"You would be surprised at how many people fail to clear such a bar," she says, and then finishes the last of her tea. "Thank you for agreeing to represent your uncle," she says, standing. "And thank you for the tea." 

"Sure. Bye."

"Goodbye." Mathilda nods at her in farewell, and shows herself out, nodding at Pippi as well as she passes her,

some business associate of uncle jake's just showed up at my house and invited me to his funeral, I don't think you guys have to do anything

they did what

idk man. apparently i get five million dollars if i show up and greet mourners. they're sending over a tailor so they can get me a dress by Saturday, I threatened to show up in jeans and a nerd shirt

is this offer open to all family members?

on second thought, don't even answer that. I don't want it

ugh...

Saturday? isn't that... two days from now?

I guess he's not getting any less dead

I don't know how to feel about this

me neither, but here we are. I'll let you guys know how it goes, I guess.

Pippi climbs over the stairs and comes into the kitchen to rub herself against her legs in a comforting fashion. 

"Hey, you. What a mess."

Pippi continues to snuggle up to April, resting against her legs. 

"I'm going to have to endure so many awkward social interactions. On the plus side, I can then immediately retire."

Pippi looks up at her, then carefully hops up into her lap to curl up for easier snuggles.

Long sigh. Tired scritches.

Pippi returns her affection with soft and gentle nuzzles. 

"My mom is a human cupcake and Uncle Jake must've done something really heinous to get her to stop speaking to him. But, I don't know, I wish I'd seen him again at least once. I wish he wasn't dead. I wish he'd have told somebody he had pancreatic cancer. I wish I had any idea what he was like as a person."

Pippi continues to curl up and be affectionate towards April. 

A few hours later her doorbell rings, as expected, and there's a short man standing there in a well-fitted suit and bow tie, holding a roll of tailor's tape. He keeps things brisk and professional, measures her in a variety of locations, including her feet, puts every measurement down into his phone, and nods professionally at her when he leaves. 

The next day, there's a delivery for her. The box, when opened, contains several items, including a very nice but simple and unornamented black dress, which could certainly be worn to other events but looks perfect for a funeral. The dress will fit her perfectly if she tries it on. Same thing with the comfortable and simple black flats that are also in the box. And the small, black, fashionable purse that should fit her wallet and keys and phone and everything goes well with both. 

She is so suspicious of the shoes, but, after trying them on, she grudgingly admits that they don't suck.

When the time comes, she shows up at the funeral home wearing the dress and the shoes, with the purse comfortably shouldered. She doesn't look happy to be there, but then, it's a funeral.

The funeral home looks very much the same as it did for her aunt's funeral a couple decades ago, if she recalls it -- green well-kept carpets, cream-colored hallways and walls, polished wooden doorways, and very quiet and gentle music. It's a calm space clearly intended to ease one into the mourning process with care and gentleness. 

To the right, as she enters, according to the sign, is the doorway to the funeral home's gathering room, where services are held. Another sign underneath indicates that the viewing room is further beyond that room.

Coming down the stairs to the left is a man in a plain dark suit. "Ms. Turnberry?" he says, getting her attention. "I'm Michael Chesterfield, the funeral director here." He gets to the bottom of the stairs, and holds out a hand for her to shake.

She shakes his hand like someone who hates every aspect of this interaction. "Hi."

"My condolences to you," he says, as he shakes her hand. 

The rest of the funeral home is very calm, but if April is paying enough attention, she can notice that the funeral director is looking somewhat nervous, though he's trying hard not to show it. 

"...thanks," she says, only somewhat grudgingly. It's fine. He has probably had to deal with people in worse moods than this. Death doesn't tend to bring out the best in people.