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“Mia… I…” Lila is standing in the doorway of Mark’s apartment, and despite the early hour, she looks like she’s ready to go.
Her hair is no longer bleached, it’s a deep burgundy red that looks almost dark brown. Her makeup isn’t as heavy as it used to be. It’s tasteful and kept in nude shades that complement her skin. I’ve always thought that she looked older than her age with how she used to dress. It’s nothing but the sweet irony of life that she now looks younger—or at least like a healthy woman of her actual age, instead of someone chasing their lost youth.
“You look beautiful, Lila,” I simply say.
Then I brush past her and walk into the place that used to be my home. I look around without seeing what’s in front of me. All I see are the tears that are gathering in my eyes, threatening to spill if I don’t fight tooth and nail to hold them back.
I hear Lila move behind me before I feel her gentle touch on my arm. “Do you want to be left alone? I can go get us some coffee?”
Shaking my head, I swallow a few times before I feel like I can speak. “No, you don’t have to go.” I take a deep and shuddering breath before I look toward the room that used to be mine. A place that used to hold happy memories for me, and now I feel like my heart is being shattered into smithereens just thinking about the room—the room behind the black door. It used to be white, but according to Lila, it was ruined, and a black door was all that was available on such short notice. It’s fitting.
“Have you told your men that I’m here?” Despite the softness of Lila’s voice, I bristle.
It’s not her question that makes my hackles rise, it’s the guilt gnawing away no matter how forcefully I try to tamper it down. “No, they don’t even know I’m here now,” I admit with a sigh. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Mia, you should—”
I interrupt her, not in the mood to listen to her pearls of wisdom. “The place looks nice. You’ve done a great job.”
Wanting to escape to the bathroom, I almost run before Lila can stop me or ask more questions, and as soon as the door closes behind me, I strip out of my clothes. Well, almost, I still keep my underwear on. It’s not just Coen I won’t allow to see me there. I don’t even want to watch myself. It shouldn’t be a big deal since I’ve never studied myself intimately, but it still feels weird to actively ignore part of my body. A task that’s impossible when I’m showering.
As soon as I feel clean, I turn off the water and immediately curse myself for my hasty retreat in here. I didn’t bring any clothes with me. Looking in the mirror covered in a light layer of steam, I wipe it away and study my face. I look the same as much as I look different. It’s my eyes, I decide. They’re all wrong. Or maybe they’re right, I don’t know. They betray the emotions I try my hardest to lockdown so they don’t consume me, but I can see them in my eyes. They’re right there, and you wouldn’t even have to scratch the surface much to find everything I’m hiding. Everything I can’t deal with and instead lock away out of sight, out of mind.
If only!
“Lila?” I call after opening the bathroom door. Even though I don’t see her, I immediately spot what I’m looking for. All the purchases I had delivered here, including a few potential options for the funeral, makeup, and toiletries.
I didn’t know for sure that I would come here, so I had things delivered to my old apartment as well. I suspected that I would eventually want to leave the house, and in case that happened before the funeral, I wanted to be prepared. Yep, that’s me—wasting money by being indecisive and not knowing what comes next. At least this way, I own my fatal flaw. Yeah, that’s a load of BS, but it’s what I have to keep telling myself to even get out of bed in the morning.
Huffing out an annoyed breath, I look for Lila, still only wearing the towel wrapped securely around my naked and still dripping body. I don’t have to look for long, partly because there are only so many rooms, but mostly because I let the scent of freshly brewed coffee lead me.
When I enter the kitchen, Lila turns around and says, “Do you need help with anything?”
“Yes, I think I need help.” I let the statement hang in the air for all of five seconds before I clarify, “I can’t decide what to wear.”
Lila places a hand on my back with a soft laugh and gently pushes me back toward the bathroom. “Okay, are these all your options?” She eyes each dress on the rack with a critical look. “This one. Yes, Mark would have loved to see you in this one.”
The dress she pulls out is the first one I picked for today, but I ended up second-guessing myself so much that I bought backups. The dress she’s holding is the same shade of pink as parts of my hair. It reaches just below my knees, and the neckline is very modest, but in a tasteful way. At the waist, there are black patches to help accentuate my curves, but, again, without being provocative or sexy. The sleeves reach the elbow, so it won’t be too cold to wear.
“Mark loved you in pink, you know this. I know black is more traditional for funerals but really, fuck traditions. This isn’t about stuffy people who didn’t know Mark, it’s about those who did. And no one knew him better—or meant more to him than you.” I’m taken aback by Lila’s little speech, and all I can do is glare at her. “Don’t look at me like that, Mia. Mark was your second dad, so do what you want and not what you feel you ought to do. Besides, you had the program printed with the background being the DVD cover for The Fellowship of the Ring. You have already broken the rules, there’s no point in stopping now.”
Hmm, that’s a good point.
“Okay!” I simply agree.
Rummaging through one of the plastic bags, I grab the underwear and stockings I also had sent here. I give Lila a small smile, and before I get dressed, I promise to come out soon so we can have a cup of coffee.
I’ve barely closed the bathroom door before I feel robbed of whatever calm Lila brought with her. I keep trying to be by myself, but I feel cold and hollow whenever I am. Even my calls bring me less peace and make me more agitated. I’ve listened to the prerecorded message at least a hundred times, and now it only slightly satisfies my yearning. The messages I keep sending and the calls that keep going to voicemail still help, but I’m scared of how long. Until tomorrow? Next week? Next month? Whenever it stops, it will be too soon.
“I can’t do this,” I scream in a broken voice that resembles my heart. Without thinking, I curl my hand into a fist and smash it into the mirror, fed up with looking at the empty shell that is my reflection.
Everything happens so quickly that I barely notice Lila is with me again, but I hear her murmured and rushed words. “You stupid girl, what did you do? Oh my God, are you hurt? Oh, Mia, I’m so sorry for what you’re going through.” Her voice cracks toward the end, and that’s when I know the saying is true. Misery loves company, and right now, Lila is my plus one.
“I have to make a call,” I say without acknowledging everything else she’s said.
Lila looks at me with surprise written all over her face. “Now? We need to clean your hands and see if you need stitches.”
Backing away from her, I keep my eyes on my feet. “No, I need to make a call. I’m okay. I won’t need stitches or anything.”
