Cut and Choose

It was the kind of gathering no one likes to attend. A private get-together for the bereaved. Most of them lived out of town now and needed a bite to eat before hitting the road again. Among the guests were the two daughters of the deceased, Susan and Lizzie. Susan had driven across the river from Arkansas, while Lizzie had come down from Memphis. They hadn’t spoken in a while.

The funeral had been appropriately solemn without becoming unnecessarily maudlin. The congregation half-heartedly sang a few numbers out of a hymnal. A bored preacher mouthed a few words of reassurance, confirming for those gathered that Royce Solomon had gone to glory and not to the lake of fire. He was seated at the right hand of God the Father now, the Reverend Leland Sharp intoned to an audience of drowsy pew warmers. There was communion afterward, but not everyone joined in.

Now a gaggle of half-estranged acquaintances were gathered at the Solomon house for finger sandwiches and weak cocktails. The talk was muted and superficial. Royce had passed in his sleep at 82, so no one was even all that sad about it. Like the rest of them, he’d had a comfortable but boring life, earning his keep by selling farm equipment to planters on both sides of the Mississippi. He wouldn’t be remembered for anything in particular, which meant he wouldn't be remembered at all. He wasn’t dashing, never did anything outrageous, and had a wit that was lackluster at best.

Not even his dog seemed to miss him. It moved about the house, laggardly wagging its tail and gobbling up the stray bits of food that fell to the floor. A few of the guests petted it absentmindedly while listening to someone go on about the seasonal playoffs or the downturn in crop prices that year.

In the kitchen, a chocolate cake had been sliced into wedges and parceled out onto little serving plates. They were now being loaded onto a cart so the caterer could wheel them out to the guests. This was where Susan and Lizzie suddenly bumped into each other. Susan had been going around grabbing up abandoned plates and glasses and bringing them back to the dishwasher. Lizzie had suddenly come down with one of her signature headaches. Nothing serious, really. But she’d excused herself so she could swallow a couple of aspirin.

They hugged one another perfunctorily, coming together at the side, rather than a full frontal embrace. It was awkward, but they handled it with grace. It was easier from the side, anyway. Lizzie’s slender build fit perfectly into Susan‘s slightly stouter shoulder.

"So how you been?” Lizzie asked, more out of politeness than real interest.

"Good, good," came the reply. "Chuck and I are talking about moving, actually. Somewhere a little less humid. Like maybe Chattanooga or something." She shrugged. "Hate to give up all our friends and have to start over, though."

"Well, you don't necessarily have to move," Lizzie answered. "Just put in a pool and cool down that way. You've got the space for it. A lot easier. Cheaper too. No reason for Chuck to uproot like that and have to find a whole new practice. If you like where you are just stay there."

"You know, I was thinking the same thing just the other day," Susan volunteered. "Here. Let's sit and talk for a minute. It's good to see you. I want some cake. You want a slice too?"

"Sure! I would love a little cake. Just a bite, really, though. Not a whole piece. Maybe we could split it?"

"Ok," Susan offered. "How about we do cut and choose? I'll cut. Or you can, if you like."

Cutting and choosing was an old practice. The sisters were well familiar with it. It was meant to ensure fairness when sharing food. One would cut; the other got to pick which piece she wanted.

Pulling a knife from a drawer, Susan dragged it across the slice of cake, which fell easily into two separate portions. The cut was not even, though. One piece was larger than the other by half.

Feigning a smile, Lizzie took the smaller cut and began transferring with a fork to another plate.

Susan suddenly stopped her in mid-motion, arresting her movement with a hand around her wrist. "You're taking the little one?"

"Well, yes," she answered. "I only wanted a bite."

"Well, I know, but I was trying to be generous and give you the bigger piece."

"No, that's okay. You can have it. I appreciate it, though. Besides, I'm the little sister. So the little piece should go to me."

"Wait." Susan paused, her mouth hanging open a beat. "was that a comment about my size?"

"No. Don't be silly," Lizzie answered her. "I'm younger than you. That makes me the little sister. You know that. I wasn't saying anything about your weight at all."

"But you noticed it, didn't you?"

"So what if I did? There's nothing wrong with noticing something. It's not like I was going to mention it. Anyway, you look great. You're not even overweight. Just maybe a size or two bigger than me."

There was a pause, the chatter from the hallway intruding on the sudden stillness in the kitchen.

"Bigger?" Susan suddenly mouthed.

"Larger - whatever. It's not a big deal. Just let it go."

"Well since you're the smaller sister . . ." Here Susan pasted a plastic, exaggerated smile on her face. "Maybe you should take the larger slice. You know - to help you fill out a little bit."

