Once Upon a Present
Funerals are nothing like how they are portrayed in movies. If they were, the sun would be hidden by dark clouds, and I’d be standing under a black umbrella as my heels sank in the wet mud. But today, as I watched them lower the plain wooden casket into the ground, the sun was shining bright. The cherry blossoms and apricot trees were in full bloom. It was as if the world had lost a bit of its darkness as the earth swallowed my father. Normally, I’d been told, the funeral workers were supposed to wait until the family left to lower the casket, but I had lingered too long.
Tracey, Erin, and my mom had left twenty minutes ago, headed for dad’s favorite pub. It’d been my mother’s idea to have a few shots in his honor, or as Tracey had said, “In celebration of his passing.” I’d planned on following right behind them, but it didn’t sit right for me, paying homage to the affliction that had ruined our family, and my legs hadn’t moved. They were planted to the ground, waiting for some sort of solace. He died seven days ago, seven days of feeling a little less shadowed by the burden of his heartbeats, his words, his eyes. I hadn’t seen him in three years, but he’d haunted me, nevertheless. There were black spots, rotted through to the bone, in the places he’d always own, always reminding me of what I’d gone through, always holding back the full golden light of the sun.
The engine of the backhoe startled me. The large mound of dirt that had been covered earlier with green AstroTurf was now exposed as the loud machine scooped and pushed—filling the grave. My hands began to shake and my legs finally found the will to move. This was real. He was dead. It hit me, and the tears fell down my face as my chest filled with a suffocating pressure. Weight, like the earth that spilled, covered my father and poured over me, as well. His death was bitter-sweet, just like his love, and I was sick for needing it, for feeling lost without the man who’d destroyed me.
My entire body ached from standing still for as long as I had. It was a relief to sit as I started the engine of the car. It wasn’t a long drive to the pub, and I was worried I wouldn’t be able to pull my shit together before I went in. My mother was a lot like me, sad and wandering, but Tracey, it was the happiest I’d ever seen her. I envied her ability to move on, but she hadn’t been there for the worst of him either.
The parking lot was filled with more cars than I expected for an early afternoon. Who was I to judge? I was about to day drink just like everyone inside. I took a deep breath and pulled the rearview mirror down so I could see my reflection. My waterproof mascara hadn’t budged and as I stared into my brown eyes, I wondered if I’d ever truly be free of him. I took a deep breath and let the memory wash over me.
His smile stretched across his tan skin and he laughed. His hand gripped my arm and he pulled me closer. It was my daddy, and I wished I wasn’t afraid, but his breath smelled sour and he was disappointed. I should’ve done better. His fingers pressed deeply into my skin, and it hurt, but I knew I shouldn’t cry. It only ever made things worse. Just like mom had always said, “Tears will only ever get you pity, not love. You gotta work for love.”
His eyes were cloudy as he leaned down, almost kneeling to look me in the eyes. “Use your beauty, girl, because it’s all you’ll ever have,” he said and then stood taking a long sip from the brown bottle in his other hand.
My eyes filled with tears as I rubbed my arm. Bruises were already forming where his fingers had been. He looked at me again and frowned as he ran his free hand through his hair. He set the bottle down on the counter, grabbed the plate I’d washed, and said, “Try again.”
I’d been a burden to my father since the day I was born. Tracey was the first, and I was a mistake. He hated her for the life she earned and me for the life he thought I’d ruined. I swallowed and shut off the car. I grabbed my bag before I opened the door letting the sweet spring air fill my chest. I felt a little less claustrophobic as I ran my hand down the soft material of my dress to calm my shaking fingers.
As I navigated the gravel parking lot, I chuckled under my breath. I was about to have drinks in a dive bar celebrating my fucked-up father’s death, wearing thousand dollar, black stilettos, and a designer dress. Maybe it was the emotion of the day, but I couldn’t stop myself from giggling. One minute I wanted to cry and the next, I’m laughing. I was the definition of a hot mess. My smile faded when I saw a motorcycle parked right in front of the pub. It looked exactly like the Harley Liam had bought before I left, down to the black paint and red detail. I let out a long exhale as I moved past the bike. I was letting the day get the best of me. Liam’s Harley wasn’t custom, this could be anyone’s motorcycle. I shook my head and opened the front door of the pub.
The place smelled like bad pick-up lines, old cigarettes, and stale beer. Loud laughter roared just around the corner from where Tracey and Erin were sitting at the bar. There must be a party in the back room, because the front of the place was empty.
“Where’s Mom?” I asked as I slid onto the barstool next to Tracey and placed my bag on the bar top.
“She went home. Guess she got sick of me talking shit about Dad.” Tracey rolled her eyes. “It’s always been kind of funny to me, how after someone dies, people place them on this grand pedestal they don’t deserve because we’re supposed to respect the dead.” She met my gaze as she sipped from her drink. “What took you so long?” she asked.
“I got lost.”
Tracey smirked. She could always smell my bullshit. “You’re the worst liar in the world.” She raised her hand and the bartender, a man who looked old enough to be well into retirement, lifted his chin in response. “Pour this girl a glass of your best bourbon.”
The bartender gave me a warm smile, his skin crinkling around the edges of his mouth like an old piece of paper, and nodded. “You got it.”
