Kim Porter Loves a Relish Tray
(Eventually, I will have kids of my own and I will be excited to revive the beloved tradition. But, sadly my children won't care for the relish tray. I'll realize once and for all, if I have no one to share it with, what's the point? If I want a gherkin, I can get a gherkin, and I find I rarely do. Turns out, it wasn't the pickles I relished.)
At the wake I tell my sister, "If anybody does drugs, I'll stop them."
"I don't want to be trouble. I should just go."
I can feel her pain.
On the one hand she has zero desire to expose herself or her kids to drugs. On the other hand "goody-two-shoes" is an unkind label that's been foisted on her all her life by our dad and I'm sure she isn't eager to be seen that way just now.
But, I don't want her to go. I haven't seen her in years. And as sad as this last week of funeral preparations has been, we've had phenomenally good laughs. We've made new memories. My sister is hilarious and dependable and I am savoring every second.
"I'll take care of it," I assure her.
She's not convinced, but she agrees and wanders off to locate her kids while I make my way to my father's closest friends to see if I can get their help spreading the message "don't fire up."
A few minutes later my sister calls me softly from the kitchen,
"Kim, may I speak to you?" her voice is edgy her expression too intense. I enter the kitchen and see her standing by the buffet table next to Susan. My sister gestures like a game show hostess toward a platter of pickles and olives. "Look, Susan brought a relish tray," she says, trying not to laugh, "Wasn't that nice?"
"Thank God!" I say, making my way toward the table, toward my sister. "I was hoping someone would bring relish tray."
"Me too," my sister says, "I just love a relish tray."