Lag (The Boys of RDA Book 2) (14 page)

It’s dark in the small room I’ve chosen to hide out in. It isn’t fair to my sister or my father, but it’s a better option than lying on the floor in the fetal position and asking guests to walk over my body. At the end of the small two-person sofa sits a wooden end table, the lone item a box of tissue perched delicately on the edge. Proof I’m not the first person to use this as a personal hideaway.

A gentle knock filters past my now silent sobs. “Simone, it’s time, sweetheart,” my father’s voice is strong. I wish he could loan me the ability to walk out there and not crumble at what we have to do now.

“No.”

A small line of light inches across the floor and up the wall as he opens the door enough to slide his body into the space. His black suit makes most of him invisible in the room as the door is closed again, but the couch dips as he sits beside me.

I turn to face him. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t, Dad.”

His arm wraps around my shoulders and he pulls me into him. The musky fatherly smell of the cologne Elena and I purchase for him every Christmas is a harsh reminder I’ll never smell my mother’s signature lavender scent again. It's enough to start the tears I worked so hard to stop moments earlier and I grab on to him for support.

“Yes, you can. We’re going to go out there and do this together, okay?”

I nod my head yes, but don’t make a move to stand. He doesn’t push me and I hate I’m forcing my father to be so strong for me. The man lost the love of his life. I should be his pillar during this time. For him and my sister. It’s enough to bully myself to a standing position with two deep breaths.

My father takes my hand and I follow him out to the main room where people gather for Mom’s funeral. She didn’t want visitation hours, saying the idea of people looking at her dead body and talking over it was creepy, so the room is full.

We walk to the front of the room and take seats in the first aisle of chairs closest to the mahogany casket she picked out a week before her death. It happened on a happy day, if you’ll believe it. Well as happy as a day can get when you’re using a magazine to pick out caskets with your mother.

The room doesn’t have many flowers besides the plants worked in so naturally they must be part of the normal décor. Another choice she made before she became too weak to talk much. No flowers, preferring donations made to the local animal shelter — her favorite charity. I guess people listened. Most did when Sheila Stevens spoke. Thirty some years as a high school principal gave her authority no one questioned.

The thought makes me smile until I look up and spot the mahogany casket that had me retreating to my small room in the first place. Her rail thin body is laid out in her favorite light blue ankle length dress. The small paisley decorated fabric another of her final choices. The day has more of her touch than anyone here will recognize. Her hands lay folded one on top of the other and rest on her stomach.

I can’t take my eyes off her and I stare at her chest waiting to catch it move. A breath. A twitch. Any sign of life. As the pastor starts to speak I worry if I stop, if I turn my head away, I’ll miss her climbing out of her open tomb.

But she doesn’t.

The lid seals Mom from the outside world and six men chosen from our church and extended family lift the casket, carrying it out of the room as the pastor ends his sermon.

Elena and I follow my father, stopping to talk to no one. We move as one fluid body to the hearse as our friend, mother, and protector is loaded behind us. The car jerks as the last man pushes the casket forward and Elena and I break again. On opposite sides of our father we both rest our heads on his shoulders as he allows his own tears to join ours in the drive to the cemetery.

**

It’s only the first week of November, but there’s an extra chill in the air as I’m the last to exit the car back at my parents’ house for the post-funeral luncheon. The cold set into my bones as we stood outside at the grave site and I worry I’ll never be warm again. Of course I’ve been cold for more than the last month, so this might be my new condition. Cold. A little dead to the world.

The three of us are silent as we walk in the house we once shared, but never will again. My sister continues to the kitchen while my father and I stop in the living room to our right. He sits in the old green chair he’s called his for more years than I remember, and I take a place on the matching couch. It doesn’t actually match, but its close enough in color that when my mother found it a few years ago she bought it on sight. Then sent me pictures and text messages for the next week about how amazing it was to find a piece of furniture the exact hideous pea green color of Dad’s favorite chair. She loved to hate this couch.

Dad looks at the wall lost in thought and my eyes stay glued to the black television screen in front of me. There will be people here soon enough and I’ll have to put on a brave face, but for now we all need a minute. The couch sinks in next to me, but I don’t look up, expecting it to be Elena.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Simone.” Two arms reach out and wrap around me from the side. I look up into the big brown eyes of Aspen and my face twitches into a small smile at her presence before tears cloud my vision.

Marissa perches on the arm of the couch too high up to hug, but she reaches her hand out and squeezes my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

A tiny part of me wants to lash out at her even though I’m sure the question was heartfelt. But really, am I doing okay? No.

No. I’m most certainly not doing okay. I can’t tell her that, of course. Everyone expects your answer to be yes, so that’s what she gets.

“Thank you both for coming.” At least I get those words out without crying. If I attempt more, I’ll probably lose it from the unexpected kindness from both of them. Their presence might have caught me off guard, but Aspen warned me they’d be here when the time came. I just didn’t believe her.

When I wasn’t at girls’ brunch on Sunday, Aspen forced the truth out of Trey and immediately called me. She thought she was inviting me to brunch, and her first words something about not letting Trey keep me from good French toast. It made me laugh…… right before I broke down crying big angry sobs to her over the phone. Over time she worked the story out of me and when both our tears eased, Aspen told me about losing her own parents to a car accident at a young age.

Aspen didn’t fill me with platitudes without meaning or give me unrealistic hope my mom’s cancer would magically disappear. She shared and cried with me. It was what I needed at the time. If our friendship wasn’t cemented before, it was then.

After my cell phone died and I lacked the strength or concern to give a shit about finding a charger, she called on the house phone to talk to me every three days like clockwork. She always asked about my mom, but for the most part our conversations were light without talk of Trey or other heavy subjects. I haven’t asked how she found my parent's unlisted home number, and frankly, I’m not sure I want to know.