"I don't need to fill out," Lizzie said. "I'm perfectly fine. Anyway, nobody said you had to eat the whole piece. Just take a bite or two. Throw the rest out."

“Oh no. I couldn’t,” Susan said. “Once I get started on something sweet, I just can’t stop till I’ve eaten the whole thing. Can’t you just take the bigger slice and pick off it?”

Lizzie laughed again, another nervous chuckle dying in her throat. “I’ll gobble all that icing down and then spend the drive back feeling guilty as hell,” she said. “Why don’t you just cut some extra off that side there and put it in the disposal? That way they can both be the same size.”

“Mmm, I can’t really do that,” Susan answered. “Wouldn’t want the caterer seeing me throwing cake out before anyone’s even had any. She’d be so insulted.”

“Oh, hell. Let me do it,” Lizzie shot back. “She can think whatever she wants about me. Aren’t we paying her, anyway?”

“Well, you don’t have to get all angry about it,” Susan snapped at her.

“It’s just that this is getting tiresome,” Lizzie explained, a weariness appearing in her voice. “Actually, forget it. I don’t want any cake at all. You eat it. Eat a tiny bite or the whole slice. Hell, eat the whole cake. I don’t care.”

“Oh now there you go again,” Her sister’s voice rose by a quarter-decibel or so. “You know, it’s just like you to get all bitchy when you don’t get your way.”

“Oh, screw you! It’s impossible to have a conversation with someone so petty. My own sister, too. You’d think you could at least be civil with me – on today of all days.”

“Me? You’re the hard-headed one. You never listen. Ever.” Susan’s tone had descended into absolute terseness. “It’s always what you want or nothing at all. I at least can take criticism and learn from it.”

By this point, it had become clear that neither sister would accept the larger slice, not for all the wealth in Fort Knox. A minor war had been declared by silent assent, and a perimeter of coldness went up between them.

“What are you talking about?” Lizzie demanded. "It’s you who’s so bossy. You know, I really cared about George. I did. Truly. But that wasn’t good enough for you, was it? You were determined to ruin it. You didn’t approve, so he had to go.”

“So we’re back to that now,” Susan said angrily. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you? How is it my fault he broke it off with you? He made that decision, not me.”

“He left because you wouldn’t leave him be.” Lizzie leaned in now, aggression informing her body language. There was a layer of bile in her voice. Her accusation was charged with animosity. “You just pestered and pestered him,” she said. “Dropped little comments. Made passive-aggressive insults about his job. Went on and on about him drinking – he’s not an alcoholic, by the way. Or at least he wasn’t back then. Who knows now? I haven’t seen him, so I can’t say. You were jealous of me, so you decided to make him miserable. Well, congratulations. Mission accomplished, George W. Bush.”

“What are you talking about? Of course he was an alcoholic. Probably still is. You brought him here and he got absolutely plastered, I watched it with my own eyes. That man sure enough had a drinking problem.”

“He got drunk because you made him so nervous.” Lizzie pushed her chair back now so she could glare upwards at her older sister. “All those things you said to him. The way you judged him.”

“I was perfectly nice to George, I’ll have you know. Even Dad could tell he was a drunk.”

“No. You were NOT nice to George,” Lizzie declared. “And don’t bring Dad into it. What happened with us was your fault. Nobody else’s.”

“How was it my fault?” Susan asked, her hands flying to the air in exasperation. “It was YOUR relationship, so it was YOUR responsibility to save it.”

“You know what? This is a waste of time. I don’t want any cake. And I certainly don’t want to sit here arguing.”

“Fine. I don’t want any either,” Susan shot back. Let’s just throw the whole slice away.”

“Ok by me,” Lizzie said, grabbing the plate at the same time her sister did. They each pulled at it slightly, insistently, but both knew a full-on tug-of-war was a bad idea. They’d only get chocolate on themselves.

“You can let go. I’m just going to put it down the disposal,” Lizzie explained, refusing to surrender her grip.

“Me too,” Susan insisted, clinging steadfastly to her end as well.

“Well, then, here. Let’s just do it together. Make sure it gets done right.”

Rising in unison from the table, the two sisters walked the plate to the sink. In their awkward, crablike shuffle they resembled a pair of conjoined twins forever bound by their mutual antipathy. Both scraped at the cake with their forks, watching it slide silently into the gaping maw at the center of the sink. Both reached for the wall switch at the same time, but Susan hit it first and Lizzie relented. Then they both stood there listening to the grinding churn of metal as the blades pulverized the cake and sent it swirling down the drain. Water kept running from the tap as they glared at one another in silence.

“Well, that’s done,” Susan finally announced.

“Thank God,” Lizzie answered.

And in this way, because neither sister could accept a larger piece of cake than her sibling, the relationship was ruptured even further, and they ended up having none at all.