Page 182 of After All This Time

I swore to myself I’d never go to another funeral again, but here we are.

The Jewish religion has this tradition called sitting shiva. It’s where you come together for seven days to provide a time of emotional healing and mourners join together.

It’s fucking depressing as shit.

It’s just a bunch of people you don’t know and some you do, telling you they’re sorry for your loss and reminiscing about the good times. People ask you about life updates.

It’s awkward as hell when you have to answer questions about your love life. Like, why are people I don’t know asking me that? It’s none of their damn business.

We did it for both sets of my grandparents.

We can’t do it for my dad because there’s not enough time. Lizzie and I begged Mom not to, even if Dad wanted it because sitting shiva would just make us all want to kill each other.

I think my sister would kill Mom first.

And then me.

My mom and Lizzie are like two peas in a pod but there are moments where they fight. It’s never gotten physical. Just verbal. Typical mother and daughter shit.

Instead of sitting shiva, we’re having a funeral reception for Dad.

Not to be confused with a wedding reception.

That’s a much happier event.

Dainty hands wrap around my waist, pulling me out of my black hole.

I look up and see Dani’s beautiful face staring back at me, dark brunette waves sitting perfectly over her shoulders.

I’m so happy she’s here with me.

“Hey, Moonlight.”

I force a smile, only lasting a few seconds.

I just want today to be over already.

She peers her head more, so I can fully see her reflection. “I’m not going to ask you how you’re feeling because I know you can’t feel anything right now and that’s completely normal. If at any point you don’t want to be there anymore, tell me. Just say the word, and we’ll leave.”

I turn around to look at her.

She’s wearing a black dress with relatively thin straps and a small slit going up her thigh. It’s accentuating the shit out of all her gorgeous curves and perfect breasts.

I can’t stop staring at her. My girlfriend. God, I love saying that. My. Girlfriend.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“What makes you say that?” She cocks her head, giving me a cute smile.

“Look at you. I’m blinded by your beauty.”

She gestures to me with her hands, pretending to fake throw up. Meeting my gaze, she smiles at me.

“How do I look?” I ask, readjusting my tie and collar.

“Like you’re mine,” she replies, kissing the top of my hand.

My cheeks are warm and flushed. They’re most likely bright red like a ripe tomato.

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