Easter Sunday.
Was it all a dream? I woke up on my bed this morning in a cold sweat, wearing all of my clothes from the night before, covered in dirt—was I sick? Delirious? I can’t remember. What I can remember – an undead rabbit named Twitch; the flashback; something about Kent – it seemed so real, but how could it have been?
“Andrea!” No, it couldn’t possibly have been real. If it was, I’d be in a padded room somewhere, not at work. Christ. “Customer!”
Most of the other stores in the mall are closed for the holiday, so aside from Jeff loudly announcing the odd shopper that passes through, it’s a quiet afternoon, and I have plenty of time to myself to wonder about last night and prepare Easter gifts for the family. It’s weird—this morning, before I left for work, Mom mentioned that I should do something nice for tonight’s Easter dinner with Grandma and, wouldn’t you know it, Kent. I had to admit that it was a good idea. I’m feeling strangely cheerful today. Even Jeff seems to notice.
“Andrea, did you see where I put that small prescription?”
“Oh, no, Jeff, I didn’t. Sorry.”
“That’s… that’s alright, don’t worry about it, I’ll just make another. You’re doing good today!”
“Thanks.” I even crack a smile at the jerk.
Real or imaginary, I rationalize that talking with Twitch, whatever he was, had some kind of therapeutic effect and magically lifted my spirits. What a load of crap, Andrea, but how else can you explain it? This isn’t like you at all. Those Easter pastels have finally fried your brain.
I half-expected to find a dead rabbit waiting for me outside at the end of my shift, but that wasn’t the case, of course. What was I thinking? That would’ve just creeped me out all over again, and ruined my dinner.
“Hello, Andrea!”
“Hi, Grandma, how are you?”
“Oh, just fine, dear, I’m just fine.” And she really is. It’s great to see her in such good spirits. “You’re just in time to help us set the table.”
Setting out the elaborate dinnerware only makes the meal seem more appetizing: smoked ham, potatoes, cooked asparagus, French bread, and strawberry cheesecake for dessert. There’s tons of food, which is thoroughly enjoyed by everyone. Kent is the main attraction – it’s been so long since we’ve had dinner like this as a family, and I can tell that Mom and Dad are overjoyed to have him back. I don’t mind listening to most of the conversation. I’m just looking forward to giving him his Easter gift. I hope the glue has held.
We don’t even worry about the dishes; everyone retires to the living room to play Scrabble, except Kent, who has plans with friends for the evening. We’re all just happy that he was around for dinner. Before he heads up to his room to get ready, I pull him aside.
“Uh… happy Easter, Kent.”
“Oh, Andrea—thanks. Wow. Wasn’t expecting this.” He looks at me peculiarly for a moment, and I see something in his eyes that might actually resemble a hint of remorse. “Yeah… thanks.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll see you later?”
“Sure.” He disappears up the stairs.
I feel good about what I’ve done – even better when I throw down all of my tiles into one word in Scrabble, wowing the family. “You sure you aren’t thinking about school?” my dad cracks, and we laugh, and from upstairs, a dull thud reverberates through the ceiling.
I smile. I know that’s the sound of Kent gobbling down my Easter gift – maybe he noticed that the chocolate rabbit I gave him broke apart a little too easily, tasted a little too funny, and maybe he didn’t – you never know with that pharmacy candy. He’s probably opened the card that his little sister wrote him, and just as his stomach starts to turn itself inside-out, just before his eyes roll back into his head, he drops to his knees and reads:
“Where’s the cream filling?”
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