Page 92 of Life, Love, and Other Messes

“Not at all. Well, these are the digs.” I spread my arms out. “Sorry. You can get a hotel room in Mount Vernon if you want, but…”

“If it’s fine with your dad, I’d love to stay with you.”

“I’m glad. How was your drive?”

“It wasn’t bad. I was a little worried about the snow, but the highways were clear.”

“I’m glad. God, I missed you.” I wrapped my arms around her.

“I missed you too. I’m sorry I couldn’t come up sooner. I hate that you went through all this alone.”

“Oh, trust me, the kids have been keeping me busy.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do. I’m forty-six years old and I get here and feel like I’m thirteen.” Was that going to change? I’d been doing the cooking and cleaning alongside Dad all week. It felt for a moment that I was about to cry and I held on tighter. “And I don’t know how to feel now.”

“You don’t need to decide that right away.”

I nodded, finally letting go. “Can I get you something? Let you settle in? It’s just us and my father tonight unless you’re nuts and want to go to the boys’ hockey practice.”

“I’m good with hanging here. Now if it was a game…”

“Oh, I’d be willing to go if it was a game.”

Lisa squeezed my arm. “Let’s stay with your dad. I really need to pee, then I’m ready for the third degree.”

“He’s never met one of my girlfriends before.”

Lisa turned toward me. “Never?”

I shook my head. “You’re the first.”

“I’m honored.”

“Or something. Bathroom’s on the right. I’ll be in the living room.”

Chapter Twenty-one

I did not bring a dress.

It wasn’t to spite Mom, more so that I’d grabbed things quickly and I hadn’t been certain of where this was going. I’d almost asked Lisa to bring something from my closet, but I’d decided my black pants and dark green sweater were good enough. I knew that day was going to be one of the most uncomfortable of my life, and I didn’t want to be fighting with shoes or trying to act ladylike.

I warned Lisa that I didn’t know if the abortion crosses would still be on the church lawn, but she assured me that if they were, she would just try to guess which one I’d kicked. Fortunately or unfortunately, they were no longer present. The church was, of course, decked out for Christmas, but neither of us mentioned it.

The visitation was an hour beginning at nine thirty, but ended up lasting until almost eleven. That was fine; Pastor Hardeman’s wife and daughter came to express their condolences, but Jackson was not present. I wasn’t sure I could fake my way through that panic attack. Pastor Hardeman, too, was nowhere to be found. I just stood there, shaking hands and hugging person after person, until it felt like I’d touched everyone who had been to the party and then some. Lisa hung slightly behind my shoulder, so that if people were uncomfortable, they could just ignore her. She went to find tissues when we ran out, and brought Mom’s sister a bottle of water when she felt faint. The tissues were largely for the people coming up to talk with us, because none of us was crying. Dad stood awkwardly as usual, looking like he wanted a drink and to get out of there, but he talked with everyone, shook hands, and hugged. Kevin asked if he wanted a chair about half an hour in, and Dad refused and powered through to the bitter end.

The assistant pastor who had performed Cami’s wedding gathered us in the bride’s room before the funeral began. I wondered if we could be so lucky as to have him perform the service, but in a minute, Pastor Hardeman walked in, straightening his vestments like he’d just arrived at church and had thrown them on. “Travises,” he said, making a motion as if we were to glom together in a football huddle.

Everyone moved closer together, but we kept our distance from Pastor Hardeman. The tension in the room was immense. The minister didn’t seem to be thrilled with that, so he placed one hand on my father’s shoulder and one on Missy’s, probably because he assumed they wouldn’t cause a scene. He didn’t even look at me.

He prayed at us for what felt like a really long time, especially since we were supposed to keep our eyes down and hold hands with the people around us. I made sure that Missy was on Lisa’s other side, and my mother’s sister Ava, who had a formidable tremor, held my left. Either Pastor Hardeman leaned toward bland when people were actively grieving, or my father had paid him off, because he was completely benign as he prayed for our strength and told us where we should walk and when.

The service itself was difficult. There were many readings and prayers which I mostly tuned out, but Aunt Joyce’s husband and the church secretary spoke rather eloquently about Mom. I sat stock-still in the front row between Dad and Lisa, holding her hand. I thought about how many people were sitting behind me, and how many people had at least liked Mom if not loved her. I thought about how I’d blown everything up in that very room. I thought about how my mother was lying in front of us inside a rented casket. I looked out of the corner of my eye at how stoically Asher was sitting. Someone was watching all the other kids.

Thankfully, since Mom was being cremated, there was no graveside service. We all just headed out of the sanctuary at the end, spoke to yet more people, and finally ended up in the fellowship hall, where the church had put together a luncheon.

We had barely made it there when Pastor Hardeman came through to say something to my father. The whole family was in the vicinity, so Dad did what he would’ve done in the bride’s room if he’d had time—reminded him of who everyone was. Mom’s sister from Baltimore, then my cousin Sally who had left the church sometime between marriages two and three. Her son was about sixteen and queer as a three-dollar bill, and her daughter was college-aged and had brought a boyfriend. Pastor Hardeman said hello to all of them, even cracking a weaselly little smile like he might be able to marry the couple or something. Then, before he could walk straight past me on purpose, I cleared my throat. “Pastor Hardeman, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Lisa Sutherland.”