The Collected Regrets of Clover

So this was kissing. My first kiss.

I’d imagined a thousand versions of it—and here it finally was. It felt almost surreal. I still wasn’t sure if I even wanted to kiss Sebastian specifically. But like Sylvie said, I wouldn’t know if I liked it if I didn’t at least try it. So I tried to simply observe it, as if documenting it in my notebook like Grandpa taught me to do with every new experience.

It felt wetter than I’d imagined and his saliva tasted faintly of the pineapple juice from his last cocktail. I hadn’t noticed any stubble on his chin, but now it rubbed against my face, abrasive like pumice stone. His hands were resting on each of my hips, pulling me toward him. I wondered what to do with mine. Women in movies often ran their hands through the man’s hair, but that seemed over the top. Should I grab on to his coat lapels? No, that also felt aggressive. And I didn’t want to seem like I was enjoying it until I actually decided if I was.

Just to be safe, I kept my hands by my sides.

His tongue began pushing on my lips, taut, as if trying to pry them open wider. Was I supposed to oblige, since I hadn’t resisted the kiss? For the sake of experimentation, I did. And it wasn’t totally unpleasant, but it also wasn’t igniting the internal fireworks I always imagined I’d feel in this scenario. Maybe kissing was something that grew on you too.

“Get a room!”

The catcall coming from the stairs brought the kiss to an abrupt end. Startled, I pulled away and Sebastian released his grip on my waist. As my face blazed, I shuffled sideways so that I was no longer between him and the railing.

Suddenly everything felt a little too real. My mind flashed to Claudia and the fact that it was definitely a conflict of interest to be kissing her grandson, who also happened to be my employer.

“I’ve got to go,” I said, avoiding eye contact. “Thanks for the drinks.”

I bolted down the stairs, head spinning—from the alcohol, the kiss, or the shame of being called out, I wasn’t sure.

“Clover, wait!”

Disoriented, I ran toward the turnstile, thanking all the gods and universal forces in existence when my MetroCard swiped smoothly and the bar guided me to freedom.





27


Signs of a nascent spring were emerging from the lonely limbs of trees as I rounded the corner onto Claudia’s block, but I barely noticed any of them. Emotions dueled in my body—relief that I no longer had to keep up any pretense about my job and panic about what I’d say to Sebastian the next time I saw him.

Ever since I was a kid, I’d imagined all the different things I might feel after my first kiss: joy, euphoria, excitement. Panic wasn’t among them.

Just as I’d rewatched hundreds of movie embraces over the years, I replayed the kiss in my head. It wasn’t that it had been terrible, more that I’d thought I’d find it more enjoyable—that I’d feel some kind of electric current running through my body. But I’d probably built it up so much that nothing would have lived up to my expectations. Or maybe pop culture had just left me ill-prepared, perpetuating the false stereotype that all kisses were wonderful.

I rallied myself before joining Claudia in the garden. In the cold light of day, it felt unprofessional of me to have even gone out with Sebastian in the first place.

“Hello, dear,” Claudia greeted me happily. Dappled shade decorated her skin and she briefly closed her eyes, reveling in the sunlight that filtered through. “I’ve been looking forward to you coming.”

The earnest welcome made me feel even more conflicted. “It’s lovely to see you too.”

“I must say, I’m so fascinated by this profession of yours,” Claudia said, rubbing her palms together. “How are we going to approach death today? Goodness, it’s just so liberating to be able to talk about it. I regret having left it this long—it would have made things far easier.”

Claudia’s attitude was admirable, but I didn’t believe it. Just like Guillermo’s anger had been a mask for his fear and loneliness, her nonchalance was probably a front for her vulnerability.

“Well,” I began cautiously, “since I know your family has trouble talking about the fact that you’re dying, I was thinking it could be helpful for you to put together a death binder.”

Claudia lifted her teacup from its saucer, pinching the handle delicately. “And what, my darling, is a death binder?”

“It’s a way of organizing all of the documents and details that your family might need—social security number, birth certificate, bank account details, passwords, and, of course, your will. But it can also be more than that, like a list of all the people you’d like them to notify when you’re gone.”

“I see.”

“And it can also be helpful to compile a list of things that would help them plan your funeral—if you even want one, that is. Like, do you want an open casket? And if so, what would you like to be wearing? And how do you want to be remembered? Do you have a favorite song, poem, or prayer? Or a favorite flower? Things like that.”

“This is all very morbid, Clover,” Claudia said, mildly amused. “And yet you talk about it so casually.”

I blushed, ashamed. I should’ve eased into the subject more gracefully. The whole thing with Sebastian had really put me off my game.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be flippant. It’s just that when your family is grieving, it might be hard for them to recall these details. So it can provide some emotional relief, for everyone, if we document them now.”

“I like your no-nonsense approach,” Claudia said. “And a death binder makes a lot of sense. I know they’ll all be anticipating the will reading, at least, but they probably haven’t thought about much else.”

“I think they’ll be concerned with more than just your will,” I said softly. “From what Sebastian says, you are infinitely loved.”

“Oh, I know I am,” Claudia chuckled. “My son and grandchildren may be dysfunctional, and a little strange, but I know they all love me in their own way. Even if I hardly see them. But, really, who could blame them for having their eye on this townhouse?” She sipped her Darjeeling.

“It is beautiful.” I looked up at the brick-lined rear of the home, curious to know exactly how Claudia would be divvying up her small fortune and New York real estate gold mine. As Claudia’s most devoted grandchild, Sebastian could potentially be the beneficiary of a lot of it.

Panic returned as the previous night’s kiss looped through my mind.

Claudia laid her palms on the table like a CEO commanding attention. “So, where do we start?”

Grateful to have a concrete task to focus on, I pulled out a notebook and pen. “Well, first of all, have you thought about whether you’d like to be buried or cremated?”

“Cremated.” Her casualness made it sound like she was ordering food off a menu. “No need to take up unnecessary space in the world if I’m not here to enjoy it. Though I will say, there’s a certain charm to being buried at sea.”

“It’s possible to do that if it’s what you want?”

“Too much effort for everyone. And besides, most of my family gets terribly seasick. It wouldn’t be a very poignant farewell if all the mourners were heaving over the side of the boat, would it?”

“Good point.” I couldn’t help smiling at her pragmatism. “Cremation it is then. And is there a special place you’d like your ashes to be scattered?”

Wistfulness dimmed Claudia’s eyes. “I’d like them to be scattered off the cliffs of Bonifacio.”

“In Corsica?”

“You know your geography well, I see.”

“It’s one of my favorite parts of the world—I went there a couple of times while I was doing my master’s thesis in Paris. Bonifacio is a cute little town.”

“Well, I spent most of my time there on a boat, but it was still very charming,” Claudia said, a hint of mystery in her delivery. “What’s next on the list?”

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