Page 66 of Do It With Me

Signs of her mother covered the entire apartment, containers marked with food in the fridge. Tuesday: Beef Stew and The good chicken soup. Her coats hung on the stand in the foyer and the scent of antiseptic and talcum powder clung to the air.

It was devastating, even to me. I straightened up some while she slept, ordering in groceries and some ready-made meals, and then making some sandwiches that I decided to serve with the good chicken soup.

She was quiet when she woke but ate a tiny bit and finally decided to get cleaned up. I ran her a bath, filling it with bubbles from the bottle I’d ordered with the groceries. Ellora stripped with me right next to her, probably not even realizing I was there.

For the first time ever with her, my body behaved itself, and I helped her into the tub. I washed her and went to grab some fresh pajamas when she climbed out. I stayed with her all night, her head on my chest in her bed, her breathing soft and uneven when she finally fell asleep again after we watched a movie together.

For the next few days, I didn’t leave her side unless I absolutely had to. We handled the calls together. The funeral home, the service arrangements, and the endless small decisions that felt too cruel to make when you were grieving. I kept her fed and kept her company, and on the day of the funeral, I stood by her side as we buried her mother.

The service was small but beautiful. Sara had more friends in the city than Ellora had been expecting. People from her art community came, along with a few old neighbors and some friends who’d flown in from Chicago. They filled the room with quiet laughter and fond memories, stories about her generosity, her humor, and her terrible singing voice.

Through it all, Ellora stood beside me, dressed in black and holding the little shell her mother had loved so much. She didn’t cry today, just smiling sadly but with her chin lifted in pride. She was so damn strong that it broke my heart all over again.

I looked around at all the people who’d come, and I thought, Sara would’ve liked this. She would’ve liked that her daughter is surrounded by love.

Back at her apartment after the service, the crowd had finally thinned. The last of the well-meaning visitors had said their goodbyes, leaving behind paper cups, half-empty casserole dishes, and too many boxes of doughnuts.

The place felt strangely quiet after all the noise and condolences. Ellora was still in her black dress, her red hair falling loose around her shoulders, and I watched her from the couch as she hovered over the dining table, picking absently at a glazed doughnut.

She took a bite, chewed slowly, and then looked at me after she swallowed. “Why do some people bring doughnuts to funerals? It feels weirdly cheerful.”

I leaned back, slipping my tie off and kicking away my shoes. “Maybe that’s the point. Doughnuts make sad people remember that sugar still exists. That has to make them at least a little bit happier, right?”

For the first time since I’d gotten that phone call, I heard her laugh. It wasn’t raucous and it didn’t last long, but soft and real was better than nothing. Carrying the doughnut to the couch, she sank down next to me and held it up in her palm.

“Would you like some?”

“That depends,” I said. “Are you offering out of love or pity?”

“I don’t know, you look kind of pitiful right now,” she teased mildly, nudging me with her elbow. “I haven’t looked in the mirror, but I’m pretty sure you look worse than me.”

“Great, then I guess I’ll take the pity doughnut.” I took a bite of it while it kept sitting on the palm of her hand. For a second, everything felt almost normal again.

Neither of us had been sleeping much, but we’d fallen into a comfortable routine where silence reigned supreme. When she spoke, it was mostly about her mother and everything they’d done together. Since I couldn’t contribute much on that front, I just listened and shared some stories about my dad when it felt right to do it.

Ellora took a bite of the doughnut, then offered me another. For a while, we just sat in silence, sharing the doughnut like a couple of kids after a bad day. The city hummed outside her window. Life went on as if nothing monumental had happened.

Ellora kicked her feet up on the coffee table and leaned her head against my shoulder. “I keep thinking I’ll hear her humming in the kitchen. Or calling me from her room. It’s so quiet now.”

I turned my head and pressed a kiss to her hair. “It won’t always feel this quiet. I promise.”

She nodded, not saying anything for a long time before she looked up at me again. “Thank you for being here.”

“Where else would I be?”

As she held my gaze, she seemed to realize that I was being completely sincere and she smiled. The sight made my chest ache in the best possible way. It was still sad, her heart obviously still beyond heavy, but underneath all that, I could feel something starting to form.

Like the beginning of okay.

She wasn’t there yet, and she wouldn’t be for a while, but at least she’d gotten through the funeral. Now, it was up to her to decide how she wanted to live her life in the after. It wouldn’t be easy. In my experience, it never was, but she would need to learn how to balance the grief with her life and I would be here for her every step of the way, for exactly as long as she’d let me.