Page 86 of Beyond Friendship

“I came in my own car,” he whispers.

I blink for a moment, knowing he’s not allowed to drive yet. But hell, I would have done the same in his case. When he doesn’t move, I gently dig out the car keys from his pocket, and when I move, he follows and gets into the car. The guys watch from a distance, and I gesture to them that I’ll call them. I’ll pick up my own car later.

Once home, I take him to his bedroom, where I grab dry clothes from his closet and place them on the bed. “Here, change into this.”

Like an obedient robot, he undresses, and once in a new set, he plumps down on the end of his bed. I quickly switch my outfit, and when I’m done, he asks, “Can you call Olga and tell her she…” He hands me his phone.

“She’s in my phonebook list. I want to be alone for a while,” he says, staring into nothingness.

“Sure.” I take the device and walk to the kitchen. I let out a deep sigh when I sit at the table. “Okay, let’s do this.”

The next half hour is spent talking to Olga, who came over when I called. She’s shocked and cries when I tell her what happened. The moment she leaves, my phone rings. Seeing it’s my mom, I answer.

“Amanda, are you at Brian’s?” she asks.

The lump in my throat reappears, but I manage to squeeze out a yes. A sudden knock on the window by the front door makes me glance up.

“Ah, just a second, Mom. Someone’s at the door.”

I hurry to open it and get greeted by a pair of caring eyes. I bite my lip, withholding myself from crying as my mom strides in, enveloping me in a hug before leading me to the kitchen and helping me sit down.

“Oh, honey...” she whispers, cupping my face in her hands and wiping the disobedient tears from my cheeks.

“She died, Mom. And Brian—he’s...” I muffle a sob with my hands and struggle to stay composed.

My mom sits down next to me and takes hold of my hands. This warm gesture calms my powerful emotions.

“He’s devastated and I don’t know how to ease his pain, Mom.”

“The only thing you can do, my sweet Amanda,” she says in a soothing tone, “is to be there for him. Stand by his side as he mourns. You can’t fix his grief for him; he needs to go through it in his own way.”

I want to confide in her about what happened between us in the park. But I keep it to myself. This is not the time or place to talk about my own insecurities. Right now, being here for him is key.

We both look up when Brian enters the kitchen. My heart is pounding when he doesn’t turn to either of us until my mom walks his way. She doesn’t say anything; she just offers her hand to him. I’m overwhelmed with emotion when he rests his hand in hers.

“I need to make sure that she gets placed with my father’s ashes. If I don’t... I’ll disappoint her.”

My mom caresses the back of his hand. “Oh, sweetheart... I promise we’ll help you every step of the way. But let me tell you one thing, and your mother would validate it when I say that a mother’s love for her child is unconditional and everlasting.”

He breathes in a shaky breath and thanks her for her words when his stomach growls.

“That’s a clear sign that you need food,” my mom says with a smile.

“I know, but I just don’t feel like eating.”

My mom cuts Brian off before he can continue. “I understand how you feel, but you should eat something anyway. Your body needs strength.”

He nods mechanically, not meeting my eyes as he hovers by the door. “I’ll be in my office,” he mumbles brokenly, “calling the funeral home for an appointment.”

The magnitude of this death slams into me like a freight train, shaking me to my core. Even though Vera wasn’t a part of my family, her passing hits me hard. My heart tightens with icy fear.How would I ever survive if something happened to Brian?I force myself to keep standing and focus on another worry.How will Brian be able to go on without his parents?

27

BRIAN

I glance at the coffin with a giant bouquet of camellias—her favorites—standing three feet away. The woman doing the eulogy tells the guests the story of who Vera Geraldine Fox was while I stare at the picture placed next to the flowers. My soul aches to its depths as it’s stuck in this perpetual state of despair. These past five days have been a torment to me; the process of interacting with the funeral director was endless. Questions like whether to cremate or bury my mother? Where should the service be conducted? What time should it start? How many cars do I need? Pine or oak coffin with chrome handles or gilded ones? Live music or taped music playing at the funeral service? Will anyone be viewing her body in its casket before burial? Do I want my mother to wear makeup for her final viewing? For goodness’ sake! How can you possibly even think about these things when it feels like everything has come to an end and I’m still stuck reliving the moment she left this world. Her faint smile plays over and over in my mind while her flatline echoes in my ears.

How did my mom manage this all with my dad?

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