Chapter 20
CHAPTER 20
Izzy
The morning of the funeral, the house was quiet with the kids taking naps in their rooms, leaving only the muffled sounds of Maggie’s aunts murmuring in the living room and the occasional clatter from the kitchen. Izzy leaned against the counter, nursing the last of her coffee, when the front door suddenly swung open with zero warning.
“The Comfort Brigade has arrived!” Pete’s voice boomed through the house, immediately breaking the fragile silence.
Izzy nearly choked.
Kiera, sitting at the table flipping through the funeral program details, did not even flinch.
Izzy barely had time to react before Pete came barreling into the house, suitcase in tow. Danica followed behind with a much more reasonable expression of concern.
Maggie looked up from her spot on the couch, where she had been staring blankly at the ceiling. Her face shifted slightly, relief flickering through the exhaustion. “You guys are here.”
Pete dropped her bag immediately and crossed the room in four strides, dragging Maggie into a bone-crushing hug.
“Of course we’re here.” Pete’s voice was softer now, her usual bravado muted by the reality of why they were all gathered. “You think we’d let you go through this without us?”
Maggie let out a shaky breath against Pete’s shoulder, clutching her back like she was grounding herself. “You don’t know how much I need this right now.”
Danica, less of a human battering ram than Pete, settled next to Maggie and offered a gentle smile. “We brought emergency snacks, and I have a fully drafted medical excuse to get you out of talking to any relatives you don’t want to deal with.”
Pete grinned, finally pulling back. “And by emergency snacks, she means we raided a gas station on the way here, and I may or may not have bought a questionable amount of gummy worms.”
Maggie actually huffed out a weak laugh, shaking her head. “Appreciate it.”
Pete moved to hug Gwen on the opposite side of the room next, and Izzy watched as Gwen tensed before relaxing into the hug. Izzy glanced toward Maggie to see if she was looking at Gwen, but she was consumed in giving Danica a bone-crushing hug. There was distance, thick and heavy, every time Gwen and Maggie were in the same room.
Pete, oblivious to the underlying tension, greeted Izzy and Kiera, then flopped onto the couch beside Maggie like she had claimed it as her personal throne. “What do you need, baby cakes? Coffee? Please tell me someone has coffee. Danica made me get to the airport like two hours early.”
Gwen finally piped up. “I could make a fresh pot if anyone else wants some?”
For the first time in days, Maggie actually looked right at Gwen. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
Izzy had never seen a person move so fast. Gwen’s desperation to help Maggie was palpable. Kiera raised a brow, locking eyes with Izzy, as if to question if they’d both noticed it. Perhaps the stalemate was over.
Izzy had assumed that the most stressful part of the afternoon of the funeral would be keeping Maggie from spiraling into a complete emotional shutdown. She was wrong.
The most stressful part was the dress.
“Ohmyfuckinggod,” Maggie whispered as she sat down on the edge of her bed, staring at the black dress in her hands in utter horror. It was ruined, covered in dozens of spots in shades of gray and yellow.
“It’s really bad, isn’t it?” Gwen asked, her face stricken with guilt as she hovered nearby, her nervous energy palpable in the way she was wringing her hands. “I was trying to get the wrinkles out and used the spray bottle, but I must have grabbed the wrong one.”
Maggie didn’t move or respond. She just kept staring at the dress like it had personally betrayed her. Or worse, like Gwen had personally betrayed her.
Izzy had only come in to ask Gwen for a pair of black socks when she’d seen the spotted dress in Maggie’s hands. She now attempted to leave, determined not to witness a murder. Unfortunately, she had nowhere to escape, because the second she reached the hallway, Kiera and Danica nearly collided into her.
“What happened?” Kiera asked, her hand on Izzy’s arm.
Izzy pinched the bridge of her nose. “Gwen accidentally bleached the funeral dress.”
Kiera and Danica both froze.
Then, at the exact same time: “Oh, shit.”
Izzy chanced a glance behind her. Gwen looked miserable. “Maggie, I’m so sorry,” she said, taking a tentative step forward. “I should’ve double-checked?—”
Maggie finally moved, running a hand through her blonde hair before pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes. Her breathing had gone a little too shallow, a little too fast, and Izzy recognized the signs of an anxiety attack.
