A Life More Complete

---Chapter 31---

The next day, we all meet at the funeral home in Oak Park for what will be forever known as the longest day of our lives. My sisters, their husbands and I are given an hour to say our good-byes to a man that none of us really knew, but stood by because in the end we’re all that’s left. A waxy, heavily made-up figure lying horizontal in a wooden box with his hands folded perfectly over his waist. I can’t even tell if he resembles himself, as I don’t know him. Wearing a suit that was pulled from his closet in an attempt to appear presentable, although I remember little about him, I know that in life he was rarely presentable. Drunk and belligerent, coupled with the cocaine withdrawal tended to lead him down a path of hiding and seeking more. A continuous cycle. And when we were finally presented with the preliminary autopsy results none of it’s shocking. My father died of cirrhosis of the liver, the same disease that claimed the life of his own father many years before. When the question was posed regarding a more thorough autopsy the response was unanimous. No need.

The hospitality room is set with large trays of pinwheel sandwiches and platters of cookies, carafes of coffee permeating the small room with its overwhelming aroma. The hours slip by and no one comes. The day fades and a few people shuffle through the door and introduce themselves. Old neighbors, childhood friends, an AA sponsor from twenty years ago, but no one of substance, no one from his recent life, all with condolences, but with that look of harbored sympathy for his tortured children. Rachel’s mother and father-in-law make an appearance along with Kevin’s brother and sister; all attending from out of town, yet here to support what has now become their family. Gia’s parents hug and kiss each one of us with prayers and kind words. But everything is minimal. No one stays long, no one eats the food, no one can look us in the eye. Later in the evening, Gia and David come and stay longer than anyone; nonetheless it doesn’t make the loneliness any easier. When the time comes to end the wake my mother still hasn’t shown up. For me to expect anything different would have been unwise, yet to this day I still do. Waiting on my mother promises nothing but emptiness. It’s like waiting on rain in the desert, only sadness looms when day in and day out you wait but the sky brings nothing. You wait for that one-day when it will open up. You hope for something wondrous, but it never comes.

The three of us stay an hour after the wake service commences. Each one of us knowing exactly what we are waiting for, but none of us saying it. When it doesn’t happen, it breaks us; it takes a piece of us and never lets go. We leave, accepting the fact that she’ll never come through, her ability to care is non-existent.

The day is so draining that Tyler is the last thing on my mind when I arrive back at the hotel. I plug my phone in and begin the daunting process of writing a eulogy for my father’s funeral mass tomorrow. Somehow I was appointed when I wasn’t looking. After a small attempt at arguing with my sisters I gave in.

I pull out my laptop set to create a eulogy that will rival even the best. Ten minutes pass and that feeling of greatness is fading fast. The words won’t flow, my mind is blank, and when it does finally clear all that’s left is indifference.

Hating my parents would make this easier. The dilemma is that I don’t. Among the mess that was my childhood I should harbor some serious hatred, but it isn’t there. I honestly feel for them and how they chose misery over seeking pleasure from their life. My thoughts bounce around in my head as I wonder if anyone could legitimately hate their parents. I hated their actions at times, but I always felt an overwhelming need to forgive and let go. Harboring feelings of hatred would eventually lead me to be bitter and angry. I would become my mother. The one person I looked at as guide as to what not to do. With that, I begin the furious typing of my father’s eulogy.

Somewhere near an hour into my second editing session my BlackBerry lights up on the little hotel desk discreetly tucked into the corner of the room. I try to ignore it for what seems like a lifetime, but it’s really more like three seconds. I don’t actually get up. I won’t be appeased with a late night text message from Tyler anymore. His apology needs to come in the form of some serious groveling coupled with major attempts to make me happy for once. I won’t be bought with expensive gifts and half-assed apologies only to be plagued with annoyance by him a few moments later. Ten minutes pass and the phone blows up again, this time three times in a row. My only thought is...work. Everyone in the office is aware that I’m out of town for my father’s funeral and even if they don’t know the situation I would hope they have the respect to not contact me. In addition to letting everyone in the office know, it is included in my out of office reply for my email, duly noted that I am in fact attending a funeral. I purposely include the detail about it being my father, since most of my clients have this belief that I was created out of thin air to only serve them. I can’t imagine that any one of them would have the gall to contact me now. Watching the phone light up like the Fourth of July for a fourth time, I’m like a moth to a flame. Before getting up I hit save on the work I have spent the last two hours pouring over.

