brow furrowed like if she stares hard enough it’ll reveal something more.
When she looks back up, her mouth has edged into a half smile. “So California, huh? That’s gonna be a long drive.”
chapter two
Aunt Helen is the last to leave that night. Laney leaves because her mother forces her, and even then I have to all but shove her out the door.
“I can stay,” she says. She has her arms around me, clinging to me like a life preserver. I’m getting the idea that she needs to give me comfort way more than I need to be receiving it. “For as long you want. I don’t want you to be alone.”
It would be nice to have her here, but I know this is something I’m going to have to handle on my own. Better get used to it now.
I eventually pry her off and try to force a smile, but it’s like my lips have forgotten how. I sigh. “Go home. Seriously, it’s fine. I promise.”
I know she’s not convinced, but she squeezes me once more, kisses my cheek and lets her mother drag her out the door.
Before Laney it was my father, who hadn’t spoken at great length to any of us all day, but as he left, he grabbed me in a stiff-armed hug. In that second I had this feeling, the kind that grabs you by the throat, a desperate desire for him to stay, because he knows Mom so much better than I do, because he might know how to fix this.
When he pulled back, he ruffled my hair the way he did when I was a kid. Except now the gesture felt unnatural, like he was out of practice. And I knew he couldn’t fix anything in our family. Not anymore.
“I’ll be in touch, kiddo,” he promised, but promises from my father never meant anything before, and I don’t expect them to mean anything now.
As always, Aunt Helen can’t leave without making a fuss, telling my mother to get some rest, and that she’ll be over later the next morning, and gushing about how beautiful the service was.
“I know she was looking down on us,” she sniffs, dabbing her eyes with the wrinkled tissue she’s been clutching in her hand for hours. “She would have been so touched.”
It’s pretty much the most clichéd thing anyone could possibly say, not to mention the most untrue, but apparently it’s enough to start her waterworks again, which in turn makes my mother cry. Aunt Helen reaches for me, and I brace myself for another hug, but she stops halfway, her hand awkwardly wound around my shoulder. The way she’s looking at me is the kindest it’s been in days.
We’ve never gotten along. Aunt Helen is really into church and prayer and Jesus; she doesn’t approve of my black hoodies and black nail polish and my admitted penchant for excessive swearing. And ever since I announced in the middle of last Easter’s family brunch that I’m not sure I believe in God at all, she’s treated me like I’m some kind of heathen. Maybe it wasn’t the best timing on my part, but I did get a kick out of the horrified look on her face.
Of course, back then, questions of God and the afterlife weren’t really relevant to my life like they are now. I think Aunt Helen is hoping I’m going to have this moment of revelation where I’ll declare myself a born-again Christian who sees the light of Jesus’s love. But June dying hasn’t given me any spiritual clarity. It’s just made everything even more confusing.
“Take care of your mother, okay?” she says to me now. “She needs you.”
I nod. “I know. I will.”
“I’ll be over tomorrow to help with things. Feel free to call if you need me.” She pauses and sniffles a little before giving my shoulder an awkward squeeze. “I love you, sweetie.”
My eyes snap up to hers in surprise. I can’t remember the last time she said that to me. The confusion must show on my face, because she clears her throat awkwardly and takes her hand off my shoulder.
“All right then.” She nods quickly and hurries to the front door before I can fully react. With her back to me, she says, “Remember—this too shall pass.”
I don’t know if she is saying it to me, or to my mother, or to herself. As the door closes behind her, I figure it doesn’t really matter.
In some ways I admire Aunt Helen’s unwavering certainty in God’s divine plan. It must be comforting, to have faith like that. To believe so concretely that there’s someone—something—out there watching guard, keeping us safe, testing us only with what we can handle. I’ve never believed in anything the way Aunt Helen believes in God.
I don’t really know what’s supposed to happen now that everyone’s gone. I’m pretty sure my mother doesn’t know, either, because we look at each other for a long time in silence.
“Well,” she says after a while. Her mouth hangs open like she’s mid-sentence, but she doesn’t finish whatever thought was on her mind. She just turns and wanders into the living room. I’m pretty sure she’s still a little drunk. The last time she drank this much was right after Dad left. I hope this isn’t going to be a repeat of those days.
I follow her and watch as she drops onto the couch and slides off her heels. Flowers and cards are everywhere. I step over a heart-shaped wreath, scrunch in at the other end of the couch, and turn on the television to some formulaic sitcom. The sudden wave of canned studio laughter is startling to my ears. A few minutes later I turn it back off. Mom doesn’t seem to notice.
“Do you need anything?” I ask. I keep my voice low, like I’ll scare her if I talk too loud.
“No.” She doesn’t move. “Did you eat?”
“A little.” All I’ve had today is an apple from this morning, but I can’t stomach the thought of eating anything more.
“You should eat.”
“I will.” I stand. “You’re sure I can’t get you something?”
After a moment, she shakes her head. I hesitate, wondering if I should press, and then give up and go to the kitchen. Dirty plates and silverware are stacked on the counter, so I rinse them off and stick them in the dishwasher. The methodical process of sponging the dishes off and stacking them is a nice distraction. I like having something to do with my hands, kind of like how it was when I smoked in the garden earlier with that weird boy.
And really, what was that about? What was he even doing here? Did he know June? Probably he was just someone in her grade. Most of the graduating class attended the service, but only her closest friends came to the wake. June was friends with everyone, always had invites on the weekends for movies and shopping and parties, but she didn’t really have one single best friend. Not like how I have Laney, and only Laney.
Still, there was something off about that boy. He wouldn’t have been there if he was just some passing acquaintance. It bothers me, the idea that he might have had some role in her life and I didn’t know about it. I can’t stop thinking about the look on his face. That open display of hostility. All of June’s other friends either kept their distance or wanted to cry on my shoulder. At least this guy didn’t bother hiding his true feelings. It was sort of refreshing, really.
When I’m done with the dishes, I go back to the living room, only to find Mom fast asleep. The sight of her curled up in her dress, eyes closed and lipsticked