“It’s fine,” Maggie said, her voice oddly and terrifyingly detached. “I’ll just — I’ll wear something else.”
Kiera and Danica exchanged a silent, panicked conversation via eyebrow movements. Before Izzy could stop them, Kiera said in a voice that was half-strangled with panic and half-desperate with optimism, “Or, we can fix it!”
Maggie dropped her hands, looking at Kiera with flat skepticism. “Fix bleach? Is there some magic un-bleaching potion I don’t know about?”
Kiera, undaunted, announced, “I have a Sharpie.”
A long, tense silence ensued.
Izzy blinked. “I’m sorry… what?”
Kiera ignored her, already digging through her purse. “Look, we just color it in, and no one will notice. It’s mostly at the bottom of the dress anyway. Who is staring at your hemline during a funeral?”
Maggie stared. Then looked at Danica. Then back at Kiera. “You’re actually suggesting that I color the dress that I am wearing to my mother's funeral with Sharpie.”
Danica sighed, rubbing her temples. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… Kiera might be right.”
Maggie, to everyone’s surprise, didn’t immediately shut it down. She looked at the dress again, brows drawn tight, jaw tense. Then, slowly, painfully, she exhaled. “...If it looks terrible, I am not liable for any ensuing homicidal rage,” she warned.
“It would be deserved,” Kiera said solemnly, pulling a marker out of her bag with a large smile.
Izzy watched warily as Kiera and Danica dropped to the floor near where Maggie sat on the bed, Sharpie in hand, and got to work. Danica held the dress taut while Kiera scribbled.
Gwen, still hovering nearby, shifted uncomfortably. “Baby, I really feel awful about this.”
Maggie shook her head, rubbing at her face. “It’s fine,” she muttered, voice tight. “It’s not a big deal.”
Maggie, whether she realized it or not, had been keeping a space between them.
Worse yet, Gwen didn’t seem to be pushing to close it.
Izzy watched Gwen’s face carefully. Her expression was frustrated but muted, like she wanted to argue but didn’t know how.
A few minutes later, Kiera and Danica sat back, surveying their work like two proud artists unveiling a masterpiece.
“Okay,” Kiera said, wiping her hands dramatically. “It’s done.”
Maggie leaned forward cautiously, inspecting the freshly Sharpied section of her dress.
After a long pause, she narrowed her eyes. “I cannot believe I’m about to say this, but… it actually looks fine.”
Kiera grinned. “Told you. We’re professionals.”
Izzy couldn’t help noticing how adorable Kiera was with her self-satisfied smile.
Danica stood, dusting her skirt off. “Crisis averted. Now, go get dressed.”
Maggie exhaled slowly, then stood, rolling her shoulders like she was physically shaking off the stress. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Okay.”
As she disappeared into the bathroom to change, Izzy exchanged a glance with Gwen. Gwen looked… adrift, hollow. Izzy didn’t know what to do with that. Instead of acknowledging it, she turned to Kiera and Danica, arms crossed.
“I can’t believe you just Sharpied a funeral dress,” Izzy said, completely deadpan. “How do you sleep at night?”
“Danica snores,” Pete said, and Izzy turned to find Pete leaning against the doorframe.
“I do not,” Danica said.
“You do,” Kiera said with a sigh.
Gwen sighed and pushed past Pete, mumbling something about Arlo’s suit, and Pete gave the group a wide-eyed look of surprise.
“What is going on with Gwen and Maggie? They’ve hardly even looked at one another today,” Danica said, her voice a whisper.
Kiera shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s been like that since I’ve been here, so I’m not sure if it’s something bigger or just Maggie’s way of grieving.”
“By pushing away her wife? Nah. Something’s way off,” Izzy said. “Even after Maggie’s pregnancy loss, it wasn’t like this.”
“Well, now’s not a good time,” Danica said, glancing over her shoulder toward the hallway. “Maybe in a few weeks we could check in with Mags about it, but not now.”