“Of course we’d both come. Amanda would be here too, but we couldn’t both get time off work on such short notice.”

My head scans the room. “Did Finn come with you?”

Aspen pats my knee. “No,
all
the guys stayed in San Francisco,” she answers my unasked question about Trey, “but Finn sends his sympathies.”

Before I stopped answering my phone Trey called a few times. Okay a dozen or so, but I couldn’t listen to any of the voicemails or text messages. I had bigger issues to deal with than one cheating fuckwad.

“Can we help you at all? How long until you have to be back to California?” Marissa asks.

My father’s left the room to greet people as they make their way into our house, so I don’t whisper the secret I’ve kept him from discovering. "I don’t have to go back. I was fired.”

Aspen gasps at my admission. “Why?”

I sigh and lean back into the couch more, “Technically, for the no show on the day I flew here. I left messages, but when I was finally able to talk to my office manager, he demanded I fly back to San Francisco to fill out the paperwork and then wait two weeks for approval,” I snort as I remember his words. “That wasn’t going to happen so I gave him a few choice words and hung up.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. It’s possible I could’ve gotten a job back at the New York office, but my colorful language has probably ruined that."

Marissa stands from her place on the couch and paces for a moment in front of us. “Isn’t that illegal? We have rights in this country and you have a situation here.” Her arms fly up and span the living room area.

Losing my job is nothing compared to the loss of my mom, but I sniffle back some tears before they form. “I could sue I guess, maybe, but honestly I’m just too tired to care. I’ll fly back to San Francisco, pack up my apartment, and then come here for a while.” I don’t mention the mounds of debt I’m already facing or that I can't afford to get my stuff back to New York. I’ll have to tell my dad eventually and add even more stress on his already heavy shoulders.

Aspen jumps off the couch at my words and begins to pace next to Marissa. “You can’t leave the city. You belong in San Francisco.”

“Pen’s right.”

I refuse to admit leaving the city now feels a bit like defeat, but I don’t see another way. “Guys, I can’t pay the rent on my apartment." Again, not even going to mention the fact I’m now also two months behind on rent and they’ve already sent me a first notice of eviction.

Marissa stops and Aspen almost runs into her back. “You can live with me.” Her face lights up with the idea and she steps toward my place on the couch.

I throw my hands out in front of me. “No. I can’t do that.”

“Yeah. She can’t live with you, Marissa. You’re all the way out in Oakland. Your commute is one step above a daily march of death."

Marissa tilts her head at Aspen and purses her lips. “It’s true,” Aspen continues. “Amanda complains about her drive in every morning.”

Marissa sighs in defeat and Aspen keeps talking. “Plus, if you’re going to be job searching, you want to be in the city so you’re closer to companies there. Stay with me," Aspen sits on the couch beside me again, but there is a bounce in her posture this time. Her hands steeple together. “It’s perfect! I’m always with Finn anyway so you’ll have the place to yourself for the most part. The couch is a pull out. There are a few rules you’ll have to agree to, but it will work.”

Marissa scoffs. “Yeah a few rules,” but she doesn’t elaborate.

“Aspen.” I look for someone else in the living room to jump to my defense, but it’s just the three of us.

“At least give it a shot, Simone. Don’t give up yet. Let your friends help you.” Her words and puppy dog eyes are a plea I'm not sure I’ll be able to resist.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The neon green cup with the cat in the center sits on the edge of my kitchen counter. Right below it on the floor, my trash can waits. It will take one quick flick of my hand to send the cheap souvenir container over into the bin. Then it’s a simple tie job before I walk the bag to the trash and throw away a piece of Trey. I should do it.

I lean with my back against the opposite counter and stare at the cup with narrow eyes. My lips pucker as I visualize the cup falling off the edge with a small clink as it hits the glass container of spoiled mayo. Cleaning out my fridge was not a top priority before I jumped on a plane almost two months ago. All I need to do is reach across the space and tap the cup in. I can do it.

A sigh escapes my lips and I grab the cup and toss it on the top of my kitchen packing box. I’m weak. What am I going to do about it? Plus, the kitchen box wasn’t even close to full, so one more item won’t hurt it. Besides a few favorite mugs and the cat cup, everything else in the kitchen was included in the rent. Most of the furniture too. One of the perks of the place. It made my move in easy and now it will make my leaving easy as well. Like I was never even here.

“Simone,” Amanda’s soft voice floats to where I stand in the kitchen, “do you have more boxes?”

I walk to my bedroom where the short-haired blonde woman’s eyes flicker over the pile of shoes laid out on my bedroom floor. I sigh at the sight as well. It’s a day for sighing.

“I’d get rid of some, but I purged before I left New York.”

Amanda’s eyes fly back to the tower of shoes in the middle and she grimaces. “This is your post purged pile?”

I shrug when she looks back at me. “I like shoes.”

“Yes, I can see that,” she steps closer to the pile and sits down in front of it, “but I think we’re going to need more boxes. Maybe I should call Pen to bring some with her.”

“Maybe I should ship them home now.” I lean on the doorframe and try to decide which pairs I can stand to lose for a few months.

Amanda stands up. “Hey you promised us you’d give it at least a month before you go home. Plus, I hooked you up with the interview. You’re practically back on your feet already."

A small laugh escapes at her enthusiasm. No one knows how bad it is, and while I appreciate Amanda’s help at getting me a job, part time waitressing isn’t going to come close to what I was making before.

“It’s not so much I agreed to give it a month as Aspen didn’t give me a choice.”