Page 63 of Mic Drop

Instead of answering him, I go into the closet, taking out a little black dress. Not caring whether he watches me or not, I toss the towel onto the top of the counter and put on my lingerie.

When I reach for the dress, he steps up. In a throaty whisper, he removes the black material from the hanger. “Here. Let me.”

Because I don’t have it in me to disagree, I turn my back to himand the dress floats over my body. He raises the zipper and closes the hook. His lips brush the back of my neck in a kiss that would’ve left me in a puddle on the floor.

Before.

Not now.

When I don’t react, he asks, “Are you planning on saying a few words today?”

I turn to face him, blinking hard. “I don’t think I can. Kara said she was going to do it, and I didn’t fight her.”

“Makes sense, Sweetheart. Anything you had to say, you already said to your mother. She knows.”

A stray tear falls. “Yeah.” I stuff even more tissues into my purse. The accusations against him inside my head loop double time. My foot stomps the floor. “This sucks!”

In an instant, he’s cradling me as the tears flow free again. “Believe me, this will get easier. Someday. At least you can be thankful for all the great years you two had together. More than most, less than others.”

I try to let his words sink in—to accept them—but I cannot. Nothing makes any sense anymore. Instead of lashing out, I remain quiet. It’s the least I can do for the man next to me. Who, God forgive me, I wish would disappear. When does he go back out on tour?

A few moments later, he asks, “Are you ready? The limo should be here shortly.”

I use this interruption to put on my heels and we take the elevator down to the first level. He suggested the elevator and I didn’t put up a fuss. For whatever reason he felt the need to show off his high-end rock star lifestyle. It didn’t impress me, but it got us where we needed to go.

At the funeral, Bennett sticks close by me, like a hulking bodyguard, as if bodyguards were sought-after prizes. Thankfully, the service goes off without any issues. Kara did a lovely job with her remarks. We’re getting ready to leave for the cemetery, my eyesscanning the faces who came to mourn, when I freeze. My mouth drops open.

This cannot be happening. Again. My hands form fists.

Oblivious as usual, Bennett asks, “What do you need?”

Kara appears at my other side. “I see him.”

Moments pass.

How dare my father dishonor my mother by coming to her funeral?

“Want me to get rid of him?” Bennett’s offer is the only good thing he’s said all day. I want to shouthell yesand rip the man to shreds. However, decorum dictates we can’t toss him out on his ear.

Staring at my sister, I straighten, then so does Kara. Our heads bounce once, then we walk in his direction, both our husbands following behind. We stop in front ofhim.

“Father.” The word lands across his jugular like a surgical knife.

“Jenna. Kara. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Blood rushes to my head. How can this be happening?

“So are we,” Kara says. “We want to know whyyou’rehere.”

“Plus why you show up to all our big events?” I add in a gritty whisper. “I saw you at my wedding not two weeks ago.”

His eyes survey the room. “Now’s not the time or place. We can talk later.”

Hands steal across my shoulders, presumably Bennett’s, but I don’t sink into them. Across from my father, I stand my ground. The moment lengthens, then the minister invites everyone to the cemetery.

Bennett leans forward and whispers, “He’s right, Sweetheart. You need to be with your mother now.”

In this moment, I size up my father. So what if he came to some milestones in our lives, he was MIA for all of the smaller moments that make a life. When Ma was with us. He doesn’t deserve any more attention. Especially on Ma’s day.

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