Chapter 18
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
BEFORE
My fingers felt numb as I fastened the cufflinks to my sleeves. It was colder today—the temperature had dropped, which was typical for mid-October. Not that anything about today felt typical. The sky was a bright, cloudless blue. Not a single sign of what was coming.
“Do you need help with that?” Ilana asked.
I turned just as she finished putting on one of her earrings.
Looking down, I realized I had no idea how long I’d been fumbling with the cufflink. I nodded.
Her soft footsteps padded across the carpet as she came closer. She wore a black dress. She was almost always in black anyway, but this one didn’t suit her. It was too stiff. Too formal.
I tugged on the sleeve of my shirt as she clicked the cufflink into place.
“Do you have your speech?”
“Yeah.” My mind wandered to the piece of paper currently folded and tucked in my pants pocket.
I wasn’t even sure what the hell I had written on it.
I couldn’t get my head to focus. Everything seemed numb.
Out of focus. The sound felt off. There was too much quiet, and then everything echoed through the space. The empty space.
She adjusted my tie, lips pressed into a grim line. She hadn’t bothered with makeup today, and just like that, a lump formed in my throat.
“Noh, do you think we can talk later? After?”
“What about?”
“Mom,” she said quietly.
I shrugged, swallowing hard. “Sure. After.” I wasn’t sure I’d be able to have any kind of conversation after.
My eyes drifted down and caught on her necklace. It was a little golden chain holding a dainty cross.
“Is he wearing his?”
She glanced up, confused. “What?”
“Dad. Is he wearing his necklace?” The words felt wrong in my mouth. I couldn’t explain why. I shrugged off the thought, just like I ignored the flicker of pain in her expression.
“It’s in the safe. Mom asked you to put it there, remember?” Her voice was soft. Gentle.
Vaguely, I recalled her handing me boxes. Dad had asked me to change the passcode the last time I was home. Maybe I was the only one who even knew it now. It wasn’t a big safe—just papers, mostly. And now, I guessed, the medallion.
“Right,” I muttered.
The heavy weight of my flask settled against my chest as I closed my jacket.
“Ready?” Ilana asked.
I didn’t think anybody was ever ready for this, but for all intents and purposes, I was.
Her hand rested on my shoulder—a light, barely there touch—before it was gone.
“Mom?”
She pulled on her coat too. “She’s almost done.”
“Did Diego and Mati get here already? Are they meeting us there?”
Ilana’s face tightened into a grimace. “They’re not coming.”
The silence got louder.
“What?” That couldn’t be right. I understood why they were angry with him, but this was different. This was his funeral. The man had just—
I bit the inside of my cheek and curled my hands into fists, my nails digging into the skin of my palms.
“It’s not worth it, Noh,” she said. “Today’s just about Dad. Everything else can fuck off, okay?”
I nodded once.
What’s the point?
The anger faded as fast as it came, dissolving into nothing. I followed her out of the room and into the car.
The drive was just as quiet. My mother stared out one window, Ilana out the other. I sat between them, eyes fixed straight ahead.
At the funeral home, they led us into a room, and I stopped short the moment I stepped inside. In the center, surrounded by flowers, sat a closed casket.
That’s not him.
He’s not in there.
He’s gone, remember?
I shifted my focus to the person stepping forward to shake my hand.
After that, the day blurred into a seemingly endless river of I’m sorry for your loss and He was a great man, one after the other.
By the time they ushered us into the Mass, I was blanketed in the scent of a hundred different people. Most of their names escaped me.
The church was packed. And as we stood in the front pew, forced to face that closed casket, the weight of it returned. That quiet, gut-deep knowing—I was completely, unspeakably alone. The one person who knew me, who loved me, was inside that box—and they were about to bury him in the ground.
Memories flashed through my mind. One by one.
The last hug he gave me.
The way his voice rasped when he told me he loved me.
My stomach twisted. I reached up and tugged at the collar of my shirt, trying to loosen my tie.
“Don’t do that, muneco. You have to go up there after your sister,” my mother whispered, leaning in close.
The wood on the casket was too shiny. How many coats of varnish did it take to get it that way? And why? To preserve it longer? To seal it tight, considering what it was holding?
Bile crept up the back of my throat.
He’s not there.
He’s gone.
Your dad’s gone.
Another image. Him in that hospital bed. So different from the man I remembered. Then, just as suddenly, the echo of his laughter in my ears.
I cleared my throat, ignoring the glance Ilana shot me, and the priest began to speak. People sang all the same songs I’d grown up hearing. Maybe they’d turned on the heat, or maybe it was just me, but as time dragged on, the collar of my shirt began to suffocate me.
Ilana stood before I even registered it. She stepped onto the small stage, unfolded a piece of paper, and began to read.
“Thank you to all of you who came…”
That was as far as I got. My lungs filled and emptied too fast, the rush of breath in my ears louder than everything else—louder than my sister, louder than the sniffling around me. Like they’d been the ones sitting with him through chemo, like they’d listened to him be sick over and over again.
Why was I doing this?
For who?
For them?
For him?
He wasn’t even in there.
He was—
I coughed into my hand.
“Are you okay?” my mother asked. She wore dark sunglasses, but the skin around her nose and mouth was red, like she’d been crying. Was that real? Or was it just another act?
I clenched my teeth and blinked hard, eyes locking on the casket.
Not here.
Where the fuck else, then? I couldn’t just leave.
And then the room stilled even more. I blinked again and caught my sister’s face through the blur. Tear-streaked. She was beckoning me closer.
No.
My hand curled tight around the paper, crushing it in my fist.
I can’t do this.
He’s not here.
He’s never going to be here ever again.
Before I could register my mother’s call or the tug on my jacket, I was already turning away—from him, from it—rushing out of the church. The doors groaned and creaked as I pushed them open, then again behind me as they clattered shut. My footsteps echoed through the empty hall. No one followed.
I didn’t stop until I found a bathroom—mercifully empty—and began pacing. Back and forth. Again and again.
He’s gone.
The full force of it kept hitting me in waves.
I was at my dad’s funeral. He was gone. He was inside that box. And they were going to bury him in the ground.
My back hit the wall, and I slid down, collapsing as the tears broke loose. They streamed down my face, unchecked, while my heart pounded in my ears. The pain in my chest grew and grew, until it felt like a hole had opened up inside me—vast, hollow, and devouring everything in its path.
Te amo, hijo.
My finger traced his, clutching his limp, unresponsive hand. Begging him not to die.
The bathroom door flew open.
“Noah?” Holly’s voice rang out as she stepped inside, eyes scanning until they landed on me.
“Hols.” My voice was unrecognizable.
Her face crumpled as a sob escaped me.
“My dad died,” I told her.
She dropped to her knees without hesitation and wrapped her arms around me—tight. Incredibly tight.
I clung to her like a lifeline as sobs tore out of me, ragged and raw. “My dad died, Hols.”
This was too much. It hurt too much. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t fucking do it. I buried my face in her shoulder and tried to push it in, bit by bit—hiding it away. If I didn’t, it was going to swallow me whole.
Just like it did, every time I saw him get weaker. Every time his name flashed on my phone. Every time I ignored what he said—how he said it. Like he’d been saying goodbye all along.
Push it in, Noah. It’s not real. It’s not happening.
Push it in. Come on, push it in. In. In.
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Holly held me on the bathroom floor while I rocked in her arms, the sobs softening, easing just enough to breathe again.
I stared blankly at the wall behind her.
“I can’t do it,” I whispered.
Her grip only tightened as I repeated it, again and again.
I can’t do it.
I can’t.
I—