Chapter 35
35
Hayden
present
“I met Greg when I was fourteen. I was just about to enter high school, and my big sister brought home this big, burly quarterback that looked at her like she was the stars and treated our family like his own. And I knew then that he wasn’t just my sister’s boyfriend, but my brother as well.” Uncle Pat’s voice rings through the funeral home, his body raised behind a low podium next to a blown-up picture of my dad. “When I went to college, he and Marsha dropped me off at my dorms. He never treated me as an extension of Marsha but rather myself as an individual. He told me, ‘Patrick, I don’t care what happens with me and Marsha, I’ll always be here for you.’ He will always be my brother. Not a brother-in-law or an extension of my sister, but my brother. ”
Natalia sits next to me in the row of folded chairs, her hip brushing against mine as her hand covers my clenched fists. She looks ahead, a soft, polite smile spread on her lips as Pat continues his memories of my dad and him. Ones that didn’t include my mom but were distinct to two of the most important men in her life before I came along.
After my mom takes the podium following Pat, thanking everyone for coming through a fresh wave of tears, we all stand and make our way back to my house for the reception. Natalia drives, her dad’s minivan coming to a stop in front of my house as I sit in the passenger seat. Cars line the streets, people funneling toward the front door to my parents’ house, and we both watch, sitting in silence as I take a moment to prepare myself.
“Ready?” Natalia’s soft voice calls from the driver’s seat.
I turn back to her, looking away from my house. I nod.
“Hi, Hadey.” My aunt Rita greets me in the kitchen once her hands are finally free from rearranging several platters ready to be moved to the table in our formal dining room. “How you holding up?”
I nod an acknowledging nod. “Is Mom around?”
“She went into the basement to grab some tablecloths.”
I nod again, a new staple in my form of non-verbal communication. “Did you need help with anything?”
She looks down at the large spread. “Maybe just bring some of these out.” I reach for a large platter holding deviled eggs when she stops me. “Actually, can you grab the cooler from the garage? Pat brought in the ice so we could fill it.”
“Sure,” I answer, stepping away .
Natalia, who’s been hovering around me, steps in. “I can take these,” she says softly. Aunt Rita looks back at me, silently urging me for an introduction.
“Uh, this is my friend, Natalia.”
Natalia smiles at Aunt Rita by way of greeting her with her hands full.
“I’m Rita. Nice to meet you, sweetheart. Thank you for helping.”
“Of course,” Natalia answers before turning to walk to the dining room.
When Natalia is out of earshot, Aunt Rita turns to me. “Is she your girlfriend?” Her eyes bounce with expectancy at the first girl that I’ve ever brought home.
I tilt my head. “Really? Now?”
She smiles softly, her hand reaching to stroke my arm. “She’s pretty. And very sweet.”
I shake my head. “So the cooler?”
She nods. “I’ll keep an eye on your friend.”
I raise my brows before heading toward the door leading to our garage, only to get hit in the gut with everything that represents my dad. I flip the light switch next to the doorway. The fluorescent lights flicker on and are barely bright enough to light up the workstation in one corner. When I look to the other side, I see road signs and old license plates mounted on the wall next to a flat screen. A raggedy recliner faces it, right next to a small table with coasters stacked neatly in the middle.
Everything about this space, a room in this home meant to house a car, screams Greg Marshall. Football trophies from his high school heyday sitting on a shelf, Cleveland Browns memorabilia strategically placed next to them acting like a makeshift NFL shrine.
I walk to the recliner, not sitting in it but running my hands along the soft leather. I don’t want to taint this space that’ll serve as a last memory of my dad. I want to preserve it as long as I can. As if I can grasp the fading memory of him before it slips through my fingers, just like the unfinished business I had with him. All the plans I laid out since his phone call to make up for the last two years we lost, all misting into thin air.
“He got that chair at a garage sale over the summer.” When I look at the doorway, I see my mom’s sad face watching me. “He refused to pay thousands on a La-Z-Boy, so he dragged that onto his pickup and slumped it right there. He was going to move everything down to the basement once it got colder but…”
She walks toward me, folded tablecloths resting between her hands, before she stops next to me. She reaches up to squeeze my arm, moving her hand up to pat my shoulders.
“Come on, honey. You should eat something,” she whispers, her voice giving her away.
“Actually, I think I’m going to go lie down. If that’s okay.”
She nods, her downturned eyes looking at me with understanding.