The Red State

‘Could you come with me?’

Mom was wary of travelling on her own. Dad had always made the arrangements for their holidays. She’d been on a few weekends away with girlfriends and stayed with us at the Cape during the summer, but nowhere by herself.

‘Of course,’ I said, though I would have happily skipped this, maybe sent some flowers and a card. Maybe. ‘How long are we staying?’

‘Well, the funeral mass is on Saturday and I should go to the wake on Friday. You don’t have to go to that. Put everything on my credit card.’

I wrote down the details and wept at the airmiles I’d have to use for New York to Orlando. Tick, tick, click and we have airport transportation booked, tickets to Orlando and two hotel rooms close to Our Saviour Church. I keyed in my credit card. Offer it up, as Sister Jean used to say.

I told my boss that I had to take Friday off to go to Florida. ‘Florida? Ugh. Mar-a-Lago and theme parks.’ Donna said, focused on the drafting table.

‘Aren’t they kind of the same?’

Donna laughed. ‘I’m imagining the Putin ride.’

‘It’s for a funeral. I’ll be back in on Monday.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. Who’s in Florida?’

‘My aunt Martha. My mom’s sister.’

Mom doesn’t seem especially upset. She and Martha were never close, a seven-year age difference and Mom’s natural resistance to bossiness meant occasional emails and a yearly Christmas card with scrawled updates. When we took the boys to Disney World five years ago, Mom didn’t tell her we were coming.

LaGuardia’s not bad, but the Orlando airport looked like the eve of a 4th of July parade, only it was May. Giant American flags festooned on the walls, an occasional traveller headed in our direction toward arrivals. We waited for Mom’s luggage then spotted a round man wearing a Seminoles hoodie holding the airport shuttle sign from our hotel.

‘For Kate Quinn?’

‘Right this way.’ He took Mom’s suitcase and headed for the big glass doors.

We sat in the back of the minivan, classic rock turned low. A giant billboard outside a church on route 520 in red, white and blue. God bless President Trump. I gave Mom a gentle nudge but stayed quiet.

We checked in and I arranged to meet Mom at the Starlite restaurant after the wake. I could at least get some good seafood out of this. I arrived first. Five minutes later Mom walked in, followed by my younger sister Nancy. Crap. The mahi better be amazing.

I occupied a table for two. I waved them over and there was a shuffle as the waiter moved us to a bigger table. Mom settled herself next to me. ‘I didn’t know you were coming,’ I said to Nancy.

‘She flew in this afternoon,’ Mom said. I wanted to ask where she got the money but I already knew. Mom’s credit card.

Nancy ordered a sauvignon blanc. Mom’s lips got thinner.

‘My favourite aunt just died. I can have one drink.’

‘Yes, but there’s always going to be a reason…’ Mom shook her head. ‘You’re a grown-up.’

I wasn’t certain whether it was the Xanax or whether she just didn’t want to bother with the expectations of conversation, but exchanges with my sister made no sense. The one we had before our drinks arrive went like this:

‘When did you get here?’ I asked.

‘I didn’t expect it to be so warm. I might need to go shopping later,’ she replied.

‘Are you staying at our hotel?’

‘I don’t really like seafood. I’ll probably get a burger.’

I gave up. The drinks arrived. Nancy scrolled on her phone for most of dinner but didn’t order a second drink which put Mom in a better mood. Mom and I talked about who was at the wake, how Uncle Ed was coping, my cousin Rick who Mom liked, but I found pompous.

The mahi was delicious and I starfished in the big hotel bed and watched a murder mystery on Netflix. John called to say that the boys had a good day at school. They ordered pizza for dinner.

‘I’ll be home tomorrow. Flight’s at 6:30.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want to stay longer?’

‘Absolutely not.’

In the morning, I ironed the wrinkles out of the grey silk skirt I brought, conscious that if I burned it, I had nothing appropriate to wear. I pinned my hair into a loose twist. It was thick and my hands weren’t steady so it took me a couple of tries and I rested my palms against the sink, breathing evenly to calm down.

Mom was waiting in the lobby. ‘Is Nancy coming with us?’

