Page 9 of Not Your Little Girl Anymore

It takes twenty minutes to drive from our house to the burial home. The air between us is heavy. Neither of us can say a word to each other.

Is this what it’s like for everyone? Becoming socially awkward and drifting away from the ones you love the most? My chest tightens from the thought. Dad and I have always been two peas in a pod. My best friend. My supporter.

Now my mother is gone, and we are left with a half-filled glass.

This doesn’t feel real.

I slam the door shut and lean against the car, needing a minute before I step foot into that building. Dad joins me. The both of us stare at the mahogany doors and the wrought-iron archway.

It’s a beautiful building, but it’s what’s inside that sits heavy on my chest.

The final era of death.

“It doesn’t feel real,” I say softly, hugging myself.

Dad wraps one arm around my shoulder and rubs his palm up and down my arm. I wish I could say that it helps, but it doesn’t.

“Let’s go, Princess.”

I frown, wishing he had more to say. “I’ll catch up. I just… I need a minute.”

He nods, pushing off the car, and heading inside. My eyes drift to the sky. The sun is now fully unveiled. There’s not a wisp of clouds in sight, leaving the colors more vivid. The beautiful garden lining the walkway shines vibrant pink and blue orchids.

Mom would have loved the combination.

I take a deep breath and meet Dad inside at the front desk. When I get closer, I overhear him talking with an older man, neatly dressed in an all-black suit.

“Sir, I’m sorry that you didn’t know. She doesn’t have anything in place to cover the cost.”

Dad shakes his head. “Typical. Leave it to her to not have…” He pauses and turns to look at me. A crease forms between my eyes. Dad gives a gentle smile and turns back to the attendant. “I guess we will figure it out.”

The attendant looks over Dad’s shoulder at me, then back at Dad, and nods. It’s clear they were having a conversation that Dad didn’t want me a part of, and that hurts.

I walk the rest of the way to where Dad is standing and pick up the magazine on the countertop.

“What did he say?” I ask.

Dad pinches the bridge of his nose. “Your mother didn’t have a plan.”

My mouth parts, leaving me a little confused. “What do you mean? She’s your wife. You didn’t set something up with her, or, or…”

“Summer. It is being taken care of. Don’t worry.” He gives a tight smile and walks away.

I close my eyes and breathe out.

***

Twenty minutes pass, and I haven’t moved away from the desk. Honestly, knowing that Mom didn’t have a will in place and never spoke to Dad about what she wanted if she ever were to die, I can’t fathom burying her in a casket and leaving her body to rot. I spent the past few minutes flipping through the magazine on the desk that show a handful of urns. My eyes catch one in particular.

“Hey, Dad,” I call out. He walks toward the counter, his eyes still trailing over the caskets that line the wall. “Why don’t we cremate her? I just… I wouldn’t want to leave my useless corpse under the ground full of maggots. Or to be eaten by God knows what. I don’t think she would either.”

Dad leans back against the glass desk, crossing one ankle over the other. “We wouldn’t know what she wanted. She didn’t leave us much.”

I bite my tongue. It’s not my place to tell my father that this should’ve been a conversation during their marriage. Instead, I flip through a few more pages of the magazine. That same feeling I had before we left is tugging on my brain, my heart, and my soul. Everything ready to burst.

Something isn’t adding up.

“So, did you find out anything about the case?” I turn to look at Dad.

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