Page 56 of Love at a Funeral and Other Awkward Conversations

Unlike Jessie, I’m not auditioning for a record label, I’m just tired. Tired of being angry. Tired of taking care of everything and everyone else. I’m tired of being tired.

I am defeated. Deflated. And not so good at accepting hugs from my own Zack Morris. Guess it’s true what they say. TV will rot your brain.

#Grief #GriefSymptoms #RaymondStGeorge #JessiesSong #JessieSpano #SavedByTheBell

CHAPTER 21

It’s the dead of summer, and without a distraction, the days slog on longer and longer. Admittedly, I didn’t enjoy organizing the Raymond St. George Charity Baseball Tournament, but it was a reprieve of sorts. A mental vacation from my daily grievances. But I’m back on my bullshit.

Every day’s more of the same. Work, unsuccessfully convincing Mom to get out of the house, work, wondering if Dad will come home, work, Price is Right! Which is why when Vince calls me on the Fourth of July to invite me to a picnic, I agree. At least, I tell myself it’s a distraction and nothing more.

Not even when he smiles at me as I open the door to him.

His T-shirt matches his eyes, which are locked somewhere around my lips. I have my Russian Red on, and my body hums at his reaction. When his gaze finally finds mine, his mouth slants up. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.”

“Thank you.” I cross the long strap of my purse over my chest and shut the door behind me, unconsciously reaching for Vince’s hand, almost like we’re on a date or something. Halfway to his fingers, I stop, leaving my arm dangling inelegantly between us, and I force a giggle then stick both of my hands into the pockets of my black dress. It was too hot for anything else, and my legs look like hot dogs in shorts, so sundress it was.

He doesn’t notice this awkward display. Or if he does, he doesn’t act like it. What a gentleman.

“Are your parents home today?” he asks on the way to his car.

“I haven’t seen my dad since the day before yesterday, and my mom’s with my aunt.”

He opens his car door, his eyebrows furrowed in question.

“Her condo has a pool, so I guess the way to pry her out of the house is the promise of a floaty and a Xanax.”

“Sounds good to me.” He laughs, and I open the passenger side door with a smile.

The last time I was in this car was after Ray’s funeral, and I push that day out of my mind as I plug my phone into the stereo system to play Jack White.

“Help yourself,” he deadpans.

Then it falls uncomfortably silent, and it’s all my fault. I ruined it when I stupidly kissed him. It’s been weeks since the fundraiser, but we’ve only texted a handful of times. I’ve shut down any type of flirtation to the point that he had stopped messaging me. That was, until yesterday.

I wasn’t happy about giving him the silent treatment, but I wanted to be clear. That kiss was a bad idea, and I don’t want to lead him on.

“How’s the Underworld been treating you?” I ask to fill in the space between us.

“Well, everyone I work with is pretty quiet, so…”

“Terrible joke.”

He glances at me with a shrug. “I don’t have your natural wit.”

“And charm,” I add.

“And charm.” He offers me a magnanimous head bow then taps my knee with the back of his hand. “How’s everything with you? How’s work?”

“All beers and boobs.”

He huffs. “Why do you stay there?”

“Because they pay me.”

“You hate it there.”

I stare at the side of his face, waiting for him to turn to me. When he does, I raise my eyebrows. He’s not going to lecture me.

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