Page 58 of Love at a Funeral and Other Awkward Conversations

“Cass, you know?—”

“I know. You gave it up to do what you had to for your family, right?” I tilt my head. What he did isn’t all that different from me. We’ve both made sacrifices for our families. “Why don’t you coach? You did a good job with me at the batting cages.”

With his chin down toward his chest, his lips tip up. I assume he’s thinking about that night. When I spent over an hour swinging a metal bat, sending my aggression into baseballs flying through the air.

“I never thought much about it.” And my clumpy, withered heart shrinks even more. Until he meets my gaze again. “Coaching, I mean.”

“Well, why don’t you?”

If he wants me to be introspective, he’s not getting off scot-free.

He nods and opens his door to step out of the car.

I wait a minute, brushing my hair aside, checking my makeup in the mirror, making sure my outward appearance isn’t as messy as my insides. I mean, really, I thought I was going to drink beer and eat chips at a picnic, not receive a Come to Jesus.

“You mad at me?” he asks when I finally meet him at the front of the car.

“A little,” I answer honestly. He’s helped me through everything with my brother and is more or less my best friend—my only friend—but I hold on to that little bit of anger. It’s easier than dealing with the other, more treacherous emotions. “You’re not the first person to tell me I’m wasting my life.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Who said that? I didn’t say it.”

“My brother, my parents,” I tell him. “You insinuated it.”

He brings his head down closer to mine. “I’m sorry. I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

His voice is low and slow, his meaning something much deeper than I want to face. And I don’t mean to, but when he kisses my temple, I lean into him. Keeping my hands at my sides is a fight as my pulse echoes all over my body.

He backs up a bit, gazing expectantly at me, yet I can’t say anything. I know any words I may have are insufficient, so I give him a friendly elbow instead. “Okay.”

His defeat is palpable, and it reminds me why I’m not fit for relationships. I can’t give myself to others like he can. No matter how much I wish I could, I can’t until I have my life sorted out. But I’m not sure how to do that right now.

The last cruel joke from my brother was him telling me to move out of Mom and Dad’s house and get a new job. Then he went off and died.

Threw me in the deep end with no floaties.

I walk ahead, and Vince catches up to me as we reach the porch. Voices carry from inside the house and the backyard.

“Sounds like a lot of people,” I note.

He nods, and I watch as his face morphs from sullen to the bright-eyed and easygoing smile I’m used to. “Hope you’re hungry.”

He opens the front door and ushers me in front of him. There are festive red, white, and blue steamers everywhere and a couple little kids lingering in the hall, giggling. When they see Vince, they scurry away out through the sliding door by the kitchen.

“Hey, Vinny!” A gray-haired man in a tank top and gold chain holds his arms open. “How are ya?”

Vince hugs him. “Hey, Uncle.”

“Who’s this?” his uncle asks as he opens the refrigerator.

“This is my friend, Cass. Cass, this is my uncle Dominic.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say.

“Here.” He hands a twelve-pack of beer to me and piles wine bottles, cans of soda, and limes in Vince’s arms. “Bring this outside. Your aunt needs her spritzer,” he says with a roll of his eyes.

I follow Vince outside and laugh when I notice Uncle Dominic carrying nothing. Although, after showing us what coolers to put everything into, he pats my back and sticks a Corona in my hand.

“One of my mom’s brothers,” Vince whispers in my ear before accepting a hug from another woman, I assume the aunt with the spritzer. He receives a hug and a kiss from every person we pass. I meet them, trying to shake hands, but they mostly push my palm away for embraces.

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