Chapter 15
I've been dreading this day since Daddy passed away. The past two years have been full of heartache and pain. I'm ready to see the other side of the coin. In two years, I've lost the love of my life and my dad. It just doesn't seem fair. I don't understand why I keep losing the men I love. First Cade, and now my father. I can’t fathom it, so I stop trying.
CJ and I have spent the past three days at my mom's so she wouldn't be alone. I feel bad about it, but I'm more than ready to get back to my own house. My mother is a neurotic control freak on a good day, but it's been heightened by about a thousand since my dad passed.
"Genny," she calls from down the stairs, and I groan inwardly at the possible reasons she's calling for me. Since we got here, she's needed me to go through Dad's closet to pick his outfit, take it to the mortuary, contact all the family she could think of, plan the after-funeral meal that will take place here at the house, and so much more.
Sighing, I make my way to the top of the landing so she can see me. "Yes, Mom," I answer, eager to get it over with. Mom is standing at the bottom of the stairs, wringing her hands together, wearing a fitted black dress and a hat box hat complete with black veil. That's my mom... she does mourning right. Meanwhile, I'm dressing, once again, in yoga pants and a t-shirt. At least the t-shirt is clean this time.
"Honey, Mitch is here from the funeral home, to set things up for after the funeral this afternoon. Can you show him where to put all the chairs? I just..." she covers her mouth with a hand as tears start to course down her cheeks. "I just don't think I can handle it." Her eyes are pleading.
“Of course, Mom.”
She leads me over to where they’re setting things up for later. As I start to move past her, she grips my arm so tightly that I'm pretty sure she's cutting off all circulation. "You know, Genevieve," she says in a syrupy, sweet voice. "Mitch is a nice man and, since he already has kids he probably wouldn’t have a problem with you already having CJ." She winks at me as I realize that the whole crying and pleading eyes thing was just an act to get me alone with Mitch.
I don't know how she knows all this information about him and I cringe inwardly at the possibilities. I wouldn't put it past her to send out one of those, "applications to date my daughter" forms that you see online.
Shaking my head in disbelief, I jerk my arm out of her grasp to hiss at her, "Please drop the matchmaking Mother. I can't deal with it on top of everything else." She has the decency to at least look chagrined, but she doesn't apologize for her actions.
I walk over to where Mitch stands, looking extremely uncomfortable after obviously hearing my mother's comments. I have no idea what to say to him, the fact that she would try to set me up with the man in charge of my father's funeral completely blows my mind.
"Uh, hey, Gen," he stammers. I haven't really paid attention to him this week, caught in a cloud of grief over everything that's happened recently. He is kind of cute though, in a creepy mortician kind of way. Don't get me wrong, he might be a great guy, but I just can't see myself being the girlfriend or wife of a funeral director. I can barely endure this. I don’t know how this guy does it, day in and day out. It must make life seem so fleeting and pointless.
"Hi, Mitch," I say, hoping that the small smile I'm giving him doesn't encourage any romantic thoughts. We talk about unimportant stuff the entire time we're setting up, so I think I'm home free by the time we're done. But, nope, my life doesn't work that way.
"So, um, Gen." Mitch is squirming, actually squirming, as he talks to me. "Would you like to go grab something to eat sometime?"
Seriously? We're setting things up for my father's funeral and you're asking me to go get dinner? I just stare at him at first and he becomes increasingly uncomfortable. Finally, after a few minutes, I take pity on him, telling him that I can't because I need to be here for my mom and that I just got out of a relationship. “Thank you, but I’m not ready right now.”
“Well, if you change your mind, give me a call.” He looks crestfallen, which soothes my ego, and hands me his card. I smile at him as he walks away. After he’s gone, I suck in a breath of relief.
It’ll be funny one day, rational me whispers in my mind, Remember the time Mom tried to set you up at the funeral?
And that’s why you’re locked in a closet, I retort.
Once everything is set up and I've gotten CJ and myself ready to go, Mom and I head for the funeral home. It's the last place I want to be today, and I can't help but wish Daniel was here to help me through this. He's not though, and it's my fault. I'm the one who chose to believe the worst, but he also didn't say anything to defend himself, so I can't decide if my mother was right or not. Why didn’t he say something?
When we walk inside, I come to a complete stop at the sight of the casket at the front of the room. The lid is open and I can just barely see my father's folded hands. Mom continues past me just as a hand touches my elbow. Turning, I see Lanie, her eyes red-rimmed from recent tears. She puts her arms around both CJ and me, hugging us tightly and telling me how sorry she is. She releases me, but clutches my hand tightly as we walk up to the front of the room.
At this point, I'm numb to everything going on around me. Certain things catch my attention, but they’re meaningless—the scent of the home, the way it smells like lemons, and the ugly pink carpet beneath my feet. This can’t be happening. I wish to God this were a cruel joke. I wish Daddy would sit up, smiling, and say he played a prank on us. But it won’t happen. The time to bargain with my deaf deity has come and gone.
CJ starts struggling in my arms and saying, "Pops! Pops! Pops! Pops!" over and over again. I didn't think my heart could break further, but watching him try to get to his Pops almost breaks me. I pull him closer to me, murmuring nonsense words in an attempt to keep him calm.
"Here, let me take him," Lanie says quietly, reaching to lift CJ from my arms. I don't want to let him go, but I can't bear listening to him call for his grandfather. He doesn't understand why Pops won't get up and come get him. He keeps calling my dad and every time it drives a nail into my heart.
