Bend (49 page)

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.

H
ugging a throw pillow, I’m sitting on the wicker love seat in my parents’ gazebo, where I had that conversation with Grandma the morning after she told us. The sun went down about an hour ago, but I’ve turned on the lamps in the ceiling fan that’s whirring above me—though two out of the three bulbs have burned out and need to be replaced, so the light it sheds is weak and murky.

After the funeral this afternoon, my parents hosted a catered dinner for family and a few of my grandmother’s closest friends. It was a nice get-together, where, of course, stories about Grandma dominated the conversation.

But it’s been a long-ass day of socializing, and I’m exhausted. It’s understandable why some people keep funerals a private affair. While it was nice to see how many people cared enough about my grandma—and my family in general, I guess—to show up, it made me feel like we were putting our mourning on display. And now I’m empty, emotionally drained, my mind numb from it all.

I’m sitting here contemplating how to move forward with my life. I feel like I’m stuck in a rut and need to make a big change. What that means, I’m not sure. Maybe I should seriously consider moving back up here instead of only thinking about it whenever the whim strikes and never committing one way or another.

Is there anything keeping me in SoCal anymore? I definitely don’t feel married to my job. Getting out of bed in the morning has been a drag lately, and that’s not just because of all the crap going on in my personal life. No, I’m having a hard time getting excited about the work nowadays. I feel…discontent.

A few months ago—and for years before that—I would’ve been reluctant to leave because of Jay, even though I might not have admitted that was the reason.

Until this afternoon, I thought that deterrent was gone. Until our talk that left me light-headed and bewildered.

I wanted to see you.

My chest tightens painfully at the memory of everything he said to me. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I spotted him inside the church, but even after such a long time without him, instead of my heart surging at the sight of him, I only felt dazed.

Because it’s been three damn months with no sign of life from him after he made it so gut-wrenchingly clear we were done, and it had finally started to sink in that he meant it. That he really didn’t want to ever see me again.

So why
wouldn’t
his presence at my grandmother’s funeral cause surprise and confusion?

A breathless longing shudders through me at the thought of the burning look in his eyes that made me remember his hands and his lips and his tongue on my skin. Instead of annoyance, his possessive jealousy of Aaron Mitchell now sparks a thrill in my blood, because while I was talking to Aaron, it occurred to me that Jay wouldn’t care anymore.

And then, there he was. And he did care.

But so what that he kissed me—and that it was so hot and sweet, and that I didn’t want it to end?

So what if he said
I’m not going anywhere
in that pointed tone of voice, as if the meaning of those words ran far deeper than I dared to hope?

And so what if it seemed like maybe he’s had a change of mind?

Because I’m not sure how I feel about that. Not sure that he didn’t break me, crush me so badly that no matter what he says or does, he can’t put me back together again.

Which is why I was relieved that I didn’t see him after the service ended and even more relieved that my meddling sister didn’t invite him to come back to my parents’ house for dinner. I just can’t deal with this stuff right now. It’s too much.

All of a sudden, the porch lamp comes on, flooding the deck with light. The kitchen patio door opens, and my dad pokes his head out, scanning the backyard like he’s looking for something suspicious. He steps outside, and when he walks across the yard toward the steps up to the gazebo, I know he saw me.

He’s changed out of his suit and tie into more comfortable shorts and a polo shirt, and when he stops before me, I see that his graying hair is damp, so he must be fresh from the shower.