Page 22 of Love at a Funeral and Other Awkward Conversations

I’m not sure what to do or where to go now. So, for the moment, I’m here in my kilt. I fix my hair into a bun and head back inside to check on my tables, waiting for the time I can clock out.

When I finally arrive home, Aunt Joanie’s bags are stacked by the front door. I put my coat and bag away in the closet then wind around the steps to the kitchen, where Mom and Aunt Joanie are seated at the table. A pizza box is on the stove.

“Cooked again,” Aunt Joanie grins, and I snag a paper plate and slice before plopping down at the table with them.

“Hi, Cassie,” Mom says, dunking a tea bag in her mug.

“Hi.”

Our dialogue since Ray died hasn’t been much more than pleasantries.

“How was work?”

“Fine.”

She sips her tea, and I look to Aunt Joanie. “You’re leaving?”

She rubs my back. “I’ve got to get back to work. I have no more vacation time to use.”

I stick a gob of cheese in my mouth, trying not to pout.

“It’s been a week since the funeral,” she says, “and I know it’ll be hard, but we’ve got to go on as usual. Ray would want us to.”

I rip off a piece of crust to eat while Mom cries silently across from me.

“Where’s Dad?”

Mom dabs at her eyes. “Not home yet.”

Aunt Joanie tries and fails to hide her eye roll before she explains how she’s not looking forward to facing all the work she’s missed. She tells us about her colleague who always has lipstick on her teeth and the guy who burns popcorn in the microwave. Mom doesn’t attempt to take part in the conversation, and I already dread Joanie being gone.

When I finish my pizza, she motions with her head for me to follow her out to the living room. We relax on the sofa, and she takes my hand in both of hers. “Promise me you’ll be okay.”

I nod my promise.

“No, really. Your dad’s father died of a heart attack, right? You need to go to the doctor and get checked. If Raymond’s heart condition was genetic and he didn’t know he had it, you might not know either.”

I lift a shoulder. “Yeah, okay.”

She pinches the back of my hand. “Go. To. The. Doctor.”

“Ow.” I pull away from her, shaking my hand. “Fine.”

“I’m serious, Cassandra Lyn.”

“Full-naming me?”

“Yes. Where’s your phone?”

I take my phone out from the pocket of my hoodie.

“Call the doctor now.”

I bite back a smile, but she snaps her pinchers at me again.

“Fine. Fine. Okay.” I open up the Google app on my phone, pausing over the keyboard. “Should I look up heart doctors or…?” I’m genuinely unaware of who I should be calling.

“You don’t have a doctor?” When I stare at her blankly, she huffs. “Who do you go to when you’re sick?”

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