Three weeks later
Subdued, peaceful organ music fills the church as I enter through the double doors at the end of the nave. With more than half an hour left until Lily Waters’ funeral service is supposed to begin, the oblong room with its vaulted, wood-beamed ceiling is mostly empty still, only a handful of people sitting in the pews and some hovering near the entrance.
I catch sight of Frank and Gwen first. Dark-clad and somber-faced, they’re shaking hands and talking with an elderly couple. I slow my steps as I approach them, prepared to wait my turn to offer my condolences.
It takes me a moment to realize that the woman standing just behind Frank is Paige, that I just haven’t seen her without makeup before. She’s wearing a plain black dress that fits tightly enough to reveal the growing bump at her midriff, and her blonde hair is twisted up in a simple updo.
As she looks past her father and meets my eye, I give her a nod, and she immediately makes her way over to me. Drawing close, she reaches out her arms, and I hesitate only for a split second before I do the same.
“Thank you for coming, Jay,” she says while giving me an embrace that I return with a gentle squeeze.
“Thanks for calling me and letting me know,” I reply as we let go, and she gives a nod, her face grim and downturned.
I glance around the room, and my attention zeroes in on a couple standing in the nave farther inside the church, just in front of the last pew. My surroundings fade away. I see them as if through a telescope, and it’s like someone hits the mute button inside my head, because I can suddenly hear no sounds.
It’s Mia—and a man in a charcoal suit with his back turned to me. A sick feeling settles in my stomach at her rapt expression and their subdued and seemingly intimate conversation.
He’s also holding her hand within both of his. My pulse starts racing. There’s a guy touching Mia, and she seems perfectly okay with that.
Her gaze slides away from him, her slender neck bending as she scans the sunlight-flooded room. She’s tamed and pinned up her mass of chocolate-brown hair, and her short-sleeve, dark-purple dress with a high waist and scooped neckline has a brooch in the shape of a green lily attached to it, near her heart. I know that piece of jewelry; it belonged to her grandmother.
She looks pale and tired but still stunning, still my beautiful and sexy Mia. I’m drinking in the sight of her after not having seen her for three long months, the longest we’ve been apart since we became friends. I feel like I’m finally seeing the sun again after being trapped in a windowless room for far too long.
“Did you tell her I’d be here?” I ask Paige.
Before Paige has a chance to respond, Mia spots me. She freezes, her eyes going wide and her lips parting, and she slowly withdraws her hand from the guy’s grasp.
“Never mind,” I tell her sister. Because I already know the answer.
“Sorry,” says Paige, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know how she’d react to it, so I chickened out.”
“Don’t worry about it. I did the same thing, for the same reason.” I’m watching as Mia quickly says something to the man she’s standing there with before she leaves him, approaching us with an inscrutable look on her face.
The guy she was talking to twists his neck to follow her with his eyes, and my spine stiffens as I finally see his face. He has the slick and polished look of a TV anchor. Or a politician. Or a mob boss.
It’s Aaron Mitchell.
Motherfucker.
A sensation that’s icy-cold and burning-hot at the same time floods my chest as I take in that familiar leer, the wanting in his eyes that he doesn’t even seem to bother trying to disguise.
Then his gaze meets mine, and I watch the emotions that cross his countenance, one after the other: recognition first, then surprise, and finally anger. Hard, chilly, nostril-flaring anger.
He clearly would love to punch me in the face. That’s okay. The feeling is mutual.
“What are you doing here?” Mia’s voice, low and cool, interrupts our mad-dogging.
She’s standing right in front of me, close enough to touch for the first time in three months. Fuck, I’ve missed her. I want to take her in my arms and kiss that frown off her face.
“Paige called and told me,” I say, gesturing at where her sister stood just a minute ago, but while I wasn’t looking, she apparently went back to her parents’ side.
After flicking an irritated look in Paige’s direction, Mia turns her gaze back to me, watching me with raised eyebrows and pursed lips.
Yeah, my reply was intentionally evasive. Because the alternative is to raise the floodgate, to come right out and tell her how miserable I’ve been, how I’m lost without her.
“That didn’t really answer my question,” she says, not letting me get away with being vague. Of course.
Is she mad? I can’t tell, but she definitely isn’t happy to see me.
And I’d really prefer not to do this in front of an audience. So I ask her, “Can we step outside or something?”
For a few seconds, she only blinks at me, and an unholy terror grips me. Did I fuck up that badly? Does she want nothing to do with me now?
Without a word, she brushes past me, striding out of the church. I follow along after her. Outside, in the glaring sunshine and oppressive and humid August heat, her shoes crunch on gravel as she makes a sharp turn and walks a way along the front of the church, stealing past formally clad funeral attendees who are starting to arrive in a steady stream.
