Page 4 of Love at a Funeral and Other Awkward Conversations

How can this be it? The end of the conversation. He’s supposed to text me back, make fun of me for being such a child. I’d tell him I want to buy a motorcycle, and he’d send me the side-eye emoji. This cannot be how it ends.

I swallow down the urge to throw up and dial Aunt Joanie. She answers after a few rings.

“Hey, Cassie Cat.”

It takes me a second to stutter out what I need to say, to even put the words in correct order. “Hi. I, uh, think you should come over.”

“Now?” She laughs. “It’s almost nine. Isn’t your mother going to bed soon?”

My mom and Joanie are sisters but complete opposites. Where Mom is strict, Joanie is loose. Mom sips diet soda; Joanie gulps red wine. Mom’s smile has to be earned; Joanie laughs all the time.

“Raymond’s dead,” I say.

“What?”

“My brother. He died. My brother is dead.” The words tumble out of my mouth, but I don’t believe them. I have to keep repeating them because they don’t sound right. The voice is too quiet to be mine.

“Oh my god. I’m getting my shoes on now. I’ll be over as soon as I can.” She hangs up, and I stare at my phone, wondering what to do next.

So, I sit on my bed for a while, studying everything in my room with new eyes. The dirty clothes piled up on the floor, a T-shirt I sleep in that used to be Ray’s. A poster of Harry Styles that I’m way too old to own and my brother makes fun of me for it all the time, even though he constantly sings his songs.

Sang.

He sang those songs.

I rub at the tightness in my chest. It’s like I’m filled with cement, every breath difficult to find. Even my arms and legs are heavy as I push off the bed.

“There you are,” Aunt Joanie says, rushing to me once I hit the top of the steps. Her normally red-painted lips are plain, and she’s wearing sneakers. I’m not sure I’ve ever witnessed her in sneakers before.

Everything is upside down.

“Oh, honey. I can’t believe this happened.” She hugs me tightly. “Where’s your dad?”

“Drove off somewhere.”

She sniffles and holds me at arm’s length, telling me, “We’ll get through this. We’ll all get through this.” Then she clasps my hand in hers and leads me into the living room, where Mom sits, her face free of tears and mascara. “I got her cleaned up a bit. Gave her a Xanax,” Joanie whispers to me. “She needed to calm down.”

She’s certainly calm now, her eyes a million miles away. The only thing moving is her finger twitching on her leg. I wonder what’s actually better—this robot version of Mom, or the wild, terrified Mom of a few minutes ago. I’m not sure. They’re both unfamiliar to me.

“I’m going to call your grandparents,” Aunt Joanie says, furiously typing on her phone. “This is going to kill them.” She puts her phone to her ear, gazing over at my mother, then briefly at me before the floor. But I don’t miss it, the look in Joanie’s eyes. The look that says this has already killed my mother.

I turn away to the windows in the front of the house, where I see Officer Stone leaning on the police car. When I open the door, he tips his chin up to me.

“You’re still here,” I say, coming to stand in front of him.

“I am. Wanted to make sure your mom was receiving help and you were all right.”

“That’s nice of you,” I mumble, feeling kinda bad about all the Defund the Police stuff I posted. “But my aunt’s here now, so…”

He studies me for a long time. It’s unnerving, and I glance away, unable to take his scrutiny as if he’s waiting for me to break down like Mom or run away like Dad. I won’t do either. I can’t. It’s physically impossible for me to do anything other than stand in shock, accepting each and every blow of this awful thing. It’s beating me down, but I’m tethered to a pole, waiting for it to end.

“I know right now this is all new and confusing. It’s terrible, but it won’t always be that way.” He offers a nod before settling into driver’s seat of the police cruiser. Officer Kwon is already in the passenger seat. She couldn’t handle this.

Funny, me neither.

I stay outside, sitting on the stoop in front of the door. It’s cold out, cold enough for my breath to form clouds, but I don’t mind. It’s nice, a respite from the overwhelmingly warm house. With no idea where my dad is, and my mom gone from completely distraught to weirdly still, I’m not sure what any of this means. Where do we go from here?

I don’t have to think about the question long, because in a matter of what seems like minutes, the house fills with people. My octogenarian grandparents arrive with a flourish, my grandmother fainting when she hears the news. My grandfather lets out a string of curses like I’ve never heard before. A few of my mom’s friends show up, making sure she drinks water and eats crackers. One of them even empties the dishwasher and cleans the already-clean kitchen. Another one of them calls a relative who’s a funeral director and, as a favor, will be over first thing tomorrow morning. They say my mother won’t have to worry about anything.

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