Page 19 of Alliance

Lily rests next to my grandfather. The Costello tombs are supposed to be in order of age and family, but after Lily’s suicide, Grandfather had her placed next to his tomb. On the other side of his marble monument rests my grandmother, Elizabetta, who died when I was ten.

The three of them rest in blissful silence while the rest of us suffer out here in the living world.

“Must be nice,” I mutter, taking another swig from the bottle of amber liquid.

I have fond memories of my grandmother. She was slim with gray hair and thick rimmed glasses. She lived in the kitchen, loved to cook, and especially loved to feed her family. Compassion radiated from her. I remember being small and running to her when I cut my knee, right past my own mother. There was a staggering difference between my mother and her mother. My mother was more interested in what Grandpa or Uncle Junior were doing. And if she wasn’t with them, she was with Aunt Caterina, gossiping in the corner with a drink in her hand.

Grandma was the complete opposite. She loved through baked goods and warm hugs. She listened with her full attention, even when I only wanted to talk about Barbie dolls. She was the first person I loved to die. It was sudden. One night I went to sleep and the next day I woke up to her being gone. Later I would learn that she was sick, but I didn’t know that back then.

When my mother found me at her funeral, hiding behind a plant with tears streaming down my cheeks, she gave me a speech I would never forget.People die, Lana. Life goes on.

I can’t say she’s wrong. People do die, and life does go on. But I loved her, just like I loved my grandfather and Lily.

Maybe life goes on, but my entire world stopped spinning.

First when she died.

Then when Lilly committed suicide.

And now that Grandpapa is gone.

I don’t know how much more pain my heart can take. How many more funerals can I go to? How many more black dresses can I slide onto my body, wearing to church services where I have to hold in my tears?

“I figured you’d be here.” Sunlight shines in my face when I look up to the voice.

Madi chuckles softly and leans against the tomb across from Lily’s. She weaves a hand through her blue hair, her act of rebellion. Her color choice was the talk of the family for an entire week. Caterina even cried about it. Dark roots span the top inch of her head, feathering out into the bright blue color. I personally think it looks cool, but I also think my mother would have a cow if I dyed my hair.

That’s the difference between Madi and I, though. She doesn’t succumb to the ideals that were thrust upon her. She’s always made her own path in life. It didn’t hurt that she's the baby of the family and Grandfather always took her side.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, a slight stutter to my words, a sign that the half bottle of whiskey is working its magic.

She reaches out for the bottle and I hand it over so she can take a swig. Her lips twist into a grimace and she quickly gives it back to me. “Ugh,” she groans. “I was looking for you.” She rubs the back of her hand over her lips, wiping away the remnants of amber liquid.

“Why?” I ask. Madi is one of my few friends. I had more at one time, before Lily’s death. My teenage years had been filled with colorful friendships, parties, and dating. But after Lily, parties felt off and talking to people became more painful. Eventually no one could bear to be with me, and when I finally woke up from my crippling depression, I only had a few people left. Madi was one of them.

She averts her gaze while her finger twirls a loose thread on the hem of her cut-offs. “Making sure you’re okay.” She shrugs. Madi doesn’t do well with emotion. For six months after Lily’s death, my grieving consisted of crying and staring at the ceiling silently. She didn’t know what to say, so she’d just bring me a snack and sit in silence with me. It was better that way in reality, I didn’t want to hear fluffy words and poems about grief. Or someone to tell me that everything happens for a reason.

I wanted to be pissed. I wanted to stew in my anger, let resentment wash over me. And then I wanted to cry my bodyweight in water while shoveling Ben and Jerry’s into my mouth. I wanted to lie in bed, floating in the state between awake and asleep, my soul being tortured. Because my sister killed herself to escape life, I couldn’t help but feel like I wasn’t a good enough reason for her to want to live.

And Madi didn’t try to stop my whirlwind of emotions. She just tagged along for the ride, making sure I knew I wasn’t alone. I appreciated that more than I ever let her know.

“I’m okay,” I tell her, bringing the rim of the bottle back to my lips and tipping my head back.

Drinking has become my new coping mechanism. I’m not sure what triggered it, but I found myself drawn to the warm haze the whiskey gave me.

Being numb had become a nice alternative to my daily life.

My father was not thrilled about my adventure with Naz. In fact, I had a new curfew of five pm, and I could only leave the house with an enforcer. My daily adventures took me to classes at Tulane and Lily’s tomb, then straight home.

My enforcers didn’t even ask anymore, just got in the car and drove me to the two places like clockwork.

Madi gives me a skeptical look. I can imagine that I, in fact, don’t look ‘okay,’ considering I’m drinking in a cemetery at two pm on a Tuesday. I skipped all my classes today. Everything felt too heavy, and I didn’t want to deal with sitting through lectures I didn’t care about.

Instead I hid in the library, scrolling through Instagram until Tony brought me here. He’s kind enough to sit out in the car, letting me be alone with Lily. Some of the men will follow me into the cemetery, taking their orders a little too seriously. I much prefer when they leave me alone; drinking with an audience is never fun for either of us.

She rolls her eyes. “You’re allowed to be not okay, Lana.”

I chuckle. “Why would I be ‘not okay’?” I give her a fake smile. “Everything is perfect.”

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