Page 76 of All Bets are Off

“Still,” I say. We lie down together, and I move so my face rests in the crook of his neck. I take a deep breath of him. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, you know?”

“The feeling’s mutual, devil dog.”

I smile against his skin. “We’ve come a long way in the past year, haven’t we?”

Running his hand over my bare back, West hums his agreement.

I glance at the closet, where the marble box that contains both my parents’ ashes rests on a shelf. I’m going to think of someplace wonderful to spread them one day.

Two weeks after my mother’s death, we hold a memorial service in Atlanta, where most of Mom’s friends live. I’ve always hated funerals, but for the first time I realize how cathartic they can be. Maybe it’s because my mother had a long illness and everyone had time to prepare for her death, but the service and reception afterward is somewhat of a release. West stays by my side, and I noticed a few people watching us as though trying to figure something out. I’m too wrapped up in talking to people to pay much attention, though.

A young woman with piercings and a green mohawk approaches us. She looks familiar, but I can’t recall where I’ve seen her.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” she asks.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“You came to Thanksgiving dinner at Gloria’s,” West says, and suddenly I remember. She was from the LGBTQ center where my mother volunteered.

The girl nods. “Stella,” she says. “I’m sorry for your loss. Your mother was so kind to me. Not just that Thanksgiving, but all the time. I was really sad to hear about her illness. It isn’t fair.”

There’s not really anything to say to that, so I go with, “Mom really loved volunteering at the center.”

Stella smiles. I remember her as coming off a bit tougher at Thanksgiving. She seems to have softened a little around the edges since then.

“Gloria inspired me to be a better person. I’ve moved out and have a good job. Now I volunteer at the center.”

“That’s great,” West says.

“Are you two…” Stella swishes her finger between me and West. “Sorry, but I just get a feeling.”

West puts his arm around me. “Your feeling is right.”

“That’s not why Mom volunteered,” I feel the need to say. “She actually didn’t know about us. We hadn’t figured it out back then.”

Stella’s smile widens, lighting up her face. “Don’t be so sure about that.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, confused.

“Your mom suspected. She told me.”

I turn to West, and his expression mirrors mine.

“She told you she thought West and I were together?” I ask, dumbfounded.

“Yep. In fact, she said she hoped you were. She told me nothing would make her happier.”

I can’t form words. West takes over the conversation, talking to Stella for a few more moments before she walks away and someone else takes her place, giving condolences.

Two hours pass before the funeral home director announces that the reception is wrapping up. Flowers line the walls, and I wonder what I’m going to do with them all.

“You can donate them to a local hospital,” the director suggests, and I agree to do that.

“Logan.”

I look over my shoulder to find Ivan standing there. I hadn’t seen him earlier.

“I just arrived. My plane was delayed. I’m sorry about your mother.”

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