Page 63 of The Last Days of Lilah Goodluck

“You bought a plot?”

“Your father and I did a while back.”

“Huh.” I run the palm of my hand back and forth over a dandelion. “I didn’t know that.”

“It’s not a secret.” She sits back on her haunches. “I might have been a little upset when your grandfather announced he wished to be buried next to his second wife. But I understand. Or I try to. It’s been a while since Mom passed, and he’s moved on with his life, but...”

“You don’t want to leave Grandma on her own.”

“No. Your father believes the spirit world doesn’t exist and there is no great beyond. But on the off chance there is, I hate the thought that she’s waiting. Hoping for someone who will never come.”

“Love sucks.”

“Sometimes,” she agrees. “But not all the time.”

“I don’t have any strong feelings on final resting places. Can they just throw me in with you?”

Mom smiles. “The more, the merrier.”

“Make sure they play ‘Someone You Loved’ by Lewis Capaldi at my funeral. That’ll get everyone crying for sure.”

Mom’s smile is bemused. “A very important consideration.”

“And don’t bake anything nice for them to eat at the wake either. The day should be one of complete and utter misery.”

“Got it,” says Mom. “I’ll give them stale sandwiches and that awful tasteless meat loaf your uncle insists on making. I gave him a spice rack for Christmas and everything. You would think he’d take a hint.”

I try to smile, but it slips straight off my face. Hard not to wonder if this is another last moment right here and now. A bit morbid that my final conversation with my mother might take place in a cemetery. But oh well. My father has this method of coping with difficult situations. He decides what the logical and rational worst scenario looks like and makes peace with it. He prepares himself for possible failure or whatever. (This inclination of his might explain where my own occasional pessimism stems from.) So, if the worst possible option is me dying and being buried here, is that so bad?

Hmm. Yeah. That still sucks.

A shiver works down my spine as if the sun has disappeared and left me in shade. Only there are no clouds today. The sky is as clear and calm as it has ever been. And yet I feel cold suddenly, like maybe someone stepped on my grave.

“Mom, are you scared of dying?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “Not really. The way I see it, we’re either stardust to be scattered across the universe and returned to nothing. Or we get to go on and be with the people we’ve loved and lost.”

“That’s a nice way to look at it.”

“Or worm food. There’s that too.”

I just frown.

“Whatever happens to us, wasting energy worrying won’t change a single thing,” she says. “We all have to die someday.”

Despite her making a solid point, my anxiety is still slowly mounting. I can feel it building beneath my skin. Talking about death probably isn’t helpful. Same goes for visiting graveyards. It’s nice to hang out with Mom, though. What I should do is focus on the upcoming sex fest with Alistair. A much brighter topic. But not one I will be sharing with my mother anytime soon.

“Are you going to tell your grandmother and me about the beard rash on your cheek that you didn’t quite manage to cover with concealer?” she asks like she’s reading my mind.

“Shit.” I carefully feel my face. There’s a definite tender patch. “Stupid stubble.”

“But they’re just friends,” she says to Inge. “Friends who kiss, apparently. He’s who you were with last night, right? Or have you met someone else?” Mom doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead telling Grandma’s grave, “Your granddaughter has not been slow about moving on from Josh.”

“Oof. Feel that judgment, Grandma?”

“I just think it wouldn’t hurt to take a while to think through what happened and work out what you want. Rushing into something new with someone different might not be the best course of action.”

She assumes I have time. But I am not getting into all that with her. Good Witch Willow can stay far away from this conversation. And she’s wrong about Alistair and me. We’re not soulmates. If we were, he would have offered me more than orgasms and good company. Not that there’s anything wrong with orgasms and good company. Given the time pressures with my possible upcoming death, it’s really all I have time for anyway.

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