that’s tucked into the side of his pants.
    “Weirdies?” I ask, stepping toward the little boy. Evie gathers herself, meaning that she tries to appear as apathetic as
possible, and settles back on the couch with a book.
    “That’s Mateo,” Leo says, pointing to the boy.
    “Mateo, huh? I come in peace,” I say, extending my hand.
    “We hate peas,” the little girl says from the