‘No, she went to the funeral home to talk to Linette. She’ll go with them.’

The church was one of those modern by-the-sea buildings with white brick and rectangular stained-glass windows in abstract patterns. Harsh light inside, like someone was prepping for surgery. The words to the hymns projected on the walls in pastel colours.

Soft organ music and Aunt Martha’s family walked to the front row. Uncle Ed, followed by Linette and Rick, their spouses and kids and Nancy, dressed entirely in black, only her blonde hair stopped her looking like a Sicilian widow.

I let my mind wander during the beginning. I can do the Catholic calisthenics by rote. Sit, stand, respond, kneel. Alicia let her hair go gray. Linette was the same, only wider. Her husband, Don? Dan?, looked like someone grabbed him out of a beachside Jimmy Buffet concert and forced him into a blazer. Linette’s daughter, Taylor, mouth open, checked her phone in her lap.

The priest began the eulogy. I wanted to snort when he called her ‘a good Christian woman’. He talked about her work with the local animal shelter, how she was a fixture at the church bake sales, a regular mass goer, a passionate gun rights advocate.

Gun rights? Since when? I nudged Mom. She shook her head and rolled her eyes. We were in the middle, no one could see us.

It was awkward to attend a funeral for someone you don’t like. There was a different feel to a funeral for someone who didn’t like you. Insisting on calling me Catherine with the pinched look of someone who stepped in dog poo while wearing open-toed sandals. She blocked me on Facebook, her last DM in all caps. ANYONE WHO INSULTS PRESIDENT TRUMP INSULTS ME!!! My education and attitude coming under fire in posts to my cousins. All that education more like liberal indoctrination!!!

‘Don’t worry. No one pays any attention to her,’ Mom said when I told her about the posts. Mom didn’t do social media and she’s much happier as a result. Being blocked was fine. People who type in all caps were the equivalent of screaming and she never liked any pictures of my kids, even the one where they were Yoda and Luke Skywalker for their first Halloween.

The email to Mom and Uncle Kenny about how, as good Christians, they should be taking better care of Nancy, a troubled soul who needed more love and attention than she got. Hinting at the neglect she had suffered as a child being the reason for her problems.

‘Neglect?’ I asked at the time. ‘What is she talking about?’

‘Who the hell knows?’ Mom said. ‘Me going back to work after she was born? Sending her to private school?’

‘What does she suggest we do?’

‘She wants us to send her to this rehab programme at her church. Or let her move in with us.’

She and Ed didn’t come to my dad’s funeral. Plane tickets were too expensive, she said, and they didn’t have any friends in New York City. ‘I think she’s hinting that she wants to stay with us,’ Mom said. She didn't offer her guest room and I didn’t offer my sofabed.

The priest concluded with how her grandkids Taylor, Noah and Jacob, would miss her warmth and wisdom. I kept my expression as neutral as possible.

‘I’m sorry for your loss, I’m so sorry.’ I repeated as I left the church. I didn’t go to the gravesite. Mom would text me when they got back.

There were nibbles and drinks in the common room of the condo complex where Ed and Martha lived. Sweat prickled at the armhole of my shirt as I walked into the lobby. My legs buckled at the knee. There should be an announcer like at a boxing match, ‘ANNNND now from New York City, weighing in at 130 pounds, it’s the Mama who voted for Obama, Kate Quuiiiinnn!’

It was a big room with views of the garden, the smell of Pine-Sol cleaning fluid and a spread of food that didn’t match, sandwiches, lasagna, nachos, Rice Krispie treats. A collage of photos of Martha and her family, one with her, Linette and Ron DeSantis.

I can’t see Mom and my only other ally, Kenny, who switched from Republican to Independent in 2016, didn’t go. His wife wasn’t feeling up to it. I would stay for a minute, remembering John’s advice, ‘Say all the right things, don’t talk about politics. If someone brings it up, simply reply “is that right?” and change the subject as quickly as you can. Talk about their kids or golf.’

Ed stood near the buffet table. He was talking to my cousin Chris, son of Mom’s oldest brother. I said hello. Ed stared at me. I couldn’t tell if he was faking or if he genuinely didn’t know who I was.

