9. Avery #2
The smell of coffee and something warm drifts through the air, but there’s no comfort in it.
Clara stands near the dining room entrance, her brow furrowed, issuing orders to one of the servers while simultaneously checking her phone.
The concern on her face makes it clear she’s doing everything she can to make the situation as easy as possible for the family.
I continue onward, my feet moving quickly toward the breakfast room. As I reach the door, I skid to a my top, heart hammering against my ribs. From inside, I hear muffled conversation, though not much of it. Just low voices, short words… the kind that barely fills the empty spaces between loss.
I inhale, straighten my shoulders, and step in.
The breakfast table is a graveyard of untouched food. Heavy silence clings to the air, thick and horrible. Gray sits at the head, his fingers wrapped around a coffee cup, his expression set like stone.
He looks exhausted; sleep was probably a luxury he couldn’t afford last night. His shirt is slightly wrinkled, his jaw tight, and his entire body radiates the kind of tension that comes from trying to hold everything together when everything is already broken.
Beth sits beside him, cradling her own cup, looking like she doesn’t quite know where to put herself. She keeps her gaze down, focusing too hard on the coffee and, avoiding eye contact with anyone.
And then there’s Maddie.
She’s small in her chair, her shoulders hunched, her face pale. Her eyes are swollen, rimmed red from crying, and she just stares blankly at her plate, like she’s forgotten what food even is. There’s a piece of toast in front of her, a few bites taken out, but it’s been pushed to the side.
Gray exhales slowly, setting his cup down. “Maddie, sweetheart, you need to eat something.”
Nothing.
“Maddie,” he tries again, leaning slightly toward her. “What about some eggs? Or—”
“I don’t want it.” Her voice is small, and rough, like she’s been crying so much there’s nothing left.
“Maddie—”
“I said I don’t want it!” The force behind it is unexpected, and her little hands shove the plate away so fast the fork clatters loudly against the table.
Beth flinches. Gray sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.
I should have gotten her up. I should have brought her down here. Comforted her.
The thought lands like a punch to the stomach.
Maddie’s chair scrapes against the floor as she bolts from the table. She doesn’t go toward Gray, doesn’t run to Beth—she runs straight toward me.
Her arms wrap around my waist, and then she’s sobbing, her whole body shaking against mine.
I tighten my arms around her, my own throat aching as I hold her close.
Gray’s voice, rough and drained, breaks through the silence. “Maddie—”
But she doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t move.
I rub slow circles on her back as her little body shakes with every sob. It breaks me. “Sweetheart,” I whisper, leaning down to press my cheek against the top of her head. “Why don’t we go back to the table? You should try to eat something.”
She sniffles hard, her fingers gripping the fabric of my T-shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded. Then she leans back just enough to look up at me, her tear-filled eyes searching mine.
“Where’s my mom?” Her voice cracks.
I swallow past the lump in my throat and gently take her by the hand, leading her back to the table. My brain scrambles for the right words as I sit down beside her, stealing a glance at Gray. He’s watching, but he’s not interfering. Not yet.
I turn back to Maddie, taking a deep breath.
“She’s… she’s in heaven now. With the angels.
But heaven is like magic, Maddie. Because even though she’s up there,” I press my fingertips lightly to her chest, then to her forehead.
“She’s also in here. Wherever you are, wherever you go, she’ll always be with you.
And she’ll be so, so proud of her little girl. ”
Maddie blinks at me, her lip trembling. “And how do you know that?”
I hesitate, my own throat tightening. “Because when I was your age, Maddie, the same thing happened to me.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “Your mom went to heaven, too?”
I nod, fighting back the sting behind my eyes. “Yes. She passed away. And I was so angry. I hated the world. I hated everything and everybody in it. But even when I was at my worst, I could still feel her with me. I know you know what I mean.”
Maddie’s fingers fidget with a piece of toast on her plate, tearing it apart but not eating it. “Why are there so many people here?”
I glance at Gray again. He sets his coffee cup down and leans forward slightly.
“Today is your mom’s funeral,” he tells her, his voice quieter than usual.
“Beth got you a nice dress. A black one, because that’s what people wear at funerals.
And after the service, some of your mom’s close friends will be coming back here. ”
“Why?” Maddie's forehead creases.
Gray looks at me, wordlessly passing the question over.
I reach for her small hand. “Because when everyone comes back here, we eat and drink and talk about your mom. We remember her life. Her friends will probably tell stories about her—things they did together, funny memories.”
