Chapter 9 #2
A week and a half later.
The wedding was two weeks away, and I’d traded in my planned bridal shower for a funeral.
A couple of hours before the service, a few of Pat’s close family members—aunts, uncles, and cousins—gathered at his parents’ house, while everyone else convened at the church for Poppy’s viewing.
Four limos arrived to transport us to the church, and sometime during our ride, it started to rain as if the Lord himself were shedding tears for the occasion.
Large raindrops slapped against the windows, obscuring the view as I watched the scenery zoom by.
The limos stopped in an orderly row in front of the church.
I exited the limo dressed in black and carrying an umbrella to protect me from the harsh elements.
The hem of my dress fluttered against my knees as I marched toward the church.
The sky was gray as the rain fell, kissing my heels as I walked.
The slick, wet pavement, combined with the precipitation in the air, made the entire scene somber.
The slanted rainfall drifted across the slick pavement as the wind tossed my curls across my face.
With Pat’s hand laced in mine, we passed by mourners sniffling and speaking in low voices out of respect for the dead.
Not one smile among them. It reminded me of the days I had to bury my parents. It was triggering, to say the least.
“How are you feeling, baby?” I whispered to him, doing a quick temperature check.
“Numb,” he answered quickly. “I hate everything about today. Why did he have to die?” he whispered back as the ushers passed us the fancy, color-printed programs with his grandfather’s face on the front.
“Me too. But grief isn’t linear, and it may be like this for a while.”
Thick wooden doors opened into the sanctuary where soft music played. Our feet shuffled quietly down the patterned carpet, past people speaking in hushed tones, quietly weeping, and not so quietly blowing their noses. A mix of perfumes and colognes filled the air.
The open, glossy silver casket with Poppy’s lifeless body inside was the first thing my eyes landed on, and I immediately pinged my eyes to the space around it filled with dozens of flower arrangements ranging from calla lilies to roses, and the large projector screen on the raised stage with a repeat slideshow of different photos of him throughout his life.
I knew the minute we reached the front I wouldn’t be able to hold back my tears.
And I was right. I tasted the salty tears sliding down my lips as I held Pat’s hand and looked into Poppy’s casket.
He looked peaceful and like himself. Pat pulled me into a hug, and I rubbed his back as the smell of fresh flowers wafted past my semi-stuffy nose.
I sniffled and crumpled a tissue in my hand.
“C’mon, the funeral is about to start. We have to walk in with the family.”
Once the funeral director closed the casket, we marched in as a family and took our seats on the front pews before the service officially started.
And as expected, the creaky, wooden pews were filled with family and friends sniffling, whispering prayers, and reading from the Bibles from the shelf on the back of each pew.
I rubbed my free hand over my throat to ease the tightness as the choir sang “Going Up Yonder” during the service.
Pat threw his arm around me, and I laid my head on his shoulder while the pastor delivered the eulogy from the pulpit.
We held hands while he sobbed silently through the entire service.
When the final prayer concluded, Pat and his stepfather joined the other pallbearers to carry out his grandfather’s body to the hearse parked at the curb, while his mother and I picked up a flower arrangement.
Family and friends followed us out with more flowers, preparing to join the funeral procession and follow the hearse to the gravesite.
After Pat and the rest of the pallbearers slid the casket safely inside, a few of the arrangements were loaded in around it, and we left.
A few days after the funeral, I still wasn’t in the right headspace to think about anything other than the loss of Poppy, but I knew there were still a zillion wedding things I needed to do—one of those being to finish my vows.
The train was barreling toward the aisle at a hundred miles per hour.
I couldn’t jump off now, right? After throwing away draft number 1,030,013, I gave up and decided to phone a friend—my only friend—Olivia Gray.
She answered on the third ring, and by the look on my face, she immediately knew I was in distress.
“What’s got you making the ugly face, girl?” she quizzed.
I huffed, exasperated and completely over it. “Ugh. I swear these wedding vows are going to be the death of me, Liv.”
“Read me what you have so far.”
I cleared my throat. “Okay. Here it goes . . . Pat, . . . I’m not standing here today because everything between us has been picture-perfect.
How could it be, right? We’re human. I’m standing here today because you’ve shown me that love can still be real without perfection. It can still be meaningful . . .”
Her lips split flat. “Uh, that’s . . . it?”
I sighed. “Ugh! See!”
Liv held up her hand. “Okay, okay. Maid of honor is here to save the day! Um, maybe talk about how you two met. I mean, on a plane he was piloting is a good meet-cute story, right? Or something you love about him.”
“I don’t know, Liv. I’m freaking out! Should I just Chat GPT it?”
“Using AI? For your vows, Lex? Are you crazy?”
“Start simple,” Oak interjected, stepping into the frame. “You thinkin’ too much. When did you know you loved him?”
Hearing his voice was one thing, but seeing him made my heart almost stop. “O-M-G, Liv! Has he been there the whole time?”
“Girl, no. His nosy ass came in here eavesdropping. I’m in the living room. Go away, nigga. This doesn’t concern you.”
“It sounds like y’all struggling, so I was trying to help you keep it simple.”
Liv rolled her eyes but then shrugged when she looked back into the camera at me. “I mean . . . he may be nosy, but he’s not wrong.”
I smacked my lips. “So, you’re on his side?”
“I mean, let’s hear it from a man’s perspective. He’s here. Might as well use him to our advantage, right?” Liv suggested.
“What do you mean?”
“If you were getting married tomorrow, what would you say to your bride, Oak?”
“Hold up. I ain’t sign up for all this. I came in here to heat up my food.”
“Too bad! You butted in, so now you’re a part of the conversation.”
He smacked his lips. “Gimme a minute, damn.”
Liv sat back and flipped the camera to Oak. “Just say whatever comes to mind. It doesn’t have to be perfect. We know yo’ ass is just as lonely as me, nigga.” She snickered.
He leaned against the counter, staring off for a minute, trying to think of what to say.
“I don’t know. I guess I might say something like .
. . the day I saw you was the first time I’d ever been able to see the future.
There’s something about you that will always be home to me.
I don’t know if it’s because I knew you were my forever from day one, or if it’s because my fuckin’ head is filled with so many thoughts of you, I can barely call it mine anymore.
In a world that thrives on chaos and instability, you are my calm.
My solid foundation. The stillness that brings my soul the kind of peace I never knew existed until you came along.
I love you in ways that science is still studying.
Today, I vow to speak love over you even when you piss me off and hold space for you and all your moods.
I vow to reassure you that you are the only woman I will ever need, to make sure you find any remedy you need in my arms, and to always handle your heart with care because I would rather lose my life than lose you. ”
Everything remained quiet once he stopped talking. Like someone had put the entire room on mute. “Damn, nigga. What’s wrong with you wettin’ my lashes up like that? Lex, I hope you wrote all that pretty shit down.”
I blinked back my own tears, still momentarily stuck on stupid. “Y-yeah.”
He shrugged his visibly tatted shoulders. “It was never about the perfect words. It’s about telling the person you love more than anybody in this world that you’ll love, support, and protect them until your heart stops beating.”
“Right . . .”
“And with that, I’ll let you get back to the drawing board,” Liv said.
“Okay. T-thanks, y’all. Bye.”
I ended the FaceTime call feeling a way, especially because after our last interaction, I’d told myself that he practically hated me.
There this nigga goes again, rocking the boat of my heart.
But I’d made my decision, and I was sticking to it.
So why couldn’t I stop thinking the vows he said were meant explicitly for me?