She doesn’t stop until she’s reached the far side of the church, far enough away for privacy, where she folds her arms and watches me expectantly as she asks, “Did it occur to you that maybe you should’ve warned me you were coming?”
“Yeah,” I tell her, shoving my hands into the pockets of my suit pants, hoping that’ll help me keep my hands off her, “but I decided I didn’t want to give you a chance to tell me to stay away.”
She lets out a scoff.
“I’m not here to start an argument or make this day any harder for you,” I explain with a sigh. “I wanted to pay my respects. And I wanted to see you.”
“Why?” she asks, her forehead creased.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to confess that ever since the day of my dad’s execution, when my uncle took me to task about getting my priorities straight, I’ve been trying to figure out how to do this. To figure out how to approach her, apologize…and tell her I want her to be mine.
I’ve been waging an internal war over this for the past three weeks, and that’s why I didn’t hesitate when Paige called me to share that Lily had passed and to let me know the funeral details. Even though it meant heading straight to the airport this morning after a particularly exhausting night shift and changing into my suit at the hospital before I left because I knew I wouldn’t have the time to check into my hotel after arriving, not if I wanted to make it here by the two p.m. service.
Paige’s phone call gave me the excuse I needed, kicked my ass into gear.
Now that I’m standing here, though, I still can’t get the words out.
You’re not right for her.
Does she even want me back?
I give a small cough, trying to clear the thickness in my throat. Then I give her the safest response that comes to mind, saying, “Because I know how much your grandma meant to you.”
Her lower lip quivers, her chin going wobbly. In a thin voice, she points out, “You dumped me, Jay.”
I’m nodding, because it’s true. Then my next thought escapes, a bitter accusation that I just can’t contain. “Yeah. And you’ve moved on to Aaron Mitchell already?”
“What?” she snaps, brows crashing down. “Seriously?”
I only widen my eyes at her. Because I can still see him with her hand wrapped in his grip mere minutes ago. And I can see her in his arms on the dance floor, his palm on her ass. Neither time did she stop him. Neither time did she look like she minded his attentions at all.
“You said you never wanted to see me again!” Her voice is high-pitched and loud—but still not even half the volume it was when she screamed at me to get out of her car. “You have no right to just show up out of nowhere and judge me for talking to anyone, for any reason.”
I’m grinding my teeth, the truth of her words churning in my gut.
She’s still hugging herself, a defensive posture that’s unusual for her. Protecting herself from me?
I hurt her.
I really fucking hurt her.
As much as Fuckface hurt her?
More?
It’s hard to breathe. I take a step closer to her, clenching my hands in my pockets—my trembling hands that I want to pull out so I can reach for her.
“I just hated seeing him touching you,” I force out, edging even nearer to her, crossing into her space.
Her eyes stay fixed on me, and something shifts in them. A softening maybe?
She backs up a step away from me. I follow, until the church wall forces her to stop.
I’m not letting you run away, Mia.
After yanking my hands out of my pants at last, I brace them on the wall, on either side of her head. She sucks in a breath as I dip my head down, so close my nose almost nudges hers.
“We need to talk,” I state firmly.
The little shake of her head is so brief it looks more like a twitch. “I can’t stay out here much longer.”
“I didn’t mean right now.” The urge to touch her pushes and pulls at me, and I suddenly can’t stand it anymore. I slide a hand sideways toward her head, extend my thumb so that it brushes against her hair. “Whenever you’re ready. I’ll be here.”
Bending my neck more, I bring my mouth down next to her ear and murmur, “I’m not going anywhere.”
I can feel her body stiffening, can hear the harsh rush of air as she exhales. Weakly, she asks, “What is that supposed to mean?”
Pulling back to look down at her glittering, wide-eyed gaze and flushed cheeks, I swallow hard, my heart thumping painfully in my chest.
Tell her now.
It’s not the right time. We have a funeral to attend. Her grandmother’s funeral.
As she and Lily both would say: For Pete’s sake.
“I’m so sorry about your grandma, baby.” I cup her cheek, splaying my fingers over the side of her face, and then, gently grabbing the other side of her head as well, I slant my head and capture her lips.
A tiny squeak escapes her at the impact, and I want to kiss her long and deep and never let her go. Clinging to my self-control with an iron grip, I manage to only let my mouth linger on hers for another heartbeat or two before I pull away.
Then I let her go. And leave her.
It’s hot and stuffy inside the church, made worse by the dark suit I’m wearing. The lady seated next to me is fanning herself with the funeral program, the same little booklet of thick white paper that I picked up on the way back inside but haven’t worked up the spirit to look at yet.
In the front pews across the aisle, I see the backs of the heads of Mia’s family: her mom and dad at the end with Mia, Paige, and Cameron next to them. I also recognize her aunt in the row behind them with Mia’s cousins, who I’ve only met once, seated next to her.