“You leave tonight?” I asked.
“Yup, Erin has to get back to work, and I have rehearsals.” She took Erin’s hand in hers and kissed her on the cheek. “Plus, I’m ready to get the fuck out of this town.”
Erin and I laughed as the bartender set the glass in front of me.
Tracey taught drama at the University of Connecticut and directed most of the plays for a small community theatre group in Hartford. I’d learned this week that she and Erin met at one of those very plays. Erin was a lawyer who enjoyed supporting the arts and, after she’d seen Tracey’s adaptation of The Seagull, she’d demanded to meet the director. It was love at first sight.
Watching them together, soft kisses and tender gazes, it was hard not to be jealous. I lifted the glass to my lips, and the smell turned my stomach.
“It’s now or never, girl.” Erin joked, and my smile faltered, but not enough that she noticed.
Girl.
She couldn’t have known the effect the word would have on me. I downed the bourbon. The overly sweet taste branded my throat and my mouth filled with saliva.
“I need to use the bathroom,” I muttered and pushed back from the bar onto my feet.
Tracey’s brows furrowed as she pointed over her shoulder. “It’s that way.”
I made it down the narrow hallway just in time. I pushed open the bathroom door. The low light made it easier to ignore the filthy floor as I fell to my knees in the stall. I dry heaved, my empty stomach refusing to settle. I hadn’t eaten today. The bourbon and bile mixed inside the toilet bowl, making me even more nauseous. I leaned over the toilet and flushed it. My legs wobbled as I stood and turned toward the sink. The cold water soothed my lips and throat as I sipped from my palms. I swished and sipped, repeating the cycle at least ten times before I was satisfied. I dried my mouth and hands with a rough paper towel and pulled my fingers through my hair. I sucked in a long ragged breath. This day was almost over, and as I stared at my reflection, I hoped tomorrow would be a fresh start.
The music from the party in the back played through the hallway as I opened the bathroom door. My head was down, my hands smoothing my dress as I stepped from the doorway right into a hard wall of leather and wood smoke. His scent circled around me along with his arms.
“Fuck, I didn’t—”
Liam’s face paled as his pupils dilated. The soft creases around his eyes grew tight and his hands dropped from my waist like he’d been electrocuted. My heart fell into my sick stomach, but the pressure in my chest spread through my veins like a vine and up my throat, strangling me, as I looked into his eyes. Liam’s eyes.
Each breath was a shard of glass; his smell, it was a vicious weapon.
He took a step away from me, his own chest heaving. His eyes, as always, trapped me. The silence between us was an impenetrable fog, and the Liam I’d once known faded into the gray distance we’d both built three years ago.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” It was more of an accusation than a question. When I didn’t immediately answer he took a step forward, fists clenched and jaw tight as he said, “Slumming it as always? What, that pretty boy didn’t meet your needs?”
He hadn’t even touched me, but I felt the pain of his words as if he’d slapped me. He took another step forward, closing the space between us. I tried to retreat, but my back hit the wall.
“Liam…” He winced when I said his name, but he schooled his features and placed his hands against the wall on either side of my head caging me in.
“Don’t fucking say my name like you know me.” His breath was warm and smelled like beer, bringing up the old ghosts of the night I left. My lips began to tremble, and Liam’s eyes fell to my mouth.
“I know you, Liam. I always have.” I infused as much strength into my voice as I could. His scent, his eyes, the heat from his body, they were all slowly draining me.
His lips thinned. “You don’t know shit. Not anymore.”
He pushed away from the wall and I was spared a moment to breathe.
“I hate the way everything ended. I hate the way you’re looking at me right now, like it’s all my fault.” I stood taller, his self-righteous posture fueled the small spark I’d been harboring all these years.
“Is that why you call me? Hoping I’ll answer … share some of the blame you love to throw at me? That I’ll make your choice, your choice to leave, sit better on your perfect, fucking shoulders?” Liam’s voice raised above the music.
His anger lit the small ember inside me and my eyes filled with furious tears. He had everything so twisted. “Every time, Liam, every damn time, with your fucking assumptions. I wanted to leave, I wanted a different life, but—”
“I know!” His brown eyes turned dark as he stepped closer.
“You don’t know!” Hot tears trailed down my face as he placed his hands against the wall, trapping me again.
He leaned in and inhaled. His eyes closed as he spoke in a growled whisper, “I fucking hate that every time I close my eyes all I see is your face…” My heart stopped as his eyes opened. “It’s a nightmare I’ll never wake up from.”
A sob wracked through my body as he backed away. “Don’t fucking call me anymore. It ended three years ago, and yeah, maybe I assumed some shit, but I always knew you’d eventually leave. And you proved me fucking right.”
He twisted the dagger he’d placed years ago. His words did more than wound me, they’d delivered the final death blow.
“Liam?” A small female voice grabbed his attention and he turned away from me.
“Fuck, Tana, I’ll be right there.”
I didn’t dare look at her. I was barely holding on to all of my broken pieces as it was, and if I allowed myself to see her, to see his new happily ever after, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop myself from falling apart completely. Liam’s hand scrubbed down his face, and his eyes never met mine again.
“I hope he gives you everything I couldn’t,” he said with a tight jaw and walked away leaving me for dead.