Page 83 of Love at a Funeral and Other Awkward Conversations

I shake my head, gazing down at my brother’s name in bold, block letters. “No, I think I’m done yelling at him.”

“I yelled at him too,” she says quietly. “After I cried, I got angry. Now, I come and bring flowers and can sort of smile about it.” When I curl my lip, she touches my arm. “It sounds trite, but it’s my journey. Yours is different.”

“Yeah, I know,” I say dryly. “I read it in one of my pamphlets.”

“They put it in the pamphlets because it’s true.”

I scowl.

“When you make that face, you look like him. You have the same crease between your eyebrows. Right there…”

I glide my index finger over said spot.

“He told me a lot about you,” she says.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I think he was envious of you.”

“Envious?” My voice squeaks out the words. “Of me?”

She nods, reaching out to touch the top of the headstone before turning away. I follow her, trekking back toward where I’m parked. “I don’t know if you know this about your brother, but he was a great pretender.”

Internally, I let out a huge guffaw.

“He pretended to be more confident than he was, made up for it by being overly extroverted, you know? Always the life of the party, inviting people out, leading karaoke after dinner.”

I know all of this already, but I don’t interrupt. She wants to say it, and I want to hear it.

“He had to try to be what he thought people wanted from him. You don’t. That’s what he liked about you—you were you. He was a people pleaser, but you don’t care what anyone else thinks.” She pauses. “In a good way.”

This part is new to me, and I lean against my car, listening to Nell.

“He said your parents were a bit overbearing, especially your dad.”

I bite the inside of my lip. Overbearing? Mom, maybe. But Dad? Could have fooled me. And maybe that was the difference between us. My brother felt he had to prove himself, while I didn’t. At least, not until recently.

“He ended up giving in, doing whatever to placate them, but not you. He said you always followed your own path, and that took strength he didn’t have.”

This time, I laugh out loud. “He did not say that.”

She smiles. “Well, no, not those words exactly, but it was the basic sentiment.”

“Ray would never say I was stronger than him. Ever.”

“He thought it, though.” She lifts one shoulder. “You want to go have some coffee or something?”

“Right now?”

“Yeah.”

Over the summer, when Nell had tried to talk to me, I avoided her because I didn’t want to bear the burden of whatever it was she needed from me to get over Ray’s death. I was wrong in that moment—I was wrong in a lot of moments—and nothing has made it more clear than waking up in jail.

This time around, I need someone. Or, in this case, Nell. She sticks her hands in her jacket pockets, the petite features of her face serene, and I could use some of her serenity. “That would actually be really great. Thank you.”

NOVEMBER 30

I’ve been absent on my social media for a long while. It wasn’t a conscious decision but an accident. An unplanned yet necessary break. Remember when I said I hit rock bottom? That wasn’t it.

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