They’re all quiet, just sitting there waiting for the service to start. It makes my chest ache to watch them, and I’m trying to direct my attention elsewhere, but my eyes keep getting drawn back over there.
I should be up there with them. It’s where I belong. The thought is pulsing in my head, pumping through my veins. I’m supposed to be holding Mia’s hand, ready with tissues in my pocket in case she runs out. There’s something obscenely wrong with the fact that I’m not.
Our little exchange outside just now has left me on edge, impatient to have a chance to talk to her again. To be near her again. Because now that I’ve broken the ice, I’m ready to bare my soul to her.
And it’s killing me that I have to pace myself, that I might have to fly home tomorrow without having had a chance to see her again.
Tearing my eyes away, I brace myself and look down at the front page of the program, where it reads “In Loving Memory” above a candid photo of Mia’s grandmother. Below is printed her name, the dates of her birth and her death four days ago, and the funeral location details. Flipping open the folded paper, I start reading the obituary. Lily passed peacefully from life the evening of August 8th after a gradual decline in health…
It’s a quick read, factual and straightforward. A whole life summarized in a couple of paragraphs.
Raising my head, I glance around the church. I suppose there’s no better proof than this of whether you lived your life right or not. Lily’s funeral is clearly going to have enough attendees to fill a small village, and she’s being mourned by just about everyone who knew her.
My dad, in contrast, was claimed by his brother out of duty, who immediately had him cremated. To my knowledge, Uncle Warren still hasn’t decided what to do with the ashes.
That’s one thing they had in common, though, because Lily was cremated, too, and up in front of the altar sits her urn in a glass case on top of an ornate wooden pedestal, tall lighted candles framing it on either side.
“Are you a friend of the family?” the lady next to me asks, her hushed voice somber.
I look at her. She’s a large, middle-aged woman with a broad face and friendly eyes.
“Yes,” I answer. “A friend of her granddaughter Mia.” Well, I used to be, anyway.
“I think I remember seeing you at Lily’s birthday party in May. I’m Tammy Mitchell. My husband, Jack”—she gestures sideways at a man with thinning hair and thickening middle who’s talking quietly with the guy next to him—“grew up next door to the Waters’, and he and Frank are still good friends.”
Oh, shit. They’re Aaron’s parents. Is he sitting in this pew as well? How could I have missed him? Craning my neck a little farther, I shoot a glance down the row to see if he’s there.
He’s not. In fact, I haven’t seen him at all since I returned inside, and I was looking for him, because I knew I needed to avoid him. Otherwise it might be too tempting to tell him to stay the fuck away from my girl.
Where is he, though? Why wouldn’t he be sitting with his parents? Maybe he left already.
Yeah, that makes the most sense. He had to go back to work or something.
Or…he realized he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Mia, so he might as well take off?
Fucking douchebag.
Tammy Mitchell keeps talking to me. “Do you think Lily knew she was sick at that party?”
“She did know,” I tell her. “I think she wanted the party so she could say good-bye to everyone.”
“Except no one else knew she was saying good-bye.” Tammy heaves a sigh. “It’s so sad. She seemed so full of life still at that party, didn’t she? It just happened so quickly. I feel so bad for Frank and Gwen and the kids.”
I let out a murmur of assent, hoping she’ll run out of steam, because I’m really not in the mood for small talk. And her overuse of the word so is starting to get on my nerves.
It becomes a moot point, because just then the church doors shut, and the hum of chatter in the room dies down as the organist ups the volume and starts playing a sweeping, melancholy piece.
After the music fades out come the pastor’s opening remarks, followed by the organist playing “Amazing Grace,” which everyone in the church sings along to, those who don’t know the words reading them where they’re printed in the program. When the song is over, the pastor reads a few passages from the Bible. And then it’s time for the eulogy.
A stab of surprise pierces me as I watch Mia get up from her seat in the front pew and walk toward the crucifix-adorned podium in front of the altar. She’s delivering the eulogy?
I figured if any of the grandchildren would, it’d be Paige or one of their cousins. Not only because I know Mia hates public speaking but also because out of all of them, she’s probably the one who’s the most emotionally devastated right now. I know her, and she knows herself, and she must be worried about her ability to stay composed enough to speak.
But she’s doing it anyway.
I hold my breath as she stops behind the podium and unfolds a single sheet of paper. The church is silent in anticipation while she stares down at her notes. Somewhere in a pew across the aisle, a man lets out a single, muffled cough. And still Mia just stands there with her head bent, stands there while seconds tick by and my heart starts pounding.
Finally, she looks up, her gaze skipping quickly over the assembly, and air rushes from my chest when I see that she actually seems entirely calm—tired and solemn and calm.
