Avery
“My father had very few regrets,” I say to the rows of familiar faces looking back at me. It’s an unusually warm day, and hundreds showed up for Ray’s service, so all I see are waving programs and note cards as people fan their faces.
“You all knew him, and most of you knew him well, because that’s who my father was. He loved fiercely, he embraced friends easily, and once Ray Abbot was on your side—it was hard to lose him. Some did…but those people were few and far between.
“He never stopped parenting. He was giving me advice up until the very end. I didn’t always follow his advice, and per usual, my father was right—I regret not taking those things to heart. But his lessons will always stick with me, and in his absence, I’m vowing to take his place in this world—at least as best as I can. I’m going to enjoy this earth and the people on it every chance I get, and I’m going to appreciate every single one of you.”
I’m struck when I glance over the dozens of smiles looking back at me. No one is crying, and they shouldn’t. Ray Abbot spread joy in the world—it’s why he loved music so much, and why he tried to encourage people who had that talent to share it with the world—people like Mason.
“I know many of you are worried about what will happen to Dusty’s. It’s been around a long time. My father opened it years ago, and I don’t intend on closing it. Please, bear with me though—I’m not my father, and I don’t really know the ins and outs of the bar business. I plan on getting some help…eventually. But these next few months might be a little bumpy. We’ll open back up in two weeks—an open mic night, in true Ray Abbot style. In the meantime, spend your weeknights with your loved ones. I’m asking you to do this for me. Squeeze in those moments, and make time. These moments are precious, and…as my father said to me not so long ago, ‘you only get to do now once in your life. Do it right.’”
I manage to hold it together until I leave the stage and edge back up into Claire’s side. I lose it again the moment her hand slips in mine. We aren’t a particularly religious family—we’ve been to church a few times, but when it came time to settle on services for my dad, I just went with the same everything that he did for my mom. This stuff mattered more to her.
The minister directs everyone to the burial, and I walk along with Claire. Max stayed at the house with Jenny, his therapist. She’s been so helpful on guiding me through this with Max. My dad’s death isn’t like Adam leaving—Max has memories, even if they’re really more like habits for him, and my dad played an intricate role in his life. He filled a box—and now that box is empty.
The line of cars to the interment is long, though only about half of the guests come for this part—it’s mostly family and close friends. Claire guides me to the site. We picked a simple stone for the marker—right next to my mom’s. I can’t watch this part, so I clasp Claire’s hand and lay my head on her shoulder while others walk up to say their farewells. This part isn’t for me—my goodbye happens in my head, with my memories. I don’t want to taint those visions, the picture I have of him, with anything else.
I recognize the broadness of Mason’s back immediately. He’s not looking either—he wants to remember my dad just the way I do. Claire said he would come, but I didn’t want to count on it. Somewhere in the back of my mind, though, I hoped for it. When he turns to face me, something pulls us together, until our eyes meet. I don’t look away, and neither does he. We stare into each other, my head on my best friend’s shoulder, for the rest of the ceremony.
Claire hugs me tighter to get my attention when people begin to leave. Everyone wants to say something to me, and I know they have to—I would have to too. But when you’re on this side, you don’t really want to hear it. This part takes almost an hour, and by the time it’s only Claire and me, I’m faint and thirsty.
“There’s one person left,” she says into my shoulder. And I know exactly who it is.
“I’m okay, you go on to the house. I’ll go with him,” I say, squeezing her arm to let her know I’m sincere. She kisses the side of my head and gives me one last look, trying to fill me with strength. I don’t have much left.
“Thanks for coming, Mason,” Claire says over my shoulder, and my insides twist just hearing him breathe.
I watch her walk away and make it all the way to her car before I turn to face him completely. “Thank you so much for coming, Mason,” I say as Claire drives away, and I finally take him in. He’s wearing a black suit with a gray shirt underneath. I can tell by the creases on the pants and sleeves that it’s new. He wanted to look nice for my father, and it warms my heart to know that—to see him here looking like this, all for him.
“I hope you know I wouldn’t have missed this,” he says, his eyes just as sad as I feel inside. “It wouldn’t have mattered where I was or what I was doing. I would have come.”
“I know,” I say, forcing my lips into a tight, closed smile, fighting the urge to cry. “You were a son to him, in every single way.”
Mason reaches for my hand and threads his fingers through mine, holding it in front of him loosely. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he says, and he turns his head to the side when his eyes start to water. “I should have been here.”
“No, you were right where you were supposed to be, Mason. You made my dad so proud. You were right where he always wanted to see you,” I say, wrapping my hands around his wrist and hugging his arm.
“We left the tour,” he says, and my breath completely stops. This is too much—too much for right now. I want Mason here, and I want him to stay here and never ever leave—but I don’t want it to be because of guilt or grief or both.
“Mason, you can’t…you have to see that out—it’s your dream. He would have wanted that,” I say, my hands moving to the collar of his shirt, my fingertips running on his neck, willing him to look at me.
“Kevin understood. It just…it didn’t feel right. None of it did, and it’s not where I wanted to be,” he says, his eyes back to mine, still red with emotion.
“I hope you didn’t do this just for me,” I say, immediately sorry how harsh my words came out. “I don’t mean it like that. I just…I don’t want you to do anything rash—not when everything is so raw. Just, promise me you’ll think about everything.”
“I promise,” he says, his eyes not leaving mine, and his face still serious. “Can I take you home? My mom brought a lot of food over to your house before the funeral. I told her I’d come over to help.”
“Thanks. And thank your mom for me. Mason, she’s been amazing—I don’t know what I would have done without her,” I say, taking his arm while we walk along the blacktop to where his car is parked.
“I’m glad my mom was here, too,” he says, opening my door and slipping the edges of my long black skirt inside before shutting it.
We don’t talk for the entire drive back to my father’s—I guess my—house. But Mason leaves his hand in mine the entire time, holding onto me tightly. And when we get to the house, he runs around the front of the car to help me out, grabbing my hand again. He keeps it in his for the next two hours, only leaving my side for minutes at a time to help his mom serve a few guests and to run upstairs once or twice to visit with Max.
When the house finally empties again, Mason and his mother are the last to go. I wonder if, perhaps, Barb wasn’t with him, if he’d try to stay—if he’d say something…more. But she’s loading up the back of his car with her empty trays, and Mason and I are standing at his car, the last light from the sun rapidly disappearing.
Claire has been staying at our house, sleeping in Mason’s old room. I know Mason saw her things in the room, and I overheard him thank her for not leaving me alone.
“Promise me you’ll call me, if you need anything,” he says, his finger lifting my chin, tilting my head to look up at him.
“I promise. But we’ll be okay, Mason,” I say, forcing my mind to shut off the floodgates of everything I now have to figure out.
“Promise me anyway,” he says, and I just smile and nod. He brings me into his arms then, holding me close, and I reach around him, my hands hard against the warmth of his back. He feels like home, and I never want to leave, but I also don’t want to hide in him. I want to deal with everything that’s in front of me, and I want him to too—if we both end up in the same place when we’re done, then it’s meant to be.
After he and Barb leave, I sit in the hallway waiting while Max finishes taking his bath. He asked me for privacy the other day, so our compromise was letting one of us sit in the hallway. I can’t help but remember the last time I sat here now though, and I look at the doorway, Mason’s old doorway, and pretend that the light on inside is there for him. When Claire opens the door, my illusion shatters, and I turn my attention back to the half-open bathroom door in front of me.
I feel Claire’s body slide down the wall to sit next to me, and I’m enormously grateful for her company. But it’s still not the same as if Mason were here. Nothing is. And I’m convinced nothing ever will be.