A Final Surprise

It had been eight days since Kimberly’s mother died. It happened on a Wednesday; the funeral reception was held on Friday, and attracted a decent turnout. Kim didn’t remember much other than the fact that it had been a sunny day, which had somehow made it hard for her to cry. The harsh light only seemed to illuminate everything that needed to be done: greet the family, check that the charcuterie board hadn’t grown too tepid, comfort the occasional weepy relative, on and on until the moon had risen in the sky and the last of the lingerers finally slipped languidly into their cars. Only once the excitement had died and she was alone with her husband did she allow herself a moment to grieve. She’d been plagued by bad sleep since that awful day, and she could feel exhaustion setting in.

It didn’t last too long, though. There was more to be done. Namely, her mother’s house now stood silent and in need of inventory. After a long weekend of crying, delving into family memories was the last thing she wanted to do, but she’d taken the week off work and figured procrastination never helped anybody. Monday was spent packing up the bedrooms, deciding which linens she could use at home and which sheets were ratty enough to toss. When she was young, she and her mother would use them for picnic blankets or to make impromptu forts, she recalled. Once they even turned one into a ghost costume for Halloween.

Kim began the Tuesday chores by listing the furniture for sale, but the online marketplaces were so full of choosy beggars that she ended up sticking the majority of it on the curb and crowning the collection with a makeshift cardboard sign reading FREE. The only thing she resolved to sell was the exercise machine: it was basically brand new, after all. She remembered when her mother had purchased it the year before. Kimberly, I may be 62, but I’m not dead yet, dammit, and I certainly refuse to look it. Before last week the thought of her mom’s penchant for vanity would’ve made her giggle, or roll her eyes, when now it only made her crave distraction.

Wednesday was for sifting through stacks of mail, settling debts, and closing accounts. Even considering all the weeping she’d done over the last few days, this was her least favorite. She far preferred snot and tissues over bureaucratic bullshit.

Now it was Thursday, and it was time for the attic.

Oh yes, Kim thought, the dreaded attic: home of outdated holiday decorations and boxes upon boxes of childhood memorabilia. The folding door let out a hearty creak as she unfolded the ladder and climbed up into the dust and the dark. She reached for the light switch and blinked her eyes as the dim bulb hummed to life. The first thing she noticed was the smattering of spiderwebs strewn across the ceiling beams.

Darling, it’s just a bug.

Actually it’s an arachnid, Mom, and it’s disgusting!

As vain as she’d sometimes been, her mother wasn’t afraid of anything. Not of spiders, or the dark, or even being alone, as she’d been after the divorce. Kimberly, a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle, she’d been apt to say. Kim hadn’t quite agreed; she’d been boy-crazy as a teenager and had married a wonderful man right out of college. You got lucky with that one, dear. On this, at least, they’d agreed.

Having long outgrown her fear of creepy crawlies, Kim swatted the cobwebs out of her way and began digging through the boxes. She was surprised to find some of her father’s old books in one of them and wished she could ask her mother why she’d kept them. As a keepsake, perhaps, but she theorized they were more of a trophy. Her father, professorly as he was, loved his literary collection more than anything, and she could easily imagine her mom hiding away some of his favorites just to feel she had the upper hand after he left. She always was petty like that.

After taking stock of the left half of the attic, Kim started towards the opposite side and immediately noticed a small box that looked to be wrapped in a brown paper bag. It had a very thin layer of dust on top that suggested it hadn’t been up here very long. Her mom must’ve stuck it up here somewhat recently; this thought caused a lump in the throat. Kim wondered what it might be: an autographed novel, or an old VHS, maybe a yellowed stack of illicit love letters from another time. If anyone could’ve had a secret fling it’d be her mom, with her flair for drama and romanticism.

Suddenly she was a little worried about opening it. What if it was something lurid or revealing? What if she learned something about her mom she wouldn’t like? It’s not as if she could run downstairs and ask her questions about it. She didn’t want to spoil the memories she had, which were already complicated enough. Instead of opening it, Kim lightly set it on the top step of the ladder to confront later, and continued sorting through the attic.

By the time she finished another hour later, her mind had continued to wander to the point of physical anxiety. She closed the attic door and placed the package on the dining table. It’s just a small box, it’s probably nothing. Why did she feel so anxious? She’d seen every last corner of this house over the last week, packed up most things for donation or the garbage. There’d been nothing to arouse any suspicion. Then she realized - this was the last unknown piece of her mom. There’d be nothing left to learn afterwards; she was gone. There were no more stories, or arguments, or truths to be uncovered. This was it. With that thought, and the accompanying tears and sniffles, her curiosity prevailed and she slipped the box out of the paper bag and lifted the lid.

She shrieked, high-pitched and sharp, and within a few seconds, she was kneeling on the ground, wracked with convulsions. “So much - worse - than I thought!” She wheezed to herself, clutching her ribs and trying to breathe. Gradually it subsided and she stood back up to take another peek at the plastic pink dildo lying on the table, and the sight sent her into another hysterical fit. Of course this was the last thing left of her mother. Of all her traits, she was most renowned for her sense of humor.

It was around midnight when Kim returned home that night. She headed straight for the bedroom where her husband was sleeping peacefully. She nudged him awake and smiled at his groggy face.

“Why are you so late, is everything okay?” He croaked.

“You’ll never believe what I just did.”

“What?”

“I buried my mom’s sex toy in her backyard.”

“Huh?”

“I found it in her attic and I couldn’t just throw it away. She had it in this fancy little box all wrapped in paper, it felt wrong. And obviously I couldn’t donate it with the other stuff. So I had a little funeral.”

This visual made him laugh hard enough that he had to sit up and rub his eyes.

“I guess everyone has their fun secrets. Maybe we keep this one, not tell the realtor that there’s a dead dildo under the turf.”

“Agreed!” She laughed.

For the first time in over a week, Kim was able to shut her eyes and sleep through the night.