Page 46 of Tough Love

“Happens when it’s supposed to,” she says. “Deal with the funeral, and then pursue him. Fate’s obviously chucked him back your way for a reason, babe. Don’t waste the opportunity because of how you think others will perceive your actions. Go with your heart, listen to your gut. Just do it.”

SIXTEEN

Briar clutches my hand as we wait beside the car for Mum and Dad to get out. Grey clouds roll across the sky, the breeze carrying wisps of light rain as it caresses our faces.

Today, we lay my sister to rest. But I get the feeling that the issues her death resurrected are only just gaining traction.

I’ve barely spoken to Mum since our argument at the start of the week. A few polite words such as “Would you like a drink?” or “Could you pass me the remote.” Nothing more. I haven’t made contact with Evan since I saw him Tuesday, and even though my focus has been solely dedicated to Briar, I can’t help feeling as though in her eyes I’m not doing enough, I’m not proving how invested I am outside of my actions.

What else can I do? I’ve never been one to articulate how I feel very well. “I love you” doesn’t fall easily from my lips, and encouragement often gets forgotten. Not on purpose, but since I never received a lot of it growing up. It doesn’t come naturally to me to offer it to others. I have to constantly think about what I’m doing, what I’m saying, and how that makes the other person feel to ensure I don’t inadvertently upset them.

It’s exhausting. And so, more often than not, I shut down and simply show how I feel through my actions. Which, if you ask me, has been enough for Briar.

He gives my hand a squeeze, eyeballing the people milling around outside as Mum rounds the back end of the car to join us. She and Dad are booked to fly back to Australia tomorrow. Apparently the neighbour who has been feeding their dogs can’t continue, and since the mutts haven’t been vaccinated recently, they can’t get the animals booked into a pet motel.

Is it bad that I’m looking forward to the room to breathe? Having Mum and Dad here has been great, especially when it came to dealing with the more emotional moments like talking with Kath’s friends who paid an impromptu visit a couple of days ago to pass on their condolences. Never in my life have I felt more like a fraud than I did that afternoon, pretending I actually felt something; that their sympathy made me comforted.

Truth is, seeing them share in my parents’ grief only served to make me feel even more of an outsider.

“Ready?” Dad asks as we now all stand at the rear of the car.

“I guess so.”

People file into the funeral home at a respectable pace, careful not to seem too eager. I’ve always thought that funny about sensitive situations; the pace of life slows to a crawl. Nobody rushes around, and nobody embraces the ones they love with gusto. It’s all just … morose. As if showing an ounce of happiness or satisfaction toward those still living would taint you as unfeeling.

Cold.

Distant.

Like me.

“Have you got the teddy?” I ask Briar, knowing he has.

His fingers clasp around its pink fuzzy paw. “Yeah.”

We made a special trip to Build-a-Bear yesterday after he asked me if Kath would have a cuddly to keep her company while she slept. Such a simple child-like concept, but so thoughtful. So we picked out a pastel pink and purple bear with “World’s Best Mum” printed on its belly to lie with her forever. I had to step outside the store when he recorded the voice message inside:“I love you, Mummy.”

My heels click against the concrete drive as we near the front doors. Guests pause in their hushed conversations, their pitying gazes painting us with grief as we step through the pinned doors and into the reception area of the building.

“I’ll go have a word with the pastor to make sure we’re all organised,” Dad says, his hand lingering on the small of my back in a comforting gesture.

“Good idea.” I give him a smile and lean forward to accept the kiss he places on my cheek.

“Back soon.”

Briar turns into my legs as Dad gives Mum a peck and then drifts through the crowd to the private office in the rear.

“Where’s Mummy?”

I bend my knees and pick Briar up under the arms, lifting him to my hip. Mum extends a hand, smoothing down a wayward strand of his hair. He’s a little too old to be held in such a way, but surely situations like this are the exception to the rule? It comforts him, and so as long as my arms will allow I’ll cuddle him this way if it means even an inch of relief for the little guy.

“How about we go visit her and tuck the teddy in at her side?”

Briar nods, his eyes darting over the people who look on with curiosity. I know what they’re probably thinking: Why doIhave him in my arms? Me, the sister who walked away several years ago? What rights do I have?

The answer’s simple: all of them.

Regardless of where Kath and I were in our lives, Briar is my blood, and I’ll damn well do what I can to make this transition easier on him.

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