Maddie looks down at the toast in her hand. “Will I have to say something about her?”
Gray exhales. “Only if you want to, kiddo.” Maddie nods absently. She doesn’t even realize she’s chewing on the piece of toast now.
I exhale, my own shoulders loosening a fraction as I pour myself a cup of coffee and grab a small plate of breakfast.
Gray turns to Beth. “So, is everything arranged?”
Beth finally speaks, walking him through the details. “The cars are leaving from here at twelve. The cemetery service is set, and the officiant is ready. Afterward, as you know, everyone will be coming back here for the reception.”
I glance at Maddie, watching her nibble on her toast. It’s not much, but it’s something.
And right now, something is everything.
Clara walks in, looking utterly drained, and starts clearing the plates. She leans in close to me and whispers, “Maddie's dress is upstairs in her room.”
I nod. “Thanks, Clara.”
Gray pushes his chair back and stands. “Beth, go help the caterers. I’ll see everyone downstairs at eleven fifty-five. Sharp.”
Beth doesn’t argue. She just nods, downs the rest of her coffee, and leaves.
Gray walks around the table and stops beside Maddie.
He reaches out, ruffles her hair, then leans in slightly like he’s going to kiss her cheek.
But she turns her head away. His lips barely graze the air before he straightens up.
I catch a faint whiff of his cologne as he moves past me. I want to say something. Anything. Something to acknowledge the weight pressing down on him, the exhaustion hanging off his shoulders, but before I can, he’s gone. No backward glance. No nothing.
I exhale, then force some brightness into my voice. “Come on then, munchkin. Let’s get you dressed.”
Maddie sighs heavily but doesn’t resist as we stand. Clara returns, gathering the last of the dishes as we leave the breakfast room. Maddie is unusually quiet as we climb the stairs, our steps heavy against the polished wood.
When we walk into her bedroom, the sight of the black dress on the bed stops her cold. It’s still wrapped in its cellophane, a cardigan folded neatly beside it, and a pair of new shoes sits in an open box, the white tissue paper crinkled inside.
Maddie recoils slightly. “And what if I don’t want to go to the funeral?” Her voice is small, almost afraid.
I press my lips together, thinking hard. Then I kneel in front of her, brushing her hair from her face. “Just think how upset that would make your mom. She’d want you there. After all, you’re the most important person. You’re her daughter, and if you don’t go, you’ll always regret it.”
She stares at the dress, chewing the inside of her cheek. Then, slowly, she steps forward and touches the fabric through the plastic. She doesn’t say another word.
Once she’s dressed, I step back and take her in. The dress is soft and breathable, falling just at her knees. The fitted bodice and short sleeves give it an elegant simplicity, the lace detailing on the neckline and hem adding just the right amount of grace.
The black satin ribbon cinches at her waist, tied neatly in a bow at the back. Her new black ballet flats match perfectly, and the cardigan sits snugly around her shoulders.
I pick up a small black ribbon that is on the bed and gently tie it into her hair, securing a neat bow at the side. The final touch.
“Wow,” I murmur as she moves to the mirror. “You look perfect.”
Her reflection stares back at her, and I can see it—she’s using every ounce of willpower to hold it together. But she’s teetering on the edge, and I know that any second, she could snap.
I clear my throat, keeping my voice light. “You wait in here while I go and get dressed.”
Maddie looks up at me. “What are you going to wear?”
That question hits like a freight train. My stomach knots as I admit, “I have absolutely no idea, little one.”
As I step out of her room, my thoughts spiral. I mean, who the hell packs an emergency funeral outfit when they take on a job as a nanny?
I walk into my bedroom, head straight for the wardrobe, and pull the doors open, my mind already scrambling for a solution.
Time to improvise.
I scan through my limited options, fingers brushing past clothes that are far too casual or completely inappropriate.
Then, finally, I spot it. A simple black dress. Nothing fancy, just knee-length with a modest neckline. I pull it out and lay it on the bed. Next, I dig further into my wardrobe, my frustration growing by the second.
I don’t have anything remotely formal enough to wear over it.
I let out a slow breath, willing myself not to panic.
Keep it together, Avery.
Then, tucked behind a stack of folded sweaters, I find it—an old blouse. It’s been years since I last wore it, and I don't even remember packing it, but it’s decent. Modest. Suitable. I toss it next to the dress.