“Okay, what about this?” she said, holding it at arm’s length.
“No,” I said, grabbing it from her.
“Um, we just moved all this shit, and I distinctly remember you saying you never liked that. I mean honestly who wants a commemorative plate with the Muppets on it?”
“Dad loved the Muppets.”
“But you don’t.”
“I’m keeping it,” I said, putting it on the growing pile behind me.
“Fine.” She reached for the box on her other side. “Oh-ho! Now I dare you to tell me you want this.”
On the floor between us she dropped a floppy little doll, its plastic head thumping like anyone else’s would. It had been a gift from our grandmother, but it was so ugly that once we had decided neither of us could love it our dad took to hiding it in random places around the house to give us a scare. Oddly, we did love it then. I knew I couldn’t get myself to now, but still it was a little disheartening to hear myself say, “No. Without Dad, it’s just…”
“Yeah.” More gently now, she picked it back up and set it in the “Donate” box.
Looking around I realized that while we had managed to empty seven others we hadn’t filled the one yet. “We’re not doing a very good job, are we?”
“Can you blame us? Hey, we only promised Mom we’d go through it. We never said we’d get rid of it all.”
“You want to stop for now, sneak some of this stuff out of here so it looks like we did something?”
She glanced down at her own little pile sitting next to her. “Let’s do it. What Mom don’t know won’t hurt her.”