Read Online Aftermirth by Hillary Jordan - Free Book Online

then—” She smacked her hands together, front to back.
    â€œNo,” I said, already laughing.
    â€œThey decapitated each other!”
    Hilarity: shrieking, roaring, belly clutching.
    â€œOkay, I’ve got another one,” George said. “There was this zookeeper in Germany tending a constipated elephant. He’d dosed it with laxatives and fed it a whole bunch of prunes, but nothing was working. He was trying to give it an enema when it finally let loose. The eruption knocked the zookeeper over. He struck his head, passed out and drowned in a sea of elephant shit.”
    More uproar. My sides felt like someone was taking a machete to them. I couldn’t remember ever laughing so hard in all my life. “Did you see the one about the stripper?” I gasped. Three head shakes. “She was working a bachelor party, and they put her inside one of those big fake cardboard cakes. The toasting went on for a long while, and then the best man finally cued the music.” I sang it: “ Da dum bum bum, da dum bum bum. But she didn’t appear. Thinking she might have fallen asleep, he knocked on the side of the cake, but still no stripper.”
    â€œShe’d suffocated in there, right?” said Elena in a small voice.
    It was horrible; it wasn’t the least bit funny. Suddenly no one was laughing anymore, and we were all looking anywhere but at each other. Catherine hiccuped and started crying again. “I’m a terrible human being,” she said. “We’re all terrible.”
    â€œNo you’re not,” I said. “You needed that. We all did.” Silence from the others. “Didn’t we?” I asked, elbowing Elena.
    â€œYes, we did,” she said, and I could tell she meant it. George seconded her, then produced a handkerchief and passed it to Catherine. She wiped her face, blew her nose and crumpled the cloth in her fist.
    â€œIt’s just so ridiculous,” she said. “I mean, for crying out loud. Butted to death? Hic! Kneaded to death? Immolated because you blew a bubble? Electrocuted by your bra?”
    We sat there quietly for a moment, collecting ourselves, and then Catherine asked where the restroom was. George escorted her out, and Elena went with them. Izzy came over and jumped up without invitation onto George’s immaculate white upholstery, and I let him settle his head in my lap. The pugs might be apoplectic when they smelled him later, but I didn’t think our host would mind.
    The three of them returned, George carrying a pitcher of fresh Bloodies. He filled all our glasses, then lifted his own.
    â€œTo Cal,” George said.
    â€œAnd Santa,” Catherine said, lifting hers.
    â€œAnd Jess,” Elena said.
    â€œAnd Shane,” I said, full circle.
    We drank and made awkward, sporadic small talk, like the kind you make with a stranger you had sex with the night before who ended up spending the night instead of leaving afterward like they were supposed to. I finished my drink in record time and looked inquiringly at Elena. She nodded and we stood.
    â€œWe’re going to get going,” I said. “Catherine, can we give you a lift to the airport?”
    â€œMy flight’s not till tomorrow,” she replied, “but you can drop me at my hotel. I made a reservation at a B and B on the Battery.”
    â€œIt’s pronounced ‘BAT-tree’, my dear,” said George, “and it’s an overpriced tourist trap. I wouldn’t dream of letting you stay there, or anywhere but here with me.” When she protested, he added, “Please, I’d be glad of the company.”
    That settled, they walked us outside and we said our good-byes, promising to stay in touch. This time, somehow, the words didn’t feel empty. Maybe because this time, neither did I.
    â€œC HUNKY MONKEY OR Cherry Garcia?” I ask.
    â€œChunky Monkey,” Elena says. “Captain Picard or Captain