Page 99 of We Were Something
LOGAN
The next several days go by at a snail’s pace, but it feels somehow more manageable because I have Paige with me.
She sits with me for long hours at the hospital, no longer giving in to my desire to drearily watch my mother through the glass. Instead, she keeps me busy with little booklets of games and stupid magazine quizzes.
Apparently, I’m a Ravenclaw, an INTP, and—unsurprisingly—I can finally, officially confirm that yes, I am a parmesan.
We stay updated on Ivy’s second round of chemotherapy, and Paige gets on video chat with her briefly, though she doesn’t show me on the camera.
Every morning when we leave my mom’s house, she directs the cab driver to stop at a florist so we can purchase new flowers, and then she beams at the staff as she carries those flowers confidently past the ICU desk, ignoring how they glare at her for violating the rules every single day.
If I didn’t know I was falling for her before, I definitely know now.
And as Halloween passes us by, we take big bags of candy down to the pediatric wing for their Trick-or-Treat celebration, only sneaking a few small pieces of chocolate for ourselves.
Then, six days after the crash, with my mother still relying on the ventilator and only moderate improvement in her condition, Paige and I dress in black and take a cab across town to attend Rodney’s funeral.
I haven’t given the man a lot of thought over the past week, instead focusing all my time and energy on my mother, but I knew in the back of my mind that preparations were being made for this day. That his parents had been meeting with Jen to go over details and make sure she felt included in the ceremony.
There’s a part of me that wishes I could truly be here for Jen during her time of grief. I know it’s not easy on her to lose Rodandface my mother’s body connected to machines.
Which is why I’m attending today.
Jen showed up at the hospital yesterday morning and asked to speak with me privately. Paige graciously gave us some space—kind of her considering the things Jen said to her earlier this week—and Jen asked if I’d be willing to come be at her side during Rodney’s funeral.
I told her yes. I told her under normal circumstances, I would probably say no, but these aren’t normal circumstances. But I made it clear that Paige would be coming with me. I could see on her face that she didn’t like it, even if she wasn’t going to say anything.
After today, after she goes through the very important steps of burying Rodney, she’ll need to start relying on the support of the other important people in her life. She might not be close with her parents, but they love her and only live an hour away. She ‘got custody’ of nearly all of our friends after the divorce, a dozen or so other professionals in varying stages of life who can drop off lasagnas and check in with her between their PTA meetings and soccer practices.
After the funeral and the wake today, I’m going to be taking a step back from Jen. It can’t be my job anymore to be the one she leans on, as difficult as it seems to be for her to understand.
“Today might be difficult,” I tell Paige as we walk up the steps to the church on Saturday morning. “Have you been to a funeral before?”
Paige nods. “A friend of my mom’s, a long time ago. But I was a kid and barely knew her.”
“Well, this will be similar, then. But I’ve been to a lot of these things, and it’s not uncommon to feel overwhelmed with emotion, even if you didn’t know the person. So don’t be too shocked if you cry.”
She smiles at me. “You’re so analytical about it.”
“I just want you to be prepared.”
Paige squeezes my hand. “I’ll be fine once I find a bathroom, otherwise the only waterworks you’ll see won’t be very socially acceptable.”
I chuckle under my breath, pointing out the restroom sign in the corner as we walk through the front door.
“Be right back,” she tells me, kissing my cheek and heading quickly through the growing crowd.
I glance around, spotting a table against the front foyer wall that has a little pamphlet, and I step closer, picking one up and taking a look.
I met the guy a few times, both before and after I found out about him and Jen. He was good-looking, but I don’t know anything about him other than the fact that he and Jen worked together.
“There you are,” I hear from my right, and as I turn, Jen tucks herself in at my side and begins walking us across the room. “Everyone is over here,” she tells me, and that’s when I notice she’s walking me over to where a few of our friends stand in the corner.
I want to ask her how she’s doing, but I recognize the tight look on her face. She’s been up all night crying. Understandable, but still something I wouldn’t wish on her, ever.
“Logan, it’s good to see you,” Warren says, sticking out his hand to shake mine. “Wish it was under different circumstances.”
I give him a tight smile and nod, turning to say hello to his wife, Ebony, and another couple, Greg and Malory.
