DOTTIE

by Christina Elaine Collins

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I know who sent it when I see the wrapping paper. Solid red with white dots. For thirty-two years she has never run out of that paper. She must hoard it somewhere. Even now, at the nursing home.

I force myself to open the package. A whiff of stale chocolate and Virginia Slims escapes from the gift box. I cough, even though I steeled myself for the smell.

The sweater vest is orange this time. And there is only one coffee stain, near the neckline. I shove the lid back on the box and find the phone.

I hear a click and fumbling. “Anthony Raymond, let go of the phone. Will you just eat your cereal? Do it for Mommy, okay…”

I wait. There is some solace in calling my sister. Every time I hear the chaos and her tired voice, I feel privileged. Privileged to be the sister with blocked fallopian tubes.

Robyn clears her throat. “Hello?”

“My birthday present from Auntie Dottie came today.”

“Oh. Oh God.”

“Only a week late. And it might actually be an appropriate gift this year.”

“You’re 32, not 82—you should be wearing low-cut halter tops, not hand-knit sweater vests. I assume that’s what she gave you.”

“Of course.”

“Toss it before it stinks up your house. Kevin, don’t lick that!”

I eye the gift box. “Nah.”

I could hear her rolling her eyes through the phone. “Why do you always hold on to her gifts? They end up at the back of your closet.”

“Guess I’m too much like Ma.”

“Yeah, well, Ma’s the reason we’re stuck with Auntie Dottie now, isn’t she? She kept inviting her to all the holidays. Even after the divorce. Now we’re the ones who—”

“It won’t be much longer. That’s the whole reason why the doctor had us put her in the nursing home. That reminds me…”

“Anthony, don’t poke that!”

“…the people from her old apartment building called. We have three days to clear her things out.”

Robyn pauses in her yelling. “What? No. Forget it. I’m not touching anything in that place.”

“You act like you’ve been in there before. We don’t know how bad it is. And besides, we have to. Who else will do it?”

“I don’t know, maybe her own goddamn children.”

“Robyn...” I start.

But my sister knows about obligations. I hear her roll her eyes again. “Fine. I’ve got the babysitter tomorrow anyway.” She slams the phone down.

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