Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
For the next seven days, Lauren was careful—or rather, uncomfortable—around me.
She didn’t speak too loud; she didn’t move too suddenly.
Seven days of my girlfriend doing her absolute best to fade into the background of my days.
She apologized for things she never used to apologize for; she asked for permission for things she once upon a time did freely.
On the first day, I got her as far away from my father’s home as soon as I could.
She was quiet the entire ride over, fidgeting with her fingers in a way I’d never seen her do.
When we’d arrived at the safe house, she eyed the interior as if she could see earlier versions of ourselves haunting throughout.
She was reliving a simpler time, an air of nostalgia in her features, a desire for that simplicity once more. I wished I could’ve given it to her.
On the second day, we went to the nearest pharmacy so that Lauren could pick up Plan B emergency birth control. When the cashier had asked her for ID, she didn’t have it.
“I don’t have my ID,” she’d said, her voice sounding small, embarrassed.
I couldn’t be sure if she was uncomfortable because the woman behind the counter was all too aware of what we’d done, or if it was because she felt foolish for having thought she could buy the emergency pill without proving she was an adult.
Either way, this was nothing to be self-conscious about.
“I’ve got it,” I interjected, pulling out my driver’s license.
The cashier’s attention settled on me and between her deep set eyes, a hard line V creased with outrage.
So you’re the nigga who recklessly came up in this sweet-faced girl, her look conveyed.
I reminded her that she had a job to do. “Ring me up.”
Lauren sat at the foot of our bed once we’d arrived and settled back home. She read the back of the box over and over again, repeatedly expressing anxiety over the side effects listed on the back.
“I once read an article that said frequent use of emergency contraceptives leads to infertility.”
I’d met the worry in her eyes, and sighed.
“It’s girls out here popping Plan B’s like vitamins every weekend. You’ve got nothing to worry about, and this isn’t about to be a recurring thing for us.”
Her face fell, a misunderstanding of my words.
Clearly, she was still insecure about the nature of our relationship if she took my words to mean that I had no intention of touching her ever again.
What I meant was that next time we took it there, either I’d suit up, or she’d be on regular birth control.
I clarified this, annoyed that I even needed to, but patient.
“Oh,” was all she whispered, rising to her feet and slipping past me. “I’m gonna go get a glass of water from the kitchen.”
Days three through seven passed without incident.
Most of her bruises had cleared, and Lauren and I kept conversations surface level.
I didn’t ask her about her parents, and she didn’t ask me about Amir.
Those were two elephants in the room, breathing heavily and begging to be