Alana
I MEET WITH Charles to pick out a coffin. He begged and pleaded for me to come with him. His grandmother couldn’t make it because she is still recovering from a broken hip.
“What about this one? The lining is thick.” I stroke the soft white fabric. The casket is polished, and black. Charles leans against the cream wall to catch his breath. Every day he gets weaker and thinner.
“It’s made out of real maple wood,” Chester says.
Different glossy caskets decorate the showroom. The scent of fresh flowers suffocate the air. A thick lump builds in the back of my throat. This place has too many horrible memories.
Charles’ eyes are bloodshot red and his breath reeks of liquor. He has on the same suit he’s worn for three days. My scalp prickles as tears spill down my cheeks.
“Mr. and Mrs. Tucker, the lining of the coffin is thick and comfortable. He will rest well,” Chester says.
“He is dead, for fuck’s sake. Why does he need to rest well? I’m so fucking done. So done with this bullshit.” Charles gets up from the table. “I should sue your sorry ass for trying to take advantage of us. Hope you burn in hell for this shit.” He turns his view towards me. “We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you,” Charles spits out.
“That’s enough,” Gunner says. “Get the fuck out before I throw you out.”
He spits in Gunner’s face, and Gunner tackles Charles to the ground. I scream at the top of my lungs for them to stop. Two security guards dressed in black kick both of them out of the showroom. My mom rubs my shoulder.
“He didn’t mean it,” she whispers. I place my head in my palms.
“He is right,” I say, between sobs.
“Why does this shit matter? I’m going to be dead anyway,” Charles bites out, snapping me out of my memory.
“We will take that one.” I ignore him. Charles squeezes my hand tight, and I never thought in a million years that two years after Cole’s death, we would be back here.
“Where would you like to be buried?” Chester asks.
“Next to our son, Cole,” Charles answers.
I can’t take it anymore, so I stand up and hurry out of the showroom. I can’t be here any longer. Time is going by fast, and we don’t have a lot of time on our side.
Outside, I stand against the brick wall, and my view turns to the grave site. A couple hug each other as they stand in front of a grave. The woman cries hysterically, and the man holds her tighter.
Charles stands in front of me. The sun shines on his face, making his skin look paler. Fighting the urge to push him, I tuck my hand under my armpits.
“Why didn’t you take the fucking medication, Charles?” I yell. “You would have had a chance to shrink the damn tumor, but you are not thinking about your grandmother. You’re selfish, and only think about yourself.”
“It’s okay to be angry at me.” He tucks his hands into his coat pockets.
“I’m not angry, I’m hurt! You don’t understand what you are doing to me.” Tears slide down my cheeks, unchecked. “You have people who care about you and love you.” I cry harder. “Please live, live for me.” My voice hurts from yelling, and the dry cold weather isn’t helping either.
“You act like I have a fucking choice. If I take the treatment, I’m still going to die, sweet pea. Whether you like it or not. So deal with the shit.” He runs his pale fingers through his hair. “Do you want us to spend our last few months fighting? Huh?” he wheezes out. “Get your ass back in there and help me arrange my funeral!”
“I hate you!” I open the glass door and warm air hits my face as I walk in.
“I love you, too,” he mumbles under his breath.
I stab my finger on the phone as I Google support groups online. I found one on Facebook where people tell their story about how they cope with a loved one who has brain cancer. An older woman named Beth just updated her status saying her husband died five months ago from cancer.
Other women update regularly on how they cope with it. One lady says she takes it one day at a time. I close the app and place my phone face down on the nightstand.
I’m pissed off at Charles, Darien, and the world. People are so fucking selfish. I’m pissed off at Charles for not taking the medication to shrink the tumor. I’m pissed off at Darien because he wants to make decisions for our relationship instead of us reaching a mutual agreement. Well, fuck him and Charles. They both can go to hell as far as I am concerned.
I lie on the cheap mattress in the old guest room of my old house. Don’t want to go home. It reminds me too much of Darien. And this place isn’t much better either—it reminds me of horrible memories. I feel trapped like a bird in a cage, ready to be free from heartache and pain. Tired of crying. I’m so cried out that I don’t think there are any tears left in me. I pull the green blanket that smells like fabric softener to my neck. Just want to sleep off the emotions.
There is a knock at the door, and I continue to lie there. The knock comes again, and I groan. Just want to be left alone. The door creaks and I turn on my side. Charles makes his way to the edge of the bed, and I feel the mattress dip.
“Sweet pea?” His dull hazel eyes are intense.
“What do you want, Charles?”
“I’m sorry.”
“That seems to be your favorite line. ‘I’m sorry I blamed you for Cole’s death.’ ‘Sorry for cheating on you and leaving you for another woman.’ ‘I’m sorry for dying.’” I cover my mouth with my palm because the last part slipped out.
We are both quiet, and I don’t like the tension that is building between us.
“Why don’t you take the medication? Why give up so easily?”
He shakes his head as if he is having his own internal battle. “You wouldn’t understand,” he murmurs.
“Try me,” I say. He strokes the side of my cheek, and I blush.
“I don’t want to live in a world where our son doesn’t exist and where I’m not with the love of my life.”
My heart skips a beat. “You can always get Rebecca back,” I whisper.
“I’m not talking about Rebecca.”
“I know.”
“You know how many times I wanted to call you so I could make things right. To tell you that I’m sorry for what I did and you can have me back.”
Tension is thick between us. I cast my eyes down to the white carpet, tucking a strand behind my ear. “I love you, Charles, you were my first love, and I think I will always love you, but I love Darien.” I exhale. “That’s who I want to be with.”
“I know.” He chokes on his words. “Is he okay with you being here?”
I don’t want him to know about the breakup and I don’t want to talk about it. Sitting up on the bed, I press my feet to the wool carpet.
“He’s dealing,” I lie.
“You’re lying,” he deadpans.
“I’m n—” He gives me that you’re-full-of-shit look and I shake my head. “We broke up.”
“Why? Does it have something to do with me?”
“It doesn’t matter. You need me, and I’m going to be here until you . . .” I swallow hard, not able to say the word.
“Die,” he finishes for me.
I nod my head, not meeting his eyes.
“Promise me something.” Charles tilts my chin to meet his eyes.
“What?”
“That after I die, you will be happy.”
“Huh?”
“You heard me. Be happy, live life, and cherish those you love.”
“You sound like a Hallmark card.”
“I’m serious, sweet pea.”
“Fine. I promise.”
He pulls me into his arms, kisses my hair, and says, “That’s my girl.”