Page 15 of Kiss and Make Love

“Why did you spill formalin?” she grumbled.

“I was trying to video call my mom.”

Oh, for the love of everything holy. “While you were mixing embalming fluid?”

He shrugged. “I thought she might like to see the process.”

“So you spilled because you were distracted, and you didn’t clean it up?

“Well…I was talking to my mom. I didn’t want to cut her off.”

“Okay, Llewellyn. You need to get the cleaning supplies and go over the area two times with cold water. Any paper towels you use must be bagged and tagged as hazardous waste. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“And put your eyewear and gloves back on. You don’t want that stuff getting all over your skin.”

Llewellyn nodded and headed to the supply closet.

Hesitant to leave Llewellyn alone, she made sure he was covered in personal protective equipment and cleaning efficiently before she made her way to the main floor of the funeral home.

She needed to talk to Mr. Hewitt and Ms. Channing. No way in hell he should be allowed to graduate and become a licensed embalmer. Spencer wasn’t even sure how he was still in the program. Let alone how he made it to his second year. Why was this place taking him on as an apprentice? He was a walking disaster—and disasters didn’t mix well with chemicals and sharp objects.

Kicking off her shoes in her tiny foyer, Spencer headed for the couch and threw herself on it with athud. Every fucking day with Llewellyn was something she couldn’t make up in her wildest dreams. Who video calls their mom while they’re working? In amorgue?

It could’ve been worse. She could’ve punched him in the throat and lost her job, but she didn’t. Channeling her inner Brett proved to be the right choice in that scenario. Speaking of Brett…

She missed him. They hadn’t seen each other since class last week. Time to send another email. Spencer needed him to know that she cared for him, not just the potential of gettingunderhim. He’d been so vulnerable with her. She wanted more of that—more of what made BrettBrett. She pulled out her phone and typed up an email.

From: Spencer Williams

To: Brett Monroe

So, we kind of glossed over it the other day, but would you mind telling me more about your brother? I understand if you don’t want to, or if you’d rather save that conversation for when we’re in person. But know that I’m interested in more than just your dick. I’m not trying to ignore the heavy stuff.

There. Her mind felt lighter knowing a returnmessage would be on the way sometime this evening. She closed her eyes, picturing Brett’s golden curls and warm smile, when her phone dinged with an email alert only a few short minutes later.

She skimmed the email. Holy shit, it was a long one. He typed allthatin a few minutes? He really wanted to share about his life with her. A warm giddiness spread through her stomach. He meant what he said.

From: Brett Monroe

To: Spencer Williams

I can tell you here. It’s easier than talking about it in person. It’s been almost two decades since it happened, but I still get choked up sometimes.

It was Brad’s first high school party. It was a big deal to him. He was so excited. I drove him there and dropped him off. Told him to call me when he needed a ride home, and I would come get him, no questions asked. I wasn’t stupid—I knew he would end up drinking. Most kids don’t wait until they’re 19. The last thing I wanted was him getting in some random person’s car who was driving drunk.

Well, that’s exactly what happened. He didn’tcall me. Normally, I would’ve been at that party with him, but I had physics exam on Monday and pulled an all-nighter trying to study through the entire weekend to make up for not studying earlier in the week.

I was told later by someone from the party that Brad didn’t want to bother me by calling at midnight for a ride. He knew I was studying. So he bummed a ride with someone else. Derek Carter. I’ll never forget his name. Derek was a year older than me and absolutely wasted. Yet he decided it would be a good idea to drive a car full of people home. They got in an accident ten minutes from our house.

It was a single-car accident, thank goodness. The only saving grace to come out of the situation. Derek plowed into a tree on the side of the highway. Wrapped the entire front of the car around it. He broke his neck and fractured his spine in three places. Brad was in the passenger seat. He died on impact from a penetrating skull injury. The two other kids in the back had less severe wounds. Mostly superficial cuts. I think one had a broken arm. Derek was a minor and got let off easy. No jail time. Nomanslaughter conviction. Just a long stint in rehab to think about what he did to my brother.

Brad was my best friend, and he was taken from me that night. It felt unfair, and I didn’t understand why he had to die. And that led me to learning everything I could about death and dying, what different religions said about the afterlife, and how people sought help when dealing with a loss like mine.

I counselled for many years before moving into teaching. It takes a toll on you, dealing with other people’s trauma day after day. Teaching psychology has been a welcome break. Perhaps one day I’ll return to counselling, but for now, I’m comfortable where I am. And I like to think that Brad is happy for me too. I found some sort of meaning in the toughest part of my life. That’s worth something, don’t you think?

She couldn’t stop the tears from trickling down her cheeks. What a fucking awful story. No kid deserved what Brett had gone through. No kid deserved what happened to Brad. Images of what Brett’s brother might look like flashed through her mind. A smiling face. Similar blond curls. Getting ragged on by hisbrother. Him laying on a cold, steel embalming table. The Monroe family at the funeral.

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