With Old Boy on ice, thoughts turned toward interment.

And when it comes to planting a family member, everyone has an opinion.

Which is why Lola informed me I would be accompanying her to the mortuary. “So’s I don’t deck one of them little bitches when they want to have fried rice or something at the visitation.”

All things being equal, I was pretty proud of Lola. She was cordial upon her arrival and took a seat between the daughters while dealing with the undertaker. Initial formalities — date of birth, parents’ names, social security number, etc. — went along smoothly and as I sat along the wall with Clark and Andrew, I felt real hope that this could actually go off without a hitch.

Anyone out there want to sell me a bridge?

The first problem reared its ugly head when it came to choosing the casket. Lola had her eye on a polished silver bullet number which was promptly pooh-poohed by the daughters.

“That’s not daddy,” Gong-Li announced.

Lola turned and looked at me. I could see from across the room that she was already biting the inside of her jaw.

Lola’s second choice was some wood looking thing which was again vetoed.

Cue purse swung over her right shoulder dangling from two fingers and left hand on her hip (also known as the “pre-beat down stance“).

“This is the one,” Kim Jong-Il Soon-Yun announced. “Dad’s favorite color was blue.”

Which wasn’t true. The old shit favored greens for some reason. But there was no denying the casket was blue — midnight blue exterior with a two-tone blue interior. Sleek, shiny, and tacky, it was the sports car of final resting places.

“What do you think, Lola?” Gong-Li asked.

“Oh — I didn’t realize my opinion mattered,” Lola muttered, marching back over to her chair and plopping down.

Strike one.

Next up was the matter of the obituary. In a stunningly gutsy move, the Amer-asian offspring tried to tag-team Lola and include Old Boy’s marriage to their mother in the write-up. Any guesses how that went over?

“Leave that shit out about his previous marriage,” Lola growled at the wide-eyed and obviously nervous undertaker, “if we start listing all his screw-ups I’ll need to buy a fucking full page in the paper…”

Cue deafening silence.

Strike two.

Finally the undertaker cleared his throat and broke the silence. “In regards to the services, did Old Boy have any favorite hymns or scriptures?”

As Lola screwed up her face trying to figure out what these “hims” and “scrip-shurs” were, Soon-Yun placed a tiny hand on my mother’s knee and leaned over. “Gong-Li and I will choose those, Lola. We know you never attended services with Dad.”

Oh. Hell. No. She. Did-ENT.

Strike three.

“No, I’m not a churchgoer. Even if I was, I was too busy taking care of your father since you girls never came around. Of course, I know you had it hard, too, what with taking care of your drunken mother on top of those broken arms that wouldn’t let either one of you pick up a phone or write a letter…”

The undertaker and I locked eyes. You’re closer to the door, his seemed to be saying, run — save yourself while there’s still time.

After an insane amount of excruciatingly uncomfortable silence, we moved on to the matter of flowers. In an effort to win whatever pissing contest was taking place, Lola announced that she would be buying a $300 spray of roses for the top of the casket. I don’t need to tell you there was some slow blinking going on from my corner of the room.

“We’re not familiar with the florists in the area,” Gong-Li told the undertaker. “Can we order them through you?”

He response in the affirmative was met with obvious relief by both the daughters and their spouses.

“Soon-Yun?” Andrew leaned forward. “We probably need to order flowers for the boys, too…”

Soon-Yun nodded. “Yes, we’ll want to order some arrangements for our sons — they’ll be unable to attend.”

“I’ll be ordering some for my daughter as well,” Gong-Li piped up.

“Just add those to Lola’s bill and we’ll settle with her later,” Soon-Yun added.

I closed my eyes and wondered if there was any chance we could get a two-for-one deal.

Lola cocked her head to one side. “Better yet, since these two and their kids couldn’t find Old Boy’s house in the last 15 years, why don’t you just make three separate bills? That way they won’t get lost trying to find me and square up.”

The seven of us sat for what seemed an eternity listening to the pins drop.

Finally, the undertaker breathed a sigh of relief and mercifully announced that he had everything he needed.

With 48 hours until the funeral, I hoped things would remain semi-drama free.

And they did.

For about 36 hours.

That was when Lola found the will.