I grab my phone in a huff like I’m suddenly perturbed by the fact that I was forced to leave my place in bed, when in actuality I feel I have let my annoyance with Tyler fester just long enough. Picking up the phone I find three missed calls from Tyler, one voicemail and a text from Tyler. The text ambiguous in nature, which is none too surprising, far be it from him to actually admit guilt immediately. All the text says is, “Sorry to bother you, but call me.” The voicemail is reticent of the text, but hearing his voice makes my heart rate skyrocket even with every attempt to control it. Obsessively, I listen to it again trying to gage some interpretation of its meaning from the tone in his voice, but find nothing. The third attempt brings nothing, except I notice the absence of sound in the background. Closed up in his office? At home? In a restaurant bathroom? He said he would be working all weekend, so I picture him in his office because anything else will lead my thoughts to run amok with craziness. As I debate whether to call Tyler back the phone rings. Looking down, the screen notifies me that it’s Melinda and as much as I hate her right now and the requisite two week anger period is still in effect, I answer.

“Hello?” I say flatly knowing exactly who it is on the other end and not following through with my usual informal greeting of “Hey Mel”.

“Krissy?” she says almost near bewilderment at my answering of her call.

“Yeah.”

“Hey. I’m sorry about your dad. Are you doing okay?” The tone in her voice is far more formal than I am used to and I get the feeling that my dad’s death isn’t her sole reason for calling. The opening to the conversation seems like more of a formality before she plunges into the real reason for contacting me. It would be quite cold for her to call and jump right into her reason without asking about my current situation.

“I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” Instead of waiting around for her I come right out and ask, “Did you need something?”

“Um, yeah,” she mutters. “Trini was arrested again last night. It was far worse this time around.” I cut her off abruptly.

“You’re kidding me? What for? I thought things were going better. I had lunch with her recently and I talked to her before I left. Unreal.” I run my hand through my hair and lay down on the bed.

“First off, she was driving. Enough said right there. She’s on a suspended license. But worse, this time she backed into a crowd of people outside of an L.A. club, drove off hitting several parked cars along the way and then abandoned the car in a neighborhood somewhere in south L.A. How she ended up there, I have no idea.”

“Where is she now?”

“Well, I think she’s at home. There are two problems. The first one totally work related. She’s under contract for that movie that began shooting last week. She missed her call time today. Just didn’t show up. Do you want me to handle the statement the media is asking for or do you want to take care of it?” She pauses to let me answer, but I can sense there is more she wants to say, so I keep my answer brief.

“If you wouldn’t mind. I’ve got enough to deal with here right now. I probably won’t be back in town until late Wednesday or early Thursday. I’d appreciate it if you’d issue a statement. Make sure I get a copy.”

“No problem,” she says kindly but formally. This is highly unlike our working relationship and the tension is beginning to wear on me.

“Hey, Mel?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I lost my shit at the bar. We’ve been friends a long time and even though I’m still mad, I’ll get over it.”

“I know and I’m sorry, too. I don’t know why I did that to you. I guess I was looking for something real. Ben is so great; I just thought maybe I could have what you once had with him. It was a poor choice on my part and I apologize. I never want to lose you as a friend.”

“Thanks. That means a lot to me to hear you say that. We’ll get back to where we once were. I just need some time. It was more than just you being with Ben, but I don’t really want to get into that.”

