The Howard sisters had never felt this kind of quiet before. It wasn't the peaceful kind of quiet that came with a late summer afternoon or the stillness of an early morning. This was the oppressive, suffocating silence of grief. Their mother, Suze Howard—loud, brash, chaotic Suze—was gone. The house, usually filled with the sound of clinking wine glasses, reality TV, and unsolicited advice, felt like a hollow shell.
Lexi sat cross-legged on the couch, a cup of tea in her hands, staring blankly at a half-written script on her laptop. Across from her, Cassie was perched on the arm of a chair, scrolling through her phone aimlessly, her face unreadable.
"You think she'd be mad if we skipped the funeral reception?" Cassie finally asked, her voice breaking the silence.
Lexi looked up, her eyebrows furrowing. "Cassie, she's dead. She doesn't care what we do anymore."
Cassie winced. "Jesus, Lex. Could you be a little less morbid? She's barely been gone two days."
"I'm just saying," Lexi muttered, taking a sip of her tea. "It's not like Mom ever paid attention to what we wanted anyway."
Cassie set her phone down, glaring at her sister. "That's not fair. She cared about us."
"Sure, when she wasn't three glasses of Chardonnay deep and telling us we were ruining her life," Lexi snapped.
Cassie opened her mouth to argue but stopped herself, her shoulders sagging. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"And you're in denial," Lexi shot back, her voice softening. "We both know Mom wasn't perfect. But pretending she was isn't going to make this any easier."
Cassie blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. "I'm not pretending anything, okay? I'm just… I don't know what to do without her, Lex."
Lexi's expression softened as she set her tea down and moved to sit beside her sister. "Neither do I," she admitted. "But we're going to have to figure it out. Together."
The day of the funeral was a strange mix of chaos and calm. Their house was swarming with distant relatives, nosy neighbors, and Suze's "friends" (a loose term for the women she gossiped with at the country club). The Howard sisters were dressed in black, their makeup flawless, their expressions carefully neutral.
Lexi stood in the kitchen, arranging a tray of hors d'oeuvres, when one of their aunts—a woman whose name Lexi couldn't remember—approached her.
"You're holding up so well, dear," the woman said, placing a hand on Lexi's shoulder. "Your mother would be proud."
Lexi forced a tight-lipped smile. "Thanks."
"I can't imagine how hard this is for you and Cassie," the woman continued, her tone dripping with pity. "Especially after everything your family's been through."
Lexi resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Yeah, it's been a rough year."
Cassie appeared in the doorway, her heels clicking against the tiled floor. "Lex, do we have more wine? Aunt Debra's been complaining that the Chardonnay isn't cold enough."
Lexi raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like a sommelier to you?"
Cassie sighed, clearly on the verge of losing her patience. "Just help me find it, okay?"
Lexi followed her sister to the pantry, and as soon as they were out of earshot, Cassie turned to her.
"I can't do this, Lex," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I can't keep smiling and pretending like I'm fine while everyone stares at us like we're some tragic charity case."
"You think I like this?" Lexi whispered back. "I'd rather be anywhere else right now. But if we leave, the whole family will just talk about how selfish we are. You know how they are."
Cassie leaned against the wall, rubbing her temples. "I hate them. All of them."
Lexi smirked. "Now you're starting to sound like me."
That night, after the last guest had finally left and the house was quiet again, Lexi and Cassie sat on the living room floor, a half-empty bottle of wine between them. The coffee table was littered with empty plates, crumpled napkins, and the remnants of the reception's floral centerpiece.
"Remember how Mom used to get mad at us for staying up late and drinking her wine?" Lexi asked, swirling her glass.
Cassie let out a small laugh. "Yeah. She'd storm in here with her robe and slippers, like she was about to call the cops on us or something."
"And then she'd sit down and drink with us anyway," Lexi added, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their shared memories settling over them.
"Do you think we're going to be okay?" Cassie asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Lexi stared at her glass, watching the way the light reflected off the liquid. "I don't know," she admitted. "But I think we'll figure it out. We don't really have a choice, do we?"
Cassie nodded, wiping a tear from her cheek. "I guess not."
The weeks that followed were a blur of paperwork, awkward phone calls, and endless decisions about what to do with their mother's belongings. They fought, they cried, they laughed at inappropriate moments. But through it all, they stuck together, even when it felt like the world was falling apart.
One evening, as they sorted through a box of Suze's old photos, Cassie pulled out a picture of the three of them at the beach.
"Look at this," she said, holding it up. "Mom looks so happy here."
Lexi glanced at the photo and smiled. "That was the summer she tried to teach us how to surf."
"She was terrible at it," Cassie said, laughing. "Remember how she wiped out and blamed the board?"
Lexi nodded, her smile widening. "She made everything an adventure, didn't she?"
Cassie's laughter faded, and she looked down at the photo, her expression turning somber. "I miss her, Lex."
"Me too," Lexi said softly. "But I think she'd want us to keep going. To stick together."
Cassie nodded, wiping her eyes. "Yeah. Together."
As the months passed, the Howard sisters slowly began to find their footing. They leaned on each other in ways they never had before, learning how to navigate life without their mother. There were still hard days—days when the grief felt like it would swallow them whole—but there were good days too.
One evening, as they sat on the couch watching a movie, Cassie turned to Lexi.
"You know," she said, "for someone who claims to hate everyone, you're not so bad at this whole 'being a sister' thing."
Lexi smirked. "Don't get used to it."
Cassie laughed, leaning her head on Lexi's shoulder. And for the first time in a long time, they felt like they might actually be okay.
Because in the absence of everything, they still had each other—and that was enough.