Page 38 of Love at a Funeral and Other Awkward Conversations

I startle and glance up at Vince leaning against the doorframe, smiling at me and Gracie, the two of us practically entwined together on the floor.

“Do I need to have a fundraiser?” I ask.

“Huh?” He unbuttons his suit jacket and eases down to his chair, swiveling it to me so I catch sight of the purple-and-yellow triangle socks he’s wearing. The only bit of color with his uniform black suit and white shirt. His closet is full of black suits, white shirts, and patterned socks, or so he told me.

“A fundraiser…for my brother. Am I supposed to do one? To, like, raise money for his team’s baseball uniforms or something? Heart disease?”

“Rewind,” he says, making the universal “time-out” gesture so I’ll regroup my thoughts. I read the email out loud to him, and he reclines in his chair, connecting the dots. “Some people have fundraisers, yes. That’s a thing people do.”

“But am I supposed to do it?” Guilt courses through me. Why hasn’t anyone written an instruction book about what to do when people die? A step-by-step guide would be helpful.

“You can if you want to,” Vince says.

“It sounds like this Alvarado guy wants me to.”

Vince shrugs, and I’m annoyed at his indifference. It’s like, all of a sudden, I’m smearing my brother’s name by not doing something. I should open a library or have a street named after him. He was the local hero after all.

I hang my head, whispering, “This is so stupid.”

Everyone’s created a fairy tale out of Ray like he was this perfect person, changing the world one middle school class at a time. Sure, he was a teacher and a coach, charming, and the life of the party, but so are millions of other people. “Besides!” I shoot up, throwing my arms out. “It’s not like he was curing cancer or solving world hunger. I mean, he could be so condescending to me, as if he didn’t just luck into everything he got like the quintessential popular guy from some teen movie.”

Vince laughs, and I pout.

“I’m serious,” I say, raising my voice, forcing the truth out. “I had to work hard! Did you know why I didn’t come home summers during college? Because I was interning, subletting in railroad apartments with five other people, eating dollar-slice pizza every day. Meanwhile, he was here, being…you know, given everything from Mom and Dad and everybody else. No one helped me. No one pulled strings to get me a job.”

“I know,” Vince starts, but I hold up my palm to shush him.

“And he was having an affair. An affair!”

Vince grips my hand, pulling me toward him as he stands from his chair. “Okay. All right. Shh, sweetheart, you’re getting really loud. And I don’t mean that in the you can’t be loud way. I mean it in the you’ll disturb mourners kind of way.”

I exhale, relaxing my shoulders. “I’m just saying, he wasn’t exactly a prince.”

Vince hugs me the way I love, with one hand in my hair and my face pressed into his chest. He doesn’t take away my pain or anxiety, but with him holding me like this, he keeps the hounds from biting at my heels. Just like Hades.

And I could be convinced Persephone knew what she was doing with that pomegranate seed.

After a few moments, I let out a ragged breath. “Ray was my brother. Mine.”

“I know.” His mouth ghosts over my ear and temple. “That will never change.”

I feel him drop a kiss on the top of my head before moving his hands up to my cheeks, and the affectionate touch cracks me in half. I bite the inside of my lip to keep from crying as his thumbs stroke my cheekbones.

“I don’t want to share him,” I whisper.

He smiles tenderly and pushes me to sit down in his chair. “I can understand that,” he says and squats down so we’re eye level. “I can also understand why everyone wants a little piece of him too.”

I laugh because, yes, my brother was a pretty great son of a bitch.

Vince places one hand on my knee. We’ve gotten used to touching each other, contact that would normally be friendly, fraternal pats and hugs, but even this—his fingers curling around my kneecap—isn’t so platonic.

“No one is perfect,” he says. “But I think people want to remember the best of their loved ones. I’m sure this principal feels that way.”

“And if I don’t do this thing, I’ll be the terrible sister who didn’t care about her brother’s legacy.”

He blows me off with a flap of his hand.

“I already think that about myself,” I admit, dropping my gaze to the floor.

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