Page 30 of Forecasting the Forward

Tomorrow morning.

Me

Isn’t the night before a funeral meant for something like a wake, or a viewing?

Becca

Not in my family. It’s all about presentation and appearances. My mother is hosting all of my father’s bigwig investors and country club buddies. She actually doesn’t care that he’s dead. She can use it to build up her social standing.

Me

I’m sorry, Spitfire. That sounds hideous.

Becca

She told me I have to stay silent. Even if someone addresses me, I’m only to nod, or shake my head.

Me

What the fuck? You’re not a fucking child.

Becca

To her I am. And my brother too. I’m an abomination. The black sheep. A waste of space. My dad died over a week ago, and they just called me two days ago. They weren’t going to tell me, but people asked where I was. I’m only here because of that.

Me

Alright, Spitfire. You can send me your location right fucking now, or I’ll find it myself. It’ll just waste less time if you give it to me. I’ll be damned if you’re going to some stupid funeral party alone, like you’re walking the plank. Nope. Not on my watch.

Becca

A funeral party. I literally snorted, and my mother just told me I sound like the help. Women of good standing NEVER snort. We must not show emotion. We are robots. My mom looks like a robot with all the damn Botox she’s got in her face. She won’t show emotion because she CAN’T.

Becca

I may have gotten into my father’s bourbon.

Me

I have a feeling I’m going to like drunk Becca.

Becca

I kinda like drunk Becca too.

Me

Send me your location, baby.

Becca

Only if you promise that you’ll be my pretend boyfriend for the night. Having a hot hockey player as a boyfriend will be good.

Me

You think I’m hot?

Becca

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