"Are you sure it's him?" Alan asked, looking concerned over his coffee mug.
"How many Harry Luther Gorskys do you think there are in Los Angeles, Alan?" Evelyn asked.
"Well, there's one less now," Charlie added in a dry, completely unsympathetic tone.
"He was your first stepdad, right?" Jake asked from across the island, already knowing the answer.
"Yep. Not one of my favorites," Charlie confirmed, taking a sip of his coffee.
"I liked him," Alan chimed in defensively.
Charlie snorted. "Please. You were six years old, Alan. You still liked Mom."
Alan ignored him, looking over to see Evelyn pressing a finger beneath her eye. "Mom? Are you okay?"
"No, Alan, I am not okay," Evelyn sniffled delicately, pulling a tissue from her purse. "He was a good man... he was a part of my life, and now he is gone." She dabbed her eyes. "I just pray he died peacefully... and held on to that stately six-bedroom, four-bath colonial in Hancock Park."
Suddenly, her shoulders began to heave with heavy sobs. "With the... bonus office and guest room over the garage!"
As she sobbed, she blindly reached for her red pen and aggressively circled the obituary in the newspaper.
After a few minutes of dramatic mourning, Evelyn excused herself to touch up her makeup in the mirror.
When she returned, her mascara was flawless and her business-like demeanor had returned.
"Okay, then. The funeral is tomorrow afternoon. I think it would be highly appropriate for us all to go and pay our respects."
"I don't know, tomorrow's not really good for me," Charlie said, already looking for an exit strategy.
"Oh, Charlie, the man was your father," Evelyn scolded.
"No, he wasn't," Charlie defended himself. "And why do you care so much? You divorced him."
"Just because you divorce someone doesn't mean you no longer have feelings for them," Evelyn stated.
"That's very true," Alan said, nodding agreement with his mother. "Judith still has feelings for me."
Charlie didn't miss a beat. "Pity is not a feeling, Alan."
"Regardless of our feelings, we will still go and say our final goodbyes to Harry," Evelyn insisted, glaring at Charlie.
"I'm not going," Charlie said with unwavering conviction.
"Well, I'll go. I just had my suit tailored yesterday," Jake chimed in, not passing up an opportunity to flex his wardrobe.
Charlie turned to Alan. "Why do you want to go?"
"Because I think it's the right thing to do," Alan said self-righteously. "And I liked Harry."
"And he liked you," Evelyn added warmly.
"I know! Actually, we—"
CRACK.
"Ouch! Jake!" Alan jumped out of his seat, grabbing his shin. Jake had just kicked him.
"Oh. Sorry. My foot slipped," Jake apologized blandly. He leaned in closer to his dad and muttered through his teeth, "Don't say it."
"What?" Alan asked, completely confused, rubbing his leg.
"Oh, nothing," Jake said, going back to typing.
"Anyways, as I was saying, we stayed— Ouch!" Alan yelped again as Jake landed another solid kick. Alan glared across the island. "Jake, is there something you want to say to me?"
Jake stared back at his father, his eyes wide, his expression practically screaming: Do not finish that sentence. "No. Go ahead, Dad," Jake sighed, resigning himself to the fact that his father was socially suicidal.
"Anyways," Alan continued, completely oblivious, "I stayed in touch with Harry over the years."
"What?" Evelyn asked, her warm smile instantly dropping.
Alan froze. He slowly looked back at his twelve-year-old son as he realized something. "Ohhh. 'Don't say it.'"
"Don't change the topic, Alan," Evelyn hissed. "You betrayed me by communicating with that son of a bitch after I divorced him?"
"Wait a minute, you just said he was a good man!" Alan stammered, backing up.
"I know what I said! I was just being polite because the guy is worm chow!"
"Mom, I didn't betray you! All I did was send him a few Christmas cards and a picture of Jake!"
"You're sinking yourself, Dad," Jake said calmly, still not looking up from his screen.
"You never sent me a picture of Jake!" Evelyn reproached him.
"He's right here!" Alan pointed frantically at his son sitting two feet away.
"Hi, Grandma. It's been so much time," Jake deadpanned in a perfectly neutral voice, continuing to write on his laptop.
"And when was the last time I got a Christmas card?" Evelyn demanded, thoroughly offended.
"Wait a second, why are you yelling at me? I'm on your side!" Alan pleaded. "Charlie's the one who doesn't even want to go to the funeral!"
Evelyn crossed her arms. "I don't even know if I want you to come now, Alan. You've ruined it."
"How can you ruin a funeral?" Alan asked, utterly bewildered.
"I don't want to talk about it anymore," she huffed, snatching her designer purse off the counter.
"Where are you going?" Alan asked.
"I need to go shopping. I need something black for the funeral," Evelyn announced, heading for the door.
"Doesn't your soul qualify?" Charlie quipped.
Evelyn stopped at the door, shooting her eldest son a look. "Laugh now, Charlie. But when I die, I will be coming back to haunt you."
She slammed the door shut behind her.
Charlie stared at the door for a second. "How will that be any different than this?" he asked no one in particular.
The next morning, the Harper family piled into Alan's Chrysler, everyone dressed in black.
Even Charlie had decided to tag along at the last minute, explicitly stating he was only going to "run a victory lap" over the man who used to ground him.
As Alan nervously navigated the morning traffic, in the back seat, Evelyn casually took a long, steady pull from a silver hip flask.
Charlie glanced at her. "Isn't it a little early to start drinking, Mom?"
Evelyn lowered the flask, wiping her mouth. "Would you like a snort?"
"That's what I meant," Charlie said, immediately grabing the flask.
They arrived at the funeral home, which was draped in heavy floral arrangements and filled with the quiet, depressing drone of organ music.
The second they walked through the double doors, Charlie quickly vanished into the crowd to "mourn"
As Alan and Jake stood by the guestbook, a woman in her late forties approached them, her face set in a tight, bitter scowl.
"Hello, Evelyn," the woman said in a fake warm tone. It was Christine, Harry's second wife.
"Hello, Christine," Evelyn replied, her voice dripping with also a fake, sugary sympathy. "This is my son, Alan."
"Hello." Alan shook her hand.
"And this must be your grandson."
Jake adjusted his black suit jacket. "A pleasure to meet you, ma'am. I'm very sorry for your loss."
Christine gave a slight scoff. "Please. It's not my loss. The bastard left me for that tramp over there." She gestured sharply across the room. "And frankly, she doesn't look very unhappy, does she?"
Evelyn, Alan, and Jake all followed Christine's pointing finger.
there was was a stunning, twenty-something blonde pouring her curves into a slightly inappropriate black dress.
She was currently giggling and enraptured by the man leaning smoothly against a nearby floral pillar.
It was Charlie, flashing his signature smirk as he worked his magic on the grieving widow.
"She just met him, wait a week," said Evelyn sarcastically.