Page 29 of Pretty Thing

“I don’t want to go,” I say quietly once Felix gets in the car.

He pauses.

“To the funeral home?”

“I just can’t do it today. I’m so emotionally drained.”

Felix studies me for a long moment.

His face softens. “Okay.”

Relief hits so hard I almost cry again.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He puts on his seatbelt and starts the car. “I’ll just run inside and get information instead.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.” He gives me a tiny smile. “No arguments. I want to. Just believe it already,” he says and there is an edge of humor but also a firmness, as if helping me is as natural as breathing.

The drive there is quiet, and my body aches everywhere now. An ache so deep I feel it in my bones. The kind that settles inside you and refuses to leave. The kind that marks you and reminds you every chance it gets.

When we pull into the funeral home parking lot, I want to throw up. The sign alone is enough. Pembroke Funeral Home and Chapel.

Felix notices me spiraling before I even say anything.

“Look at me,” he says softly.

Blinking back the pain, I look him in the eyes, and he gives me a small smile.

“I’ve got you.”

“What about you? Don’t you have to do this for your brother as well?”

He looks sad when he says, “It’s already been handled.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Eden.” His eyes hold mine steadily. “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for, so please stop.”

Then he’s gone.

I stare out the windshield as the snow falls around the car, but it is the woman crying on a man’s shoulder near the entrance that captures my attention.

My chest feels hollow as if someone has scooped out everything important and left the shell behind.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to bury my parents when I still expect them to walk through the front door. This is all just a terrible joke or a huge misunderstanding, right? I grip the necklace that they gave me last year. The silver turtle pendant gives me the smallest bit of comfort.

eight

​. . .​

Felix

I’m blasted with hot air as I walk into the funeral home. It hits me square in the face and dries out my throat instantly.

Inside, it looks…the same as when I was here for my mother and then again for Sam. The walls are papered with blue and yellow flowers. The floor is carpeted in grey, the same shade as storm clouds. Soft piano music plays from speakers hidden in the walls while bouquets grace every corner and available table space, filling the room with a sickeningly sweet scent.