She clears her throat and says, “The last time I saw my grandma, just over a week ago, she asked me to speak at her funeral service. I have to admit, I didn’t really know how to react to that, so I told her the first thing that came to mind. Which was, ‘Why? You won’t be there to hear it, so why do you care?’”
My stomach clenches. What is she doing? I can feel a wave of unease rippling through the room.
But Mia doesn’t seem to notice. Her mouth twitches in a tiny smile, like she told an inside joke, and her tone is contrite as she goes on, “Pretty rude, I know. The thing is, she didn’t get upset. She just said, ‘Because I know you’ll tell the truth.’”
There she pauses, looking around the room again. “So here’s the truth,” she says, sounding confident and heartfelt. “My grandma was an amazing woman. She was kind and generous, loving and smart, independent and hard-working. She didn’t judge people…very much.”
I fold my arms and cover my face with my hand, hiding my startled smile. A lot of people, including the woman next to me, let out noises that seem like almost-laughs.
“She didn’t ever give up on anything…” Mia goes on, “except when she decided it wasn’t worth her time, after all.”
At this, there are murmurs and amused snorts, plus a louder one from the front pew, which has to be Frank.
“She was stubborn…but not so much that it kept her from admitting it when she was wrong.” Flashing a sardonic smile at her audience, Mia finishes with, “Which isn’t that hard to do when you’re only wrong once or twice a decade.”
Scattered, low chuckles rumble through the church. And maybe it’s just me, but it seems like everyone starts to relax a little. Like they weren’t sure about Mia’s irreverent tone at first, but since she’s keeping it up, that must mean it’s okay.
“Above all, she was honest,” Mia says after a split-second break. “Sometimes to a fault. I’m sure everyone in this room has a story about that one time Lily Waters said something offensive to them.”
More laughter and a lot of nodding, people turning to exchange meaningful looks with their companions.
“But we all loved her anyway, right?” Mia’s voice grows in strength even as it turns more serious. “Because we knew she didn’t have a malicious bone in her body, and the only difference between her and the rest of us was that she said what she thought straight to your face instead of waiting and saying it behind your back.”
This is met with utter silence, a heavy silence, as if her words are doing exactly what she’s clearly intending them to: hitting close to home.
Meanwhile, I’m sitting rooted to the wooden bench, wondering where this woman has come from. I’ve definitely never seen her like this—so fearless and at ease with herself. She has something to say, and she’s doing it her own way.
“Saying she had her faults is definitely a bit of an understatement,” she forges on. “But if anyone ever told me that I’m just like her, I’d take it as the greatest compliment I could ever get. I know that asking myself, ‘What would Grandma do?’ will never steer me wrong.”
Glancing at the front pew, I see several members of her family nodding at that—Frank, Gwen, and Mia’s aunt for sure—and I can tell they’re all watching her intently.
“The three most important things I learned from her were to stay true to yourself, never give up on the people you love without a fight”—with this, it seems like she glances in my direction, and a jolt goes through me—“and always…always use parchment paper when you’re baking cookies.”
This causes the loudest burst of laughter yet, but I don’t even crack a smile. Did she just look at me on purpose? Was she trying to tell me something? The church feels warmer all of a sudden, almost oppressively so.
After quickly checking her notes again and looking indecisive for a moment, she appears to swallow hard, and I get the feeling she’s about to go off-script.
“Grandma told me—” Her voice falters, cracking a little, and she covers her mouth with her fist while she coughs. And then she tries again. “Grandma said she was looking forward to finally getting to see my grandfather again and that she had no doubt that she would.”
I stop breathing, and I’m pretty sure almost everyone else does, too.
With a deadpan expression and speaking just a little faster now, she says, “Since I’m pretty sure she’d been wrong about at least two things this past decade, that must mean she was right about that.”
Quietly, I let my breath whoosh out. Around me, I hear some amusement, but mostly there’s no noise except for the occasional sniffle and rustle of tissue packs.
Mia steps around the podium, taking the few short steps up to the urn, where it sits encased. She places her hand on top of the glass, and it seems like she’s done speaking.
But then her voice rings out again, loud and strong, echoing off the tall ceiling: “Don’t rest in peace, Grandma. Wherever you are, raise hell.”
Oh, Jesus. My mouth falls open as I watch her walk back to her seat, folding her paper up as she goes. Out of nowhere, my eyes are stinging and filling with tears. My Mia, so brave and beautiful and brilliant even as she’s grieving for the woman she adored and admired above everyone.
And I can’t believe she just did that. She dropped the H-word in church, during a funeral service, in front of her family and everyone else who felt obliged to pay their last respects to her grandmother.
God, I love her.
I know I could make it through the rest of my life without her if I had no other choice.
But I don’t fucking want to. I do have a choice, and I’m choosing her.
Sucks to live with regret. Don’t be that guy.
I don’t plan to.