Izzy and Kiera both nodded.
“Alright, who is ready for a funeral?” Pete asked in a forcefully cheerful tone. “Any bets on how many salads that aren't really salads will be at the church after?”
The sun hung low in the sky, filtering soft light through the tree line beyond the church parking lot. The reception hall inside was still packed, filled with murmured condolences and the clinking of catering trays, but outside, tucked away on the worn stone steps at the back of the church, the five of them sat in much-needed silence.
Pete stretched her legs out, tipping her head back against the brick wall. “So… we all made it out alive.”
“Debatable,” Maggie muttered, making Izzy choke on her drink.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. Wrong choice of words,” Pete said with a grimace.
Danica, ever the doctor, gave Maggie a once-over. “You should eat something.”
Pete shuddered. “Who the hell decided funeral food had to be so aggressively 1950s? Who wants to mourn and eat jellied salads at the same time?”
“I mean, it’s a miracle we haven’t all burst from the casserole table alone,” Izzy said, eyeing the nearly translucent potato dish Pete had abandoned earlier.
Kiera, who had been quiet for most of the conversation, finally spoke. “Who even invented the funeral potato? Like, at what point in history did someone decide, ‘You know what this grief buffet needs? A metric ton of hash browns and cream of mushroom soup.’”
Maggie let out a heavy sigh, and Izzy followed her line of sight to where Gwen was playing with the kids on the small church playground.
Danica nodded solemnly. “And why is there always a rogue cereal topping? Like, ‘We have to mourn, but let’s not forget to add a solid layer of Corn Flakes for crunch.’”
Pete snorted, shaking her head. “I’m just saying, I better not die before you guys, because if I look down from the afterlife and see y’all serving up a tray of Funeral Surprise in my honor, I will haunt your asses.”
“Haunt us all you want,” Izzy said, nudging Pete’s boot with her own. “You think we’re not going to serve a buffet of aggressively Midwestern comfort foods at your funeral? We’ll make sure there’s an entire table dedicated to things suspended in Jell-O.”
Pete groaned. “Disrespectful.”
Maggie shook her head, lips twitching up into an almost-smile. “I would like to formally request zero Jell-O at my funeral, please.”
“Noted,” Kiera said, pressing a hand over her heart like she was taking an oath. “But, in return, you have to promise that if I die first, you’ll all sit here and reminisce about me while eating an exorbitant amount of cake.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Danica said without hesitation. “Red velvet, right?”
Kiera gave her an approving nod. “Exactly. None of that dry-ass vanilla cake. I want layers.”
Pete let out a dramatic sigh, looking up at the church behind them. “I’m still relieved none of us spontaneously combusted upon entry. I was fully prepared for a queer flames situation.”
“Oh, same,” Izzy said, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them. “I haven’t stepped foot in a church in years. The whole time, I kept waiting for some old priest to sniff out the gay divorce and start throwing holy water on me.”
“Please,” Danica scoffed. “I was waiting for them to see all of us and start whispering about the woke gay agenda.”
Maggie laughed, her voice catching slightly.
Kiera turned to Maggie, nudging her knee lightly. “Seriously, though, how are you feeling?”
Maggie exhaled slowly, staring out at the parking lot. “I don’t know. It’s all weird. It doesn’t feel real yet.”
No one had a good response. Because what could they say? It was weird. And awful. And none of them could fix it, or change it, or make it better.
Instead, they sat there, pressed together on the steps, their quiet presence doing more than words could. Pete pulled a granola bar from her pocket and handed it to Maggie without comment. Maggie rolled her eyes but took it anyway.
“You guys missed a spot,” Maggie said calmly, pointing to her side.
Kiera pulled her Sharpie back out of her bag and pulled the cap off with her teeth, reaching to color directly on Maggie’s dress while she was wearing it.
“This is one of the stupidest things we’ve ever done, and that’s really saying something.” Maggie was the first to laugh, then Kiera, and then the rest joined in.
And for the first time all day, they weren’t drowning in grief. They were just friends, sitting on a church step, cracking jokes, finding solace in each other’s company.