‘They don’t have Martha’s favourite cake,’ he said to us. ‘She loved pound cake. With strawberries. Why haven’t they got it?’

‘Couldn’t get the eggs maybe?’ Chris said. His social media posts varied from cute dogs, live and in cartoon form, to screeds about commie Democrats conspiring to ruin the country.

‘Biden killed all the chickens. That’s why we don’t have any eggs,’ Chris said.

‘Is that right?’

‘I mean, Biden was bad, but Obama was the one who messed this country up. Do not get me started on Barack Hussein.’

‘I didn’t.’

At his center, Chris is sweet guy. He came to Dad’s funeral and said something kind about how tough it was to lose a parent. Life hadn’t worked out for him. He couldn’t afford to go to college, Mom said at one point he really wanted to, despite his social media posts about spoiled children at libtard factories. He joined the Marines instead. His wife left him for her boss. He was estranged from his daughter from that marriage, a sociology professor at the University of Miami. ‘Democrats voted to fine American citizens for not having insurance, then they gave it to illegal aliens for free.’

‘Is that right?’ I looked around for Mom. She was talking to her cousin Robert, a lawyer from Indianapolis who thought the social media blocking was hilarious and would put comments on family posts to fuel it up. I haven’t checked Facebook for a year now. The reposted TruthSocial tantrums were awful enough, it’s the agreement afterward that’s so much worse. I’ll put up with Chris’ lunacy for a few minutes but I wouldn’t elect him president.

I heard Linette behind me. ‘If you didn’t go to the gravesite, you shouldn’t come for the food. It’s just rude.’ She wasn’t addressing me, but she wanted me to hear her.

I turned around and held my empty hands up. ‘I’m just making sure my mom gets back to the hotel.’ Even in flats, I towered over her, but it didn’t matter. Linette loves a fight; she was the type that would hold an umbrella up and argue that’s it’s raining as you’re both standing in the sunshine.

‘She looks fine to me,’ Linette said.

‘Mom!’ I motioned her over. ‘Linette was just saying how great you look.’ A grimace on Linette’s overtanned face. Her most effective weapons, sarcasm and just-plain-folks reverse snobbery, don’t work against a sweet old lady, even with Mom’s Manhattan address and her master’s degree in religious studies from Columbia. Linette moved away slightly.

Rick slid up to me, holding hands with Alicia. ‘Catherine, lovely to see you.’ Two cheek kiss. ‘What are you doing these days?’

‘I’m a graphic designer. And-’

‘Oh, Artsy-fartsy. Shame AI can do all that now. Didn’t you go to Yale?’

‘No, I went to Brown.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Brown. In Rhode Island?’

‘No, I mean, I’m sorry.’ He actually guffawed.

Alicia laughed, ‘Just ignore him. Doesn’t everyone look wonderful? Let’s have some pound cake. I’ll bet it’s just delicious.’

‘There isn’t any,’ I said. ‘Apparently Biden killed all the chickens so there are no eggs.’

‘Yes, of course, one has to consider that the Biden administration did overestimate the dangers of avian flu-’ Rick started.

Time to go. ‘Lovely to see you both. Take care, safe flight home.’

I told Mom that I’d see her back at the hotel, that the shuttle was leaving at 4. As I found the exit, I heard Nancy talking to Chris. ‘He really needs to do something about immigration. It’s robbing our country.’ This from a woman who hardly ever left her apartment.

I pranced down Ocean Boulevard, buoyant like taking my bra off after a long day. I retrieved our bags from the front desk and Mom and I waited in the lobby for the van. ‘Nancy’s staying an extra day. Rick’s giving her a lift to the airport tomorrow.’ Waiting for the will reading, no doubt. There was a phase where every time Nancy asked for money, she would begin the email It takes a village to raise a child. I got one, so did Kenny. I’m sure Martha received one too and tried to send her straight to rehab for quoting Hillary Clinton.

I didn’t know if I believed in the afterlife. But I imagined Heaven’s contours being subjective. Everyone’s idea of paradise was different. I won’t bet on running into Martha in mine.