Page 73 of Just Like This
“Okay, so nothing with roses,” the director agreed cautiously.
“He’d always joked about playing the Bee Gees at his funeral. I think we should do it,” Valerie said. I looked at her, and we both smiled. The memory of my father dressed up as John Travolta inSaturday Night Feverone year for Halloween sprang into my mind, and I couldn’t help the laughter that tumbled from my lips.
“We should definitely do it,” I agreed.
“Absolutely not,” my mother said firmly. “We are honoring your father’s life, and we need to be respectful.”
But we didn’t hear her. Instead, we reminisced about him, and the silly things he did for us. He was the reason pancakes were my comfort food (because they were one of the few things he could make without burning). He was the reason I had the courage to leave Gig Harbor and become a pastry chef. He was the reason I still believed there were decent men in the world because even though my mother had left him, he still loved her until the day he took his last breath. I would do whatever I damn well pleased to honor the most important man in my life.
When the plans were finished, Palmer arrived at the funeral home to pick me up and take me to dinner. I was physically and mentally exhausted, and food was the last thing on my mind, but he pushed me to eat.
“You’re going to get sick,” he scolded. “You have to take care of yourself.”
“I know.” I slowly picked my way through a salad but barely touched the plate of pasta. Palmer looked disgusted as I asked our server for a box. “Can you just take me home?”
It had only been a day since my father passed, but it felt like things were happening too quickly. But there was also so much to be done that it was overwhelming. We had to wait three days before he could be cremated, and then the memorial service would be a few days after that. Lawyers had to be contacted to begin the process of executing his will. Insurance companies needed to be notified too. It was all too much for me, but I kept reminding myself that I was strong.
“Have you heard from Garrett?” Palmer asked me as we drove back to my house.
“No. Not for a few weeks.” Almost a month since that last moment of happiness. “But I email him every day anyway.”
“Well, it all depends on his job. Sometimes it’s hard to communicate unless you’re paying for Wi-Fi or you work in communications.”
“He’s tried to prepare me, but this is the time when I want to be able to talk to him, you know? I just want to hear his voice for a few minutes.”
“I’m sure he’ll call soon,” Palmer said, trying to reassure me.
When we arrived at my house, I quickly exited the car. I didn’t want to keep up a façade; I just wanted to fade into the darkness of the guesthouse and grieve. I thanked Palmer for dinner and then hurried inside before he could protest.
After a long, hot shower, I changed into one of Garrett’s T-shirts that I had snagged from his laundry and buried myself under a pile of blankets with my laptop. I opened my email, but there wasn’t anything new, so I sent him one.
* * *
To:[emailprotected]
From:[emailprotected]
Subject: Grief
No matterhow many times I say otherwise, I’m not strong. I know that you keep telling me to be strong, but I just can’t do it anymore. I want to be weak, Garrett; I want you to come home and be my strength because I don’t think I can survive this. He’s been gone one day, and already, my life feels significantly emptier. He was my best friend, and now he’s gone. What do I do without him?
I know what I should be thinking about now, what I should be looking forward to, but I can’t. I can’t think about the day you come home or about starting a life with you because that means planning a life where my father does not exist. That means accepting he will not be around to teach his grandchildren to make confetti pancakes (confession time: they’re really his recipe, not mine) or to take them clam digging during the holidays.
It’s been a month, and I’m aching to talk to you, if only for a few minutes. I need to hear your voice, your encouragement. I need you to lift me up because I’m falling, Garrett. Wherever you are, I hope you’re safe.
Yours, Cami.
* * *
I sentit off and set my laptop on the bedside table before settling in for another restless night of sleep.
