Tell Me All Your Thoughts On God

Ned knocks on my door at about 3:50. His hands are shaking. He paces around my living room, stuttering, until I'm dizzy.

Ned: I don't know I don't know I don't know if if if -
Tata: I've got my keys.
Ned: Are we are we doing -
Tata: Where are you parked?
Ned: I'm not sure I'm not -
Tata: What happened to your windows?
Ned: Long story. I was driving out in the fast lane in Pennsylvania and this utter dickhead was matching me mile for mile. I sped up, he sped up. I slowed down, he slowed down. Suddenly, in front of me there was a dead deer in my lane.
Tata: Omigod! Did you slam into the median?
Ned: I would've slammed it and flipped. No.
Tata: Did you - just tell me what happened!
Ned: I hit the deer like a ramp, went airborne and flew like drunked-up Knievel.
Tata: No! Yeah?
Ned: In retrospect, what seemed to be blood all down the side window was really shattered. The windshield's nothing.
Tata: Anya's expecting us. Park here.
Ned: I'm not sure I'm not sure are we are we is this the the the right thing?
Tata: We're here! What's up, babydoll?
Anya: On the next General Hospital, tunnels will cave in and your mom answers her own phone.
Tata: Nobody would believe that.
Ned: I brought you organic cookies. They're not made of hay.
Anya: Thank you so much! I'm going to eat them right now.
Ned: Thank you so much for...for...for...
Anya: Would you like to meet the new baby?
Us: Yeah...
Anya: There she is.

Ned and I look around the living room. We don't see anyone besides ourselves and Anya. We look at each other. We look back at Anya.

Anya: She's right there, on the couch.

Still staring at my sister, we walk over to the couch. What appears to be a small pile of washcloths now has a tiny round head sticking out. The head is sleeping. Anya rearranges the receiving blanket and a whole tiny person appears. This is my new niece. She is impossibly small. We stare. She opens her eyes and yawns. I always forget kids aren't born with bookbags and reading lists so newborns are always shocking. At eight days old, Sunny has already been the subject of controversy.

Miss Sasha: AUNT ANYA HAD A BABY GIRL AND I READ ABOUT IT IN YOUR BLOG! MY FAMILY DOESN'T TELL ME ANYTHING!
Tata: Darling, I'm so sorry. I really should have called you but Grandma's official line is, "I've called to tell you something" and mine is, "I've called to tell you something she forgot to call and tell you."
Miss Sasha: Mr. Sasha said I landed on you too hard about this.
Tata: No, no. You're right. I'm wrong. Poland's all yours...
Miss Sasha: No dice! I want the Sudetenland.

Ned and I push open the back door. The box of Fang's ashes fits in the palm of my hand. Ned can barely move and he can't make a sentence. For a minute, neither of us knows what to do. Anya's husband was supposed to mark out a burial spot but he worked late the night before at the family store. Also: the lawn pinwheel marking my sweet little Zorak's grave probably died a blizzardy death some time ago. Ned's brain has short-circuited with grief. I take a small spade from the potting shed and start digging near where I think we buried Zorak. After a minute or two I hand him the spade. He digs while I retrieve a shovel, which he uses to dig a broader, deeper hole. He places the box in the hole, a favorite toy and a picture. We cry our eyes out. Anya has one neighbor who only ever sees me sobbing, dirty and holding a shovel. That she hasn't called the cops and the Do Not Dig Hotline is a miracle.

We cover the grave, tamp down the dirt and discover the back door's locked. We paw it like bedraggled Great Danes because we can see Anya's got both hands on an entire human being, so we walk around to the front door, where we meet Anya's mother-in-law, who recognizes us at the couple who wore matching tuxes to her son's wedding and smoked cigars. Despite this, she is still nice to us. Ned and I stare open-mouthed as the baby mews and the toddler strips and the mother-in-law empties a bookbag full of wet clothing. I just about faint when the toddler reaches into the potty, so Ned and I hop in the car and zip three blocks to Charlie Brown's for burgers.

Burying one's beloved pet is serious business. Charlie Brown's is full of beer. Ned drinks coffee. I drink Guinness. For three hours, I drink Guinness. Ned drops me off at home. Though I assured Katy at thestain that apres-burial I'd embark on a drunken interstate crime spree, I settle on the couch and wait for Larry, the little black cat bent on stealing your soul, to sit on my lap and try conning me out of mine.

Man. Woman. Birth. Death. Infinity. Cats.