Page 70 of Deceiving Grier

“You look good,” I told him.

His gaze swept over me appreciatively, taking in my dark charcoal suit, then he grinned. “So do you.”

My face heated. “We should probably get out of here.”

He nodded. “Yeah, being late probably wouldn’t go over well. How pissed do you think your mom will be that we didn’t go last night?”

“Well, on a scale of one to ten, I’d guess a twenty-seven.”

“That doesn’t sound great,” Sawyer said, pushing open the hotel door. “How high are the odds she blames me?”

“Like a thirty-five.”

“Excellent. This afternoon should be interesting.”

“I’m kidding. It’s me she’ll blame.” I wasn’t sure what I would be dealing with when I saw her, furious explosion or silent rage. Neither option appealed.

Whatever I had to face today, at least I could take comfort in knowing that by this time tomorrow, I would be on a plane headed back to Oregon, Wisconsin behind me—for now, anyway.

We arrived at the funeral home about an hour before the funeral was set to start. After the service, there would be a small reception, then the immediate family would travel to the cemetery where his ashes were being interred. Afterwards, I would meet with my father’s lawyer, one of his closest friends, to go over the succession plans for his business. Just thinking about it turned my insides cold.

On entering the single-story building, surprisingly modern from the outside, we ran into Paisley and Ethan.

“Hey,” I said, leaning in to give her my best one-armed hug. “How are you holding up?”

She didn’t look as if she was doing as well as she was yesterday. Her eyes and nose were red as if she’d been crying, and her lips quivered when she hugged me back.

“Sometimes I can almost trick myself into believing he’s just away or still at work, but this,” she gestured to the tastefully decorated lobby, with its muted blues and creams and heavy plush settees, “it makes it all real. It’s as if my brain can’t fully grasp he’s gone.”

I nodded and swallowed past the lump clogging my throat. I knew exactly what she meant. My father could be hard and demanding, and yet I would have given anything to hear his booming voice. To see him stroll in and ask why we all looked so damn mopey. “I know how you feel.” I tried to offer her a reassuring smile, then asked, “Where are Mom and Fiona?”

“Fiona’s with the funeral director going over the last-minute details, and Mom’s in the reception room with Dad’s ashes.”

“How mad is she?” I asked.

Paisley shrugged. “She was definitely annoyed, but not as much as I expected.”

“Well, that’s something, at least. I guess I should face the music now before people start showing up.” I turned to Sawyer. “Are you okay to wait for me?”

“We’ll keep him company,” Paisley said, brightening. Poor Sawyer, my sister would probably grill him, asking him questions that were none of her business until I got back.

“I’ll be fine. Do what you have to do,” he said, reaching out and giving my hand a squeeze.

I nodded and made my way to the reception room that Paisley helpfully pointed me towards. I found my mother standing alone next to the gleaming wood box that I assumed contained my father’s ashes. She looked small, her shoulders slumped, and almost immediately, guilt washed over me like a wave. I should have come last night. I should have told everyone Sawyer was just my roommate. Yet, even as I admonished myself, something deep inside me reared up at the thought, rejecting the very idea of having to pretend to be someone other than who I was to appease her outdated ideals.

I moved to stand next to her, and for a long moment, neither of us spoke. A collection of family photos had been set up on the table around the box with the ashes. There was a picture of him sitting behind his desk at the office. He was younger, thinner than I remembered him, and with a full head of hair. On the other side of the box was one of my parent’s wedding pictures, faded and yellowed. They stood together smiling brightly, happy and in love. Further down on both sides were pictures of my father with all of us, vacations, sporting events, and graduations. A lifetime and all that remained of him was in a shiny, wooden box, not much bigger than a shoe box.

Emotion squeezed my throat. My eyes burned, and I dropped my gaze to the floor, drawing a few steadying breaths before I finally trusted myself to speak.

“I’m sorry about last night,” I said.

“I wish you had been here,” she told me, her voice soft, but not filled with the angry reproach that I had been expecting.

“I know… I was just wiped. I hadn’t really slept since Fiona called.”

She nodded. “It was probably for the best.”

I tensed. Did she mean that because Sawyer and I hadn’t been there, and she wouldn’t have had to explain to her friends and family who didn’t know that I was gay, that Sawyer was my boyfriend? I wanted to believe I was wrong, but I didn’t think so.

---