I’m late. Or at least, I’m going to be. It takes ten minutes to get from here to the university, but I’m supposed to be at my committee meeting in five. I quickly change into something more presentable, throw my hair in a bun, and grab an apple to eat in the car.
Before I can think too much about it, I shove the sealed urn in my oversized purse and head outside.
A car pulls up in front of the house just as I’m turning to lock the door. Jeremy climbs out, pulling a rolling suitcase behind him. I’m so shocked I freeze with my hand still on the key in the lock. The apple, still balanced between my teeth. He saunters up the walkway, wraps both arms around me, and pulls me into him.
“Hey, Nutter.” When he pulls back, he gently chucks his knuckles against my chin.
I grab the apple out of my mouth. “Why are you here?”
“I came as soon as I heard.” He tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “Joan didn’t see fit to tell me until last night. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner, baby girl.”
I can’t think of what to say. My brain is stuck on the inconsistency of seeing him. He’s never been here before. And now he’s standing on the front porch, broad stance filling the space. Looking down at me. I’m a little kid again. Looking up at a giant.
“I’m gonna take care of everything.” He reaches past me and turns the key in the door.
This isn’t right. He doesn’t get to do this.
“Let’s go inside so we can talk through the details. We’ll want to be sure we give people at least a few days notice. It won’t be a big crowd, so that helps. We should be able to find a small place that will work well.”
“What?” It’s all I can manage to squeak out around the tension and the pounding in my head. What’s he doing here?
“I know, baby girl. It’s a lot. That’s why I’m here. I’m going to take care of all the planning so you don’t need to worry.”
Planning?
He opens the door and, with a hand on my back, gently pushes me inside. I clench my jaw.
“Where’ve you been going to church? Have you already talked to the pastor? If not, I can call them about the memorial.”
Wait, memorial? Is that what he’s talking about? How can he possibly think he has any right to plan a memorial for the woman he cheated on for more than a decade?
“I can’t do this right now.” I swivel away from his touch and back out to the porch.
“We can’t wait. It’s already been a week. You can’t hold off a memorial for too long. It’s etiquette.”
“Who cares about fucking etiquette!” I clamp my hand over my mouth. I haven’t yelled at him in years, not since I was a little girl.
Jeremy’s eyebrows pinch together. “I know you’re upset, so I’m going to ignore the unladylike cursing, but really, Hazel, there are ways these things have to be done.”
I’ve had enough. “Why do you even care? She wasn’t your wife. This isn’t your concern.”
Mom didn’t want a big memorial. We joked about how I could honor her after she was gone, but in the end I knew what she wanted was for me and Aunt Joan to sprinkle her ashes at the beach. But not yet. I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.
“You’re still my daughter. I’m concerned about you.”
“Some way of showing it.” I try to walk away, but he takes my elbow and moves in front of me, blocking the sidewalk.
“Is this still about the affair? It’s been ten years, Hazel. Your mom forgave me. We’ve all moved on. You can’t still be upset about it.”
“I can’t?” I advance on him and raise a finger tohis chest. The wall I’ve so carefully maintained to keep me in his good graces shatters. “That. Right there. That’s why I can’t move on. It’s not about the affair. It’s about how you always tell me what I can and can’t feel. You make me feel like too much and not enough all at once. Nothing I feel is valid. Nothing I do is good enough. You act like you know me so well and like you want the best for me, but if you really wanted the best for me, you’d let me grieve my own way. You don’t get to wrap me up in a nice pretty package anymore. You don’t get to swoop in and act like everything between us is perfect and you’re going to save me from myself. I don’t need saving. ‘Cause guess what? I’m not a baby girl. I’m not a Nutter. I’m a twenty-six-year-old woman, and, yeah, I have big feelings. I’m sensitive and can’t always stay in the nice, neat, convenient box you tried to put me in. I’m a mess. Mom loved me for it. And she’s gone. You don’t get to barge in here and take over. You don’t get to replace her.”
Jeremy gapes at me. But he stays silent for once.
“I’m late. I need to go.” Ripping away from him, I power walk to my car.
As I drive away, I try not to think about the fact that I left Jeremy standing in my doorway, holding the keys to my house. It all feels too overwhelming. I just need to get to my committee meeting.
I pull into the university parking lot fifteen minutes late and completely frazzled. I run the entire way to the reserved room. Dr. Paatel and the rest of the committee are already there, and it’s clear they aren’t happy I kept them waiting.
