Page 64 of Love at a Funeral and Other Awkward Conversations

And it’s fine.

I’m fine.

Even as my hand reflexively reaches for my phone to text him.

But I’m fine, so I stop myself.

It’s not fair to him to keep him on the hook when I know I’ll never be enough for him. What I have to offer is nothing in comparison to what he gives me.

I have to focus on me, figure my life out first. Then maybe, down the road, I’ll be the type of woman who’ll be able to take care of him the way he has taken care of me.

I spend the rest of the hour researching writing groups and resources until I need to leave to pick up my mom and grandparents. It’s Lucy and Lara’s fifth birthday, and Shayna’s throwing a big party at their house. I’m really not looking forward to it, for a bunch of reasons, not the least of which is my brother won’t be there.

The stifling heat of August invades my car. I check on Nana and Pop in the rearview mirror to make sure they’re all right, then hit the dash twice. Cool air spits through the vents in stops and starts. Normally, I wouldn’t care that my jalopy of a car originally belonged to Fred Flintstone, but with my mom and grandparents in it, I worry somebody will pass out from heat exhaustion. “Everybody good?”

My grandparents don’t drive much anymore, and my brother was always their chauffeur. Now, it’s up to me since Aunt Joanie can’t make it to the party today. So far, the car ride has been silent.

“Huh?” Pop yells behind me.

“Are you too hot?” I ask loudly, eyeing him in the rearview.

“No, I’m not hungry,” he says, and I hide my smile, pressing on the gas harder.

“Dad,” my mom says, shifting in the passenger seat. “Are you hot? Hot?” She nearly screams the word.

Mom has been in a relatively good mood lately. I think it’s because of the sun. I took the curtains down in her bedroom and never put them back up, crafting a story about accidentally bleaching them in the wash. She only told me to be more careful next time and never brought it up again.

“Hot?” Pop says, his hand cupped around his ear. “Yeah, I’m hot.”

Mom uselessly flicks at the vent in front of her. “You need a new car.”

“That would be nice,” I say.

“Is your father coming today?”

I find it odd she’s asking me this question, as if I talk to him more than she does. “I guess so. I told him about it.”

She stares down at the two pink envelopes in her hands. “I can’t believe Raymond isn’t here for their birthday.”

“I know,” I mumble, the two words insufficient for the dark cloud hanging over what should be a happy time. I can already picture their pouts and big eyes because their daddy isn’t there to sing to them.

When we arrive at Shayna’s—and Raymond’s—house, I park in the driveway, the same spot where Ray would park his big SUV, and help Pop and then Nana out of the back seat to lead them up to the front door. Pink and silver Mylar balloons are tied on the railing, and I have to knock them out of the way to open the front door, allowing my grandparents and Mom ahead of me.

Before I’m even inside, the decibel of screeching makes me wince, and I leap out of the way of three little girls in costumes running in a circle around the house. There’s a princess, a firefighter, and an alligator, I think. I don’t recognize any of them.

Shayna’s in the kitchen with two women when we walk back there, and she hugs my mom and grandparents, then gestures to the twins in the backyard, where they’re jumping on a trampoline. They all coo at the adorableness of their matching outfits and bouncing curls before heading outside to the pandemonium. None of it looks fun to me. Kids zooming in all directions, pink decorations covering every inch of the place, and the sounds? Even Pop can hear them.

“Got anything to drink?” I ask.

“Soda.” Shayna motions to an open liter bottle of Diet Coke.

I’d rather alcohol to dull my senses but settle for the soda and fill up a pink paper cup. “How are you?”

“Great,” she says, and I don’t know whether to be concerned or impressed by her answer. I’d thought she might be having a hard time today, being without Ray and all, yet she’s her usual self, hair and nails done, dressed like she runs a pyramid clothing scheme. She angles her shoulder away from me, toward the women next to her. “This is Cassandra, RJ’s sister.”

The two women smile at me but neither introduces themself, and Shayna evidently has no intention of doing it either. It’s clear I’m unwanted in their circle and move to the door, but a man with a trim beard opens it to stick his head in. “Babe, the princesses are here.”

“Perfect,” Shayna says, and my brain actually sputters as I make the connection that this man called Shayna babe and she answered. “Want to bring them in, and I’ll round everybody up?”

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