Hot Flash Fiction: Perimenopausal Musings

Planning the Funeral

It wasn't normally a difficult question.

"What denomination would you like the service performed in?"

The widower asked for a moment to confer with the deceased's daughter and granddaughter. From behind his large oak desk, the funeral director watched them while feigning interest in a newspaper with the headline, "The Watergate Caper." The family huddled together smoking cigarettes beside an open window, engaged in animated discussion. They clearly thought the director didn't understand German.

"She brought us up Catholic," said the daughter, a short woman in her mid 40's with wild curly hair. She wore bell bottoms and a loose-fitting tunic.

The widower, a bald gentleman his 70's, pushed his round glasses up his nose, straightened his tie and tugged at the lapels of his suit coat before answering. "Catholicism is beneath our station. Mia is..." he corrected himself, "...was a lady, one who was literate, educated, and a member of Upper East Side society." The daughter rolled her eyes.

"She's Jewish," said the lanky granddaughter. More properly dressed than her mother, she looked bored and used to these kinds of arguments. She flipped her long dark hair, so pristinely straight she must have ironed it, over her shoulder. The untarnished diamond ring and wedding band on her finger flashed in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the window.

The widower, aghast, glanced over his shoulder, as if worried the funeral director may have understood, which of course he did. Luckily a placid, neutral face at all times and under all circumstances became second nature in the funeral industry.

"Your children," the widower glared at the granddaughter, "once baptized, will no longer BE Jewish," he hissed.

The granddaughter and her mother looked nonplussed at this reference to Hitler's Nuremberg Laws.

"It's your choice, Thomas," the daughter finally relented.

"I will tell the director Episcopalian then," said Thomas. "He lowered his voice to a whisper. "And remember do NOT mention the pills. Her life insurance policy will be null and void at any hint of suicide. The doctor hasn't signed the death certificate yet and I don't know how much pull the funeral director has over these matters."

"Well, it's a good thing my sister isn't here then," said the daughter, her voice rising. "Since my mother's letter made it clear her recklessness at the end was all my sister's and my fault."

Thomas gave his step daughter a look that shut her up. Straightening his back and lifting his chin, he sat back down at the funeral director's desk and offered him a weak smile. The two women stood stony-faced behind him.

"Episcopalian," he stated.

"Of course," replied the funeral director, flashing the widower and his family an obsequious smile before making a notation on a form.

"And how many limousines will you require to take the guests to the cemetery?" He looked up, pen poised.

Thomas turned red in the face, fidgeted and looked up for assistance at the two women behind him. They replied with unsympathetic stares. He again straightened his tie and lifted his chin.

"Just one," said Thomas.

This time the funeral director couldn't hide his disappointment. The limousine service was the most lucrative portion of the business. 

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This flash fiction is part of a fictionalized biography of my grandmother and great grandmother I'm writing in no particular linear order. To read other parts go to the link provided in the comments below.