Chapter Twelve Remi #2
“He didn’t make it,” Remi whispered, closing her eyes like it might soften the memory. It didn’t. “He was gone before we ever got to meet him.”
“Oh, Mom …” Zoe breathed.
“It was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to endure,” Remi said, her voice thick. “Aside from losing your dad.”
“What did you do?” Zoe asked. “Did you tell anyone?”
“I told Grandma Lorraine. She helped me through it. She let me talk about it as much as I needed to, until I was better. The pain never completely went away, though; it just got better over time.”
Zoe nodded slowly, tears slipping down her cheeks. “It hurts so bad sometimes,” she admitted. “Some days, I can’t even breathe.”
“You can talk to me about it as much as you want. I’m here.” Remi cupped her daughter’s face gently. “Therapy is an option, too, baby. Would you be open to that?”
“Maybe,” Zoe said in a small voice. “I never really thought about it.”
“Okay. We can talk more about it,” Remi said. “You don’t have to make any decisions right now.”
Zoe gave a faint nod. “Okay.”
Remi gave her a soft smile, brushing a tear from Zoe’s cheek with her thumb. Then she rose to her feet, taking a deep breath. Her heart felt better, having gotten things off her chest. “All right. Enough heaviness for tonight. Let’s play some music—something upbeat.”
Zoe let out a weak laugh. “Mom, you know our taste in music is way different.”
“Well, you play something.”
Zoe reached for her phone, connected it to the Bluetooth and to the speaker. A beat dropped—Kendrick Lamar’s “Not Like Us” filled the room with energy. Remi pulled Zoe up from the sofa, and they danced in the middle of the living room, clumsy and carefree.
“Oh wait, nobody told me there was a party going on.” Bianca stepped into the room, a brightly colored casual romper hugging her curves. They hadn’t even heard her coming.
She joined them on the floor, hips swaying effortlessly to the rhythm. Soon, Mila wandered in and, without a word, slipped into their circle. The four of them danced like it was the only thing holding them together. It was pure joy and beautiful energy until the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” Bianca called, slipping from the rhythm and heading toward the door.
The others kept dancing and singing, the music pulsing through the room as Bianca opened the door and exchanged a few quiet words. She signed for the package, a box tucked in her arms.
“It’s for you, Rem,” she said gently, carrying it over to her.
Remi, catching her breath from dancing, sat on the sofa. Her laughter faded, the light in her eyes dimming as she glanced down at the return address on the package: New Orleans Funeral and Cremation Service.
The breath left her body. Not in a gasp, but as a slow, sinking exhale, like something had been pulled from her. She sank deeper into the cushions, her arms suddenly so heavy, her chest felt hollow.
“What is it, Mom?” Zoe’s voice broke the silence. She stepped forward, concerned. “Who’s it from?”
Remi didn’t answer right away. Her fingers hovered over the edge of the box, frozen in place. Her throat tightened. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.
“Gerard,” she said. “It’s his ashes.”
The room went completely still.
Remi’s fingertips trailed across the label on the box like it might vanish.
Her eyes filled, but she didn’t cry. Not yet.
This was a different kind of grief. The final kind.
The kind you could feel … deeply in your bones.
She held the box in her lap and bowed her head.
She held it like she was protecting him.
“I wasn’t ready for this,” she said, barely audible.
The music kept playing, as if unaware that the atmosphere in the room had changed.
Zoe moved first, walked over and turned down the volume.
The bass faded into a quiet hum. Remi sat frozen, the box resting on her lap like it might shatter if she moved suddenly.
Her hands gripped the sides. She wasn’t ready to open it—not yet.
Bianca sat beside her, wrapped her arm around Remi’s shoulder. She whispered, “You don’t have to do anything right now.”
“I know,” Remi said softly. “It just makes it so final.”
Remi knew that Gerard was gone, but something inside of her still held out hope that he might walk through that door—as crazy as it may have seemed.
The chances of this being summed up as a bad dream—well, receiving those ashes crushed all of that.
It was real. His death was real. And the evidence was inside this box that she held in her hands.
Zoe knelt down in front of her mother, her eyes soft. “You don’t have to open it tonight, Mom. Let’s just sit for a bit.”
Remi looked down at the box again, then at Zoe. “He wanted to be here. This was his happy place.” Her voice trembled. “I thought I was doing better, burying myself in bringing Joie to life.”
Mila, who had been standing nearby, crossed the room and leaned down to kiss the top of Remi’s head. “You are doing better, Aunt Remi,” she said softly.
They sat still for a while. Four women. Two generations of love, heartbreak, grief—and unspoken strength.
Remi decided not to open the box that night. Instead, she placed it on the mantel and told Zoe to turn the music back on. She played something slower this time—Sade’s “By Your Side.” And Remi thought of Gerard and smiled. It was their song.