A brutal mistake.
Yes, that’s all it would be.
I’ve gotten too caught up in the past, too mired in the unexpected web of this fakery.
“Congratulations! You guys are ahugehit,” Margot squeals, taking Hattie’s hands and dancing her around in a circle. “See? I knew you’d kill it in that dress. I’m surprised no one has had a heart attack, especially the older guys. Right, Ethan?”
I glare at them, revealing nothing.
Hattie looks at me, her brows creased, like my opinion suddenly means everything.
Goddamn, my collar feels like it’s choking me.
Does she really need to hear it from me?
Isn’t it a given she looks fucking edible tonight?
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Pure knockout.”
“Ignore him. He’s a boring spoiled asshole.” Margot gives me the finger as she rolls her eyes.
I scowl back.
If she’s come here to disrupt everything, she’s succeeding.
My head throbs.
I turn my back to them, massaging my temples as Margot chatters away, complimenting Hattie and telling her how much everyone admires her outfit.
Playing it up to boost her confidence, I’m sure. But knowing Margot, it’s also because she picked the dress and the response fluffs her pride.
In Margot’s head, this is her win as much as Hattie’s.
Annoying.
“…the crazy part is, no one believes PopPop wouldn’t let us do a proper funeral. Lots of weird rumors floating around,” Margot says when I start listening again, twisting her mouth.
Right.
She would have wanted the big formal funeral, the final goodbye.
I hide a smile, knowing that’s not what the wise old man would’ve wanted at all. He saved his pomp and extravagance for when he had a pulse.
What damn good is it when you’re dead?
“That’s Gramps, though,” I say, rejoining the conversation. “He never wanted to waste a second on death. Don’t think he wanted anyone else to bother. Or fret too much about his body ghosting the entire business community.”
“Ugh.” Margot pouts. “Why are his eccentric hang-ups always our problem? We might get it, but everybody else, no. Funerals aren’t for the dead—they’re for the living. Forus. And without one, people wonder. Then they open their fat mouths and speculate.”
She isn’t wrong.
I rub the bridge of my nose, watching her frown bitterly.
Maybe the real problem isn’t the lack of a public sendoff.
Gramps didn’t give anyone close to him a second to stop and grieve. Not with the way he checked out and barred all funeral arrangements. That stuffy lawyer drove the point homeseveral times, and Holden Stick-Up-Ass would probably guard his remains against any mourners, if ordered to do so.
Like Margot said, funeralsarefor the living.