“Pops is asleep, baby. You’ll see him again.” I kiss his forehead and hand him to Lanie. CJ goes willingly because he loves Aunt Lanie and her huge-ass earrings. His chubby little hands immediately reach for a hoop. "Thanks, Lanie."
Mom thanks her too and Lanie walks out of the room. The next two hours pass quickly, a blur of faces and condolences until I can't remember any one person who came in. Everyone moves to the chapel for the service. Scanning the crowd, I feel a painful jolt at the sight of Daniel standing at the back of the room, his eyes locked on me. We stare at each other for only a few minutes, before my mom nudges me to keep moving and take my seat.
The service goes by in a blur; I can’t tell the title of a single song that was played or any of the words that were said. I sat in my seat, stunned, numb, and mute. We go through the motions like robots and I’m sitting there, thinking too many thoughts, my mind jutting off in too many directions. I think about anything and everything, because I don’t want to think about the part where we lower my father into the ground.
I shift my mind to Daniel—I can't believe he came, that he's here. It’s strange, especially after the way we parted. I called him a gold-digger and he shows up on one of the worst days of my life with nothing to gain from standing there. I wonder if mom is wrong. How desperate is Daniel to live his own life without his horrible father? Would he really pretend to care about me? Would he show up at a funeral to keep the gig going? That seems beyond cruel, especially after he was outed. So, then, why is he here?
You were wrong. Occam’s Razor, dumbass.
God, she’s getting pissy. There’s a time for logic and there’s a time to lock it up and follow your heart.
What do you think I’m telling you to do?
My stomach drops when I realize what I’ve done. That voice, the one that tells me all these things I’ve chosen to ignore, wasn’t the rational side of me at all. It’s my heart. I’ve locked her up since Cade died and refused to let her out. She’s the part of me that let me live and love, laugh and enjoy my life. And now that I’ve realized it, I have no idea how to let her out again. I don’t trust her anymore—that part of me brought me incredible heartache—how can I trust her after that?
Because you’re turning into a shell of the woman you should be. You locked your heart away from the world so you wouldn’t get hurt again, but it didn’t change a damn thing, Genny. You’re still hurting.
My heart races because the end is coming. I can’t stand and watch them lower him into the ground.
At the end, everyone gets up to leave, many of them planning to come to our house later. I search the room, trying to find Daniel in the crowd, but I don't see him anywhere. I start pushing through people, intent on finding him. I don’t know why or what I’m going to say when I see him, but my gut instinct—the one I’ve been blocking—is that I made a horrible mistake. As soon as I escape the funeral home, I see him walking toward his truck.
Trying to hurry over, I'm cursing the fact that I wore heels. I'm definitely not coordinated enough to run in them, hell, I can barely walk in them. But, my mother frowned deeply at my flats, so I wore the shoes she picked out instead. Of course, they have three inch heels and it's been raining today, so I'm likely to break my neck before I make it over to him.
By the time I get to his truck, he's shutting the door and like an idiot I grab it, thinking I can stop him. Thankfully, he has better reflexes than I do and manages, barely, to keep the door from shutting on my fingers. He steps out, watching me closely, as I self-consciously pull the cardigan I'm wearing, over my lightweight black sheath dress, tighter around me.
"I'm sorry about your dad, Gen," he says gently, his eyes softening for just a second, gazing down at me sympathetically before they harden again. This new, hardened Daniel causes my heart to clench and my eyes to water. I sniffle and he reaches out to put his arm around me, but catches himself before actually touching me. Pulling back, he takes a step away from me and the small distance feels like an insurmountable chasm.
"Thanks Dan," I say quietly, feeling the sting of his refusal to touch me in any way. His jaw tightens and he nods, suddenly looking anywhere but at me.
Clearing his throat he asks, "Where's CJ?"
"Lanie has him. He kept—" my voice breaks and I take a deep breath before continuing, "CJ was hollering for my dad and didn't understand why he wouldn’t get up." Daniel gazes at me when my voice breaks, but he still makes no move to touch me.
Daniel's eyes are understanding, but still hard, as he stands in front of me, just out of reach. "I'm sure it's hard for him. He’s too little to understand all of this." He looks away from me again, his whole body stiff and unyielding. "Well, I guess I better be going. I’m sorry for your loss. Yours and your mom's." He turns slightly, grabbing the door to his truck and pulling it open. "I'll see you around."
Before I even realize I'm doing it, I reach out and grip his wrist, keeping him from getting into the truck. "Wait, Daniel. Can we talk for a few minutes?" My voice pleads with him, but he doesn't say anything at first.
Running his free hand through his hair, he huffs out a breath. "I don't think that's a good idea, Gen." I hate that it's like this. I hate that he's calling me Gen instead of Genevieve. That he doesn't even want to look at me.
"Please, Daniel, I don’t want things to end this way." I'm begging now, and completely unashamed. I need to get this off my chest.
He only shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Gen. I just... I can't. I have to go." Then, he hops up in his truck and shuts the door. He doesn't say anything further as he starts the engine, never even looking back as he leaves me standing alone in the parking lot. It's a fairly warm day, but I feel cold. The type of cold that's bone deep and crippling.
Trying my damnedest to keep the tears at bay, I make my way back to the funeral home where my mom stands, glaring at me. She opens her mouth to chastise me, I'm sure, but I put up a hand to stop her. "Not now, Mom." Her mouth snaps shut, her teeth clicking together at the force, but she says nothing. I take my son from her and head for the car, careful not to say anything about what just happened. Today isn't the day for it.