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I thought watching her being lowered into the ground would have been the worst part, but once the casket was closed, I felt like everything was already over even though the priest was still talking. Tria cried, and I kept my arm around her and stared stoically at the ground. Erin came up and asked me if I was all right, hugged Tria, and then headed off.
Damon opened the back door of the Rolls as we approached and informed us that he would be driving us to dinner.
“Dinner?” Tria looked at me, and I leaned back in the seat and sighed.
“My family believes that as soon as a funeral is over, everyone has to meet and have dinner together. It’s like Teague family law or something. Damon, I don’t think—”
“Mr. Teague,” Damon said in an uncharacteristically firm voice, “ordinarily I would adhere to your wishes, but in matters of—”
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered with a wave of my hand. “I give up already.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Where are we going?” Tria asked softly.
“Tamara’s,” I said. “Northside’s premier, hoity-toity restaurant. Right, Damon?”
“Correct, sir.”
“It’s where my family tends to end up for any kind of…special occasion, I guess. They catered Ryan’s wedding, too. Honestly, it’s a steak and seafood place for the most part. There isn’t going to be much on the menu for me.”
“I didn’t think about that,” Tria said.
“It’s okay,” I said quickly. “I don’t really have much of an appetite anyway.”
Tria wrapped her arm around mine, and we took turns staring blankly out the window until we arrived at Tamara’s. Damon opened the door and ushered us both into the restaurant. My family was already there: Michael and Chelsea, Ryan and Amanda, and of course, my parents.
Other than people whose paychecks were signed by Tamara herself, only those bearing the last name of Teague were present in the entire place. It was a little early for lunch, but there should have been a few others around, which meant my father had cleared the whole place out.
There was already a bottle of thirty-year-old scotch on the table.
At eleven in the morning?
I shook my head slowly and then turned toward Tria, holding her a little closer.
“I don’t want to do this,” I mumbled between my teeth.
“We don’t have to,” Tria said.
“Yeah,” I sighed, “we do. Teague tradition, and you don’t fuck with tradition.”
Two seats had been saved for us just to the right of my parents. Michael and Chelsea were across from them, and Ryan and Amanda on the left side of my father, to the right of Michael and Chelsea.
Parent, spouse, child, spouse, etc.
Tradition.
I hadn’t thought about any of it in years, not since the first Christmas I was away from my family and sober. I remembered sitting in my apartment and trying to
find Rudolph on television because everyone was supposed to watch that on Christmas Eve, weren’t they? It wasn’t on any of the cable channels, and I almost ended up having a relapse over it.
I sat down, and Dad poured me a glass of scotch without saying a word.
A server came around, took Tria’s drink order, and placed little baskets of bread around for everyone. No one reached for any of it though, and the little saucers of olive oil and balsamic vinegar remained untouched.
I reached out and brushed my fingers against the edge of the glass. Despite how early in the day it was, a drink sounded pretty damn good.
“Liam,” Douglass said quietly, “you should say a toast.”
