Page 172 of Things I Wish I Said
It’s for the best. It’s what I wanted.
Any sort of parting words would’ve only hurt worse. Better to tear off the Band-Aid fast and leave it off.
I startle when Mom turns off the ignition and blink up at our house. I hadn’t realized we were home already.
“Everything all right?” she asks.
I nod. “Yeah. Fine.”
“Grayson?” she asks, shooting me a knowing look.
“Yeah.” I sigh, then step out of the car, knowing John and Katie are waiting for our arrival. It’s the first time I’m not annoyed at the prospect of spending an evening with them. Things aren’t magically better after our chat in the hospital, but they’re changing. He spent several days in Charlotte by my mother’s side while Katie stayed with her grandparents, and I found he’s actually pretty funny in a dad-joke sort of way. The biggest difference now is I’m trying, which makes me more receptive to his efforts. I don’t feel like an outsider anymore, or someone he wants to replace. It’s more like we’re a team, and that’s . . . weird in a good way.
Mom follows behind me, smiling when John exits the house and meets us on the sidewalk.
“Hey, honey.” She closes the gap and offers him a quick peck, her cheeks flushing.
Instead of getting annoyed or fake-gagging like I would have a couple of weeks ago, I smile.
“What’s wrong?” Mom says, scrutinizing him closely.
“Uh.” John scratches his head, then glances back at me. “We got a delivery this morning.”
Mom frowns. “Okay, what is it?”
He shuffles on his feet, his mouth a grim line.
“John?”
“I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just let you see for yourself.” Bending down, he starts to lift the garage door while Mom and I watch with twin expressions of confusion as the door rises, revealing a silver coffin.
Oh shit.
My eyes widen.
With everything that happened, I completely forgot I’d ordered it. But I thought it was supposed to go to the funeral home, not my house.
John’s gaze darts to me and back, warily gauging my mother’s reaction.
Her mouth drops. She’s still as a statue. So still, I’m not sure she’s breathing until finally, she spins around, her gaze thunderous. “Ryleigh Sinclair!”
She takes a step forward, slowly and deliberately, like an animal stalking its prey. “Would you like to explain to me what a casket is doing in our garage?” she shouts.
And then she bursts into tears.
Several hours after I inefficiently explained why I would order my own coffin, I’m still sitting in my bedroom, staring up at the ceiling.
All hell broke loose after my mother saw the casket, and none of my explanations helped. Nothing I said seemed to calm her down. Only John, who succeeded.
Like a coward, I scurried off to my room, letting him do the heavy lifting while I did my best to pretend I wasn’t the cause of her anguish. It’s the first real glimpse I got of what it will be like when I die, and it’s not an experience I want to repeat.
I grab my phone off my nightstand and open Grayson’s text. I need someone to talk to, and not just anyone, but him. I want to call him so badly it hurts. I want to tell him about everything. About the hospital in Charlotte and John and the coffin. But calling him would be selfish.
With a sigh, I set my phone back down.
A knock sounds at the door, sending my heart into a tailspin.
I sit up in bed, bracing myself for facing my mother’s wrath now that that she’s calmed down. “Come in.”
