I pull out my phone, first sending a text to Jen from the Rue to see if she’s still looking for an in-house event planner, and then one to Marie and Liv, hoping they’ll forgive me for ghosting them and show up when I need them . . . again.
—
THE GENTLE SNOWFLAKES falling make the cemetery look ethereal. It’s so much different than the last time I was here, watching his coffin as it was lowered into the ground.
The empty space on the headstone that once only had my mom’s name and dates is filled. My dad’s name is etched into the granite stone and it just all seems so inconsequential. Their dates of birth and death, when it’s really all of the living they did between those dates that matters the most. I close my eyes, thinking about my life. About the living that I’m doing, wondering if in the end, any of it will matter. Will anyone care if I spend the rest of my life pushing away everyone around me because I’ve been at odds with myself?
Even though it’s freezing and there’s no chance the flowers I brought will survive, I still empty the water bottle into the vase built into the headstone before I put the grocery store bouquet inside. I sit down in front of the large granite stone, and the cold from the grass seeps through the black trousers I wore to work today.
I trace my fingers over the carving of his name. “I think I’m mad at you.”
I’ve come here many times before, but this is the first time I’ve ever spoken out loud. I never talked to my mom. It’s just another thing on a long list of things I’m ashamed of. I was so young when she died and because of that, I never knew her. And how do you miss a person you never knew? And even though my dad always told me stories about her, she felt more like an idea than an actual person. “I’m mad that you guys figured out how to make life work for you, but you both left before I figured it out for myself. And now I’m a grown-ass woman who has tried to live life in this bubble that’s done nothing except prevent anyone from getting close to me.”
The sound of footsteps crunching against the frozen ground pulls my attention away from the stone in front of me. I glance over my shoulder and I’m so glad I’m already sitting, because the sight of Marie and Liv walking toward me makes my muscles go weak.
I push up off the hard ground and scrub away the tears with the back of my hands.
I wrap my arms around them, hoping they can feel how grateful I am for them. “Thank you guys for coming.”
“Of course.” Marie hands me a thermos mug. “Thank you for calling us.”
I roll my eyes and take a sip of the hot chocolate she brought me. “Yes, because I’m sure a trip to the cemetery is the way you want to spend your Friday.”
“Yes.” Liv grabs my hand and bores into my eyes. “Supporting our friend who we’ve been worried about is exactly how we want to spend our Friday.”
I’m not sure I’ve stopped crying since I drove through the gates of the cemetery, but the tears fall a little harder now.
Liv spreads out the blanket she always has in her trunk because we live in Colorado and she has a fear of being stuck in her car during a blizzard. Flanked by my closest friends, they take my hands as we sit on the blanket, staring at the headstone. They don’t pressure me to say anything and I soak in the comfort they give me until I’m ready to talk.
I take a deep breath, exhaling slowly before breaking the silence. “Quinton broke up with me.”
“We were able to piece together that much of the story,” Marie says. “Vonnie feels terrible because she told him about some event you’re planning and that’s why he got angry.”
Great. On top all of the hurt and confusion bouncing around my head, now I feel guilty too. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own feelings, I haven’t even thought that Vonnie would blame herself. As if she’s not already going through enough, I let her stew all this time, not telling her it had nothing to do with her.
“It wasn’t Vonnie’s fault that the event I was planning for Mahler was for Glenn Chandler.” I cringe a little bit at the gasp that comes from both sides of me. “I know, I should’ve quit the moment I knew it was him and I should’ve stopped making excuses for Mahler then. I just wanted so badly to not believe the worst. But I quit today.”
“You what?” Liv almost shouts. “I thought you loved that job!”
“I think I just loved the idea of the job. I loved thinking about what a kick out of it my dad would’ve gotten. But Mahler accused me of pulling the race card when I told him that I was offended by the racist shit Chandler has been quoted saying.” I look at them and know that the red in their cheeks isn’t just from the cold. “And one of the reasons Quinton said we couldn’t work things out was because he thinks I excuse racism. I just feel like I can’t win.” I stare ahead of me, but when neither of them says anything, I look between the two of them exchanging worried glances. “Do you think I excuse it?”
“It’s not that we think that you excuse it,” Liv says like I’m some skittish cat she’s approaching. “It’s just that you don’t seem to notice things.”
“Like what? How long have you thought this and not said anything?”
“What were we supposed to say?” Marie asks. “We don’t have any right to tell you how you’re supposed to feel, so we stopped saying things. Even
