Chapter 23
Twenty-Three
C ooper
I thought watching Sybil marry Ethan would be the hardest thing I’d witness in my lifetime.
I was wrong.
There’s no way anything could be more painful than witnessing my mother wither away to skin and bones in a matter of weeks, my father scramble and fail to find a treatment, and my brother fixate on his studies to avoid reality.
Hardest of all, is staring at Mom’s casket minutes before it lowers into the cold, hard earth, knowing her body is inside, but she’s gone.
She didn’t believe in an afterlife, and I don’t know if I believe in one, either, but I know this sinking feeling in my chest will live with me forever.
There’s nothing I can do or say or will into existence to reverse what has happened.
Instead of a wedding, we got a funeral, and instead of life, Mom got death.
It’s not fair.
My gaze locks on the white roses as family and friends place them on top of the casket—a stark contrast of white against a black day. Dad has finished his goodbye. Now it’s our turn. It feels like everyone’s eyes are on us as Ethan and I place the final two roses.
Ethan whispers something under his breath. I only catch the word “sorry” before he steps away.
“I love you, Mom,” I say, my voice hoarse.
Those four words are all I can manage. I took so much for granted, living a life without loss or hardship. Mom created magic for me and Ethan. Now, there’s nobody here to make magic for us. We’ve been adults for four years now, but nothing could’ve prepared me for losing Mom.
A final prayer is offered. Dad insisted on having a Catholic priest here, even though we never went to church. Maybe he finds comfort in it, but I don’t. We’re told we can stay to watch the casket lower into the ground, but most families choose to leave before that happens.
Dad says we’re leaving, and he’s right; I can’t do this anymore.
The hourlong drive to the luncheon is brutally silent and lacking in tears.
I rub my forehead, a dull headache pulsing behind my temples, as though every ounce of energy has been stolen from me.
I know I’m not the only one---we’re all emotionally spent at this point.
The luncheon is being held at the Laurence’s Manhattan apartment, which feels wrong somehow.
Mom loved to entertain, and being Mom, she planned the whole thing.
I want the hell out of this city, but where would I go? The Nantucket house is tainted with her death, too.
Just get through today, get back to school, and finish the semester.
Not that I give a shit about school right now, but when I asked Dad if I could take a leave of absence, he wouldn’t hear it. He said life must go on, and quitting school would only disappoint Mom.
But Mom isn’t here, and that’s the fucking point.
“I want you to be extra cordial today,” our father says to us like we’re at work, about to give a presentation. His posture is rigid as he looks me and my brother over. “No hiding. I mean it. You’re grown men, and you’ll need to act like it. Do it for your mother’s sake.”
“I don’t think she cares how we act anymore,” I mutter.
Ethan’s mouth thins as he glares at our father. “Why wouldn’t I be cordial?”
They share a charged look—one I can’t read. That’s not like them. There’s something going on they’re not telling me about, a secret context growing underneath the moment, but I’m too exhausted to root it out.
“Don’t start with me, Ethan.” Conrad sighs. “We’ve already discussed it, and now is not the time. I’ll deal with it when I’m ready.”
“What are you two on about?” Do I even care? My grief certainly doesn’t, but my curiosity says otherwise.
“None of your business,” Dad replies, and Ethan laughs bitterly but doesn’t say anything.
It pisses me off.
Maybe I shouldn’t be angry at the only family I have on the day of my mother’s funeral, but this is bullshit. I’m sick of being the third wheel.
“Tell me,” I demand, looking at Ethan this time. We don’t keep secrets; he knows that.
“Except for when we do,” a little voice in my mind whispers.
“I’ll tell you later,” Ethan mutters.
“Ethan,” our father says sternly, “we talked about this. Let me handle it.”
The car stops in front of the Laurence’s historic building, and Ethan tears out of it, leaving the door wide open as he stomps away. I jump out after him, and my father is quick on my heels. He grabs my bicep, stopping me.
“Let it go, Cooper,” he demands. “This is not the time for drama.”
I turn on him, anger rushing through my veins. “Last I checked, I was part of this family.”
“I’m telling you to let this one go.”
“Or what?” I growl.
He pauses, taking me in, then finally nods. “Later.” He suddenly looks so old and defeated, I almost don’t recognize him. “Trust me on this, Coop. Not today. Okay? Not. This. Day.”
He drops my arm and heads inside.
I want to be angry, his words taking me right back to the day we got Mom’s cancer diagnosis that they were clearly trying to keep from us, but then I take a breath and remember Mom. She wouldn’t want us fighting at her wake.
The next hour goes exactly as expected. The caterers serve a light buffet lunch and drinks, and the people closest to Mom mingle and mourn. It’s a sea of black dresses and suits. Sybil is glued to Ethan’s side, so I leave them be, though I can’t help but notice the far-off angry sheen in his eyes.
I end up in my usual spot between Sybil’s brothers. They’re good kids. Talking to them helps keep my mind busy. Hayes is fifteen and going into high school, and the kid is athletic as hell, so he’s got big plans for varsity sports.
Chandler is eighteen and got admitted into a collegiate professional development program for kids with cognitive disabilities. His excitement is as endearing as it is infectious. I love this kid—I wish I could be that excited about anything in my life.
A raised voice catches my attention, and I’m shaken from my haze.
This is not a voice I’m used to hearing in any other way but calm and collected. It’s not my father’s voice. It’s not Ethan.
It’s Gregory Laurence. My gaze shoots across the room to where Sybil and Ethan stand next to Sybil’s father. She drops Ethan’s hand and recoils, her face going white.
Hayes and I clock the incident at the same time.
Something is very, very wrong.