“I can’t imagine…” I say. Mika and Sam have always been connected to their culture in a way that I haven’t. My parents are both from somewhere in northern Europe, but it’s not something I really think about.
Things quiet again. Mika stirs her coffee for a long time without saying anything. Then she goes still, as if remembering something. “We held a vigil for him,” she says without looking at me. “The day after. I stayed the night with him. I got to see him again…”
My stomach clenches at the thought of this. At seeing Sam one more time after he … I stop myself from imagining it. I have another sip of coffee, and try to blink the image away, but it doesn’t fade. I wish she wouldn’t tell me about this.
“I know. Not a lot of people wanted to see him like that,” Mika says, still not looking at me. “I almost couldn’t do it, either. But I knew it was the last time I would get the chance. So I went.”
I don’t say anything. I drink my coffee.
“There were a lot of people at the funeral, though,” she continues. “We didn’t have enough seats. There were people from school I didn’t even recognize. There were so many flowers.”
“That’s really nice.”
“Some people asked where you were,” Mika says. “I told them you weren’t feeling well. That you prefer visiting him on your own.”
“You didn’t have to explain anything,” I say.
“I know. But some of them kept asking.”
“Who?”
“It doesn’t matter who,” Mika says, brushing it off.
I have the last sip of my coffee, which by now has lost all of its warmth, intensifying the bitterness.
Mika looks at me. “So have you visited him?”
I take my time to respond. “No … not yet.”
“Do you want to?” she asks, taking my hand again. “We can go now. Together.”
I pull my hand back. “I—I can’t right now…”
“Why not?”
“I have things to do,” I say vaguely.
“Like what?”
I don’t know what to say. Why do I need to explain myself?
Mika leans into the table, her voice low. “Julie, I know this whole thing’s been terrible for you. It’s been terrible for me, too. But you can’t avoid this forever. You should come, pay your respects. Especially now.” Then, in almost a whisper, says, “Please, it’s Sam—”
Her voice cracks at his name. I can hear a cry rising up her throat as she manages to hold it down. Seeing her this way sends an ache of pain to my chest, making it impossible to speak. I can’t believe she would use this against me. I can’t think straight. I have to hold myself together.
I clench my empty cup. “I told you, I don’t want to talk about this,” I say again.
“For god’s sake, Julie,” Mika scolds me. “Sam would have wanted you to come. You haven’t been there for him this entire week. You weren’t even there when they had him buried.”
“I know, and I’m sure everyone has a lot to say about that, too,” I say back.
“Who cares what everyone else says,” Mika cries, her body half rising from the seat. “It only matters what Sam would say.”
“Sam is dead.”
This quiets the both of us.
Mika stares at me for a long time. Her eyes search mine for signs of guilt or regret, as if she’s waiting for me to somehow amend my words, but all I have to say is, “He’s dead, Mika, and me visiting him isn’t going to change anything.”
We hold our gaze for what seems like a long time before Mika looks away. From her silence, I know she is both stunned and disappointed. It is at this moment I realize the tables around us have hushed as well. Our waitress passes by without a word.
After a moment, once the tune of the diner resumes, I gather my words.
“This isn’t my fault, you know? I told him not to come but he wouldn’t listen to me. I told him to stay there. So everyone needs to stop expecting some apology from me, and blaming me for any of—”
“I’m not trying to blame you for this,” Mika says.
“I know you aren’t. But everyone else probably does.”
“No. Not everyone thinks that, Julie. And I’m sorry, but this isn’t about you—it’s about Sam. It’s about missing his funeral. It’s about how the one person who was closest to him, who knew him best, wasn’t even there to speak about him. Sam deserved more, and you know it. That’s what everyone expected. But you weren’t there, through any of it.”
“You’re right. Maybe I do know him better,” I say. “And maybe I think he doesn’t believe in any of this stuff. The ceremonies, the vigil, the people from school—please. Sam doesn’t care about any of them. He would have hated all of this. He’s probably glad I didn’t show up!”
“I know you don’t believe that,” Mika says.
“Don’t tell me what I believe,” I say. That came out sharper than I wanted it to. I almost take it back, but I don’t.