“I know that right now things are weird between us and all, but I have to tell you something.” I feel my heartbeat begin to race as a feeling of nervousness runs through my body. My hands shake and I can feel the sweat begin to form on my upper lip. Panic is something I am familiar with, but it still takes me by surprise every time. A lump has formed in my throat blocking all sound from being released and when I don’t say anything she begins to talk quickly. “Tyler was with Trini.” I exhale so loudly that it reverberates back into my ear through the phone. “I’m sorry,” she says, yet I’m not sure what she is sorry about. “He wasn’t with her when she was at the club, but he showed up shortly after she abandoned her car. The paparazzi was following her and caught everything on camera.” I can feel my panic turn to anger.

“He’s her lawyer, Melinda.” I practically shout at her. “That’s his job. She is obviously having some kind of legal trouble. Who else would she call?” By now my voice is several decibels higher than necessary and if the people in the next room are sleeping they have surely been woken up by my voice tearing through the paper-thin walls. “I’m not sure I appreciate what you are insinuating here. He’s my husband and you’re tossing around some serious allegations.”

“Krissy, I’m not insinuating anything. I just thought you would like to know. I apologize if I’ve offended you. I understand that things are strained between you two right now, so I thought you’d want to know.” Damn that Bob! I should know better than to unload my feelings on him.

“Thanks for your concern, but I’d prefer to keep our relationship professional. If you’d please take care of that statement and make sure I get a copy I’d appreciate it.”

“Sure. I’ll do that. Take care, Krissy.”

“Good-bye, Melinda.” I hit the end button hard and toss the phone at the desk. It hits the top with a clatter and skitters across it flipping once before finally resting. I’m angry, but most of all I’m hurt. Tyler is supposed to be working all weekend, yet he can drop everything and rescue Trini. This isn’t new, but it still upsets me. I recall my conversation with Maizey and I wonder when will I hit that breaking point? When will I finally realize that I don’t matter in his world? I don’t even know how I got to this point. It’s as if the last few months of my life went by in blur, like I was in a coma and woke up to a totally different life. I don’t even recognize myself anymore and the fact that I just defended Tyler to Melinda tells me that everyone around me knows he’s an a*shole. I would have mocked a person like me and called them weak and spineless. I definitely wouldn’t have stuck around to watch the shit show unfold. I am undeniably a sucker.

Even though I know it’s a mistake, I call Tyler. I hope that his recount of the story reassures me that he in fact didn’t dump everything and run to Trini’s side. The phone rings four times and with each passing ring my agitation grows. When he answers on the fifth ring the aggravation is tangible. I can hear it in his simple yet harsh answer, “What?”

“Hi, Ty. I got your message,” I say, my tone far too sweet in response to his.

“So, I’m sure you heard already that Trini was arrested again.” He hesitates and I can picture him running his hand though his curly blonde hair and the thought makes me smile slightly. “Did you want something? I’m still at the office and I want to finish up here so I can go home.”

“No. I was just returning your call. I talked to Melinda. She told me about Trini.” I take a moment to gather my thoughts because I’m just not sure how to broach the subject of him and Trini together. “Melinda said that you were with Trini the night she was arrested.” Probably not the best way to interject that into the conversation, but oh well. He doesn’t say anything for what feels like forever.

“Melinda needs to mind her own f*cking business. I’m not sure what she is trying to insinuate, but I’m Trini’s lawyer. She found herself in a very precarious situation and I arrived to serve as her legal counsel. Nothing more,” Tyler says, but his words are forced and sharp.

“That’s what I told her. I’m sure it was nothing.”

“It was nothing. I don’t have personal relationships with my clients. Now seriously, I have to go.”

“Okay, sorry. Before you go,” I can’t help but ask even though I know the response is going to bring upon an argument, “Why’d you go get Trini? You told me you were too busy to be here with me, but you could find the time to pick her up?”

“I’m not even going to respond to that, Krissy. You’re being so f*cking irrational right now. Good-bye.” Tyler hangs up before a single word leaves my mouth. I should have known better than to ask yet I push it just a little too far each time.

I go to bed, once again, vowing not to speak to him until I arrive home. That’s like asking an alcoholic to refrain from drinking while sitting at a bar. I pretty much suck at it.