Cold

“I suppose someone has to get these things,” his mother told him.  “Statistically speaking, I mean.  My turn just came up.”

Unsure of whether or not she meant this as a joke, Jonah answered, “I guess.”

“So the way I see it, I’ve spared someone else the trouble.  And that’s a very nice thing of me to do.  Don’t you think?”

Jonah just stood there, helpless.

“But you know, you shouldn’t be sad,” she went on, now flipping through the coupon section.  “Because someday this will all just be a memory.  And how you remember it will last much longer than what happened.  So remember it in the way that will make you happiest.”

“Okay,” Jonah answered.  “I’m going to go make a cup of coffee.”

“You do that, dear.  Don’t let your father near the coffeemaker—it blows up every time he touches it.”  His mother picked up a pair of scissors and cut out a coupon for laundry detergent.  “Now that’s a good price,” he heard her murmuring to herself.  In the kitchen he was staring at the jar of coffee when his father came in.  “What’s going on?” he asked Jonah,  “Want some coffee?  I’ll make it.”

“That’s all right,” Jonah said, and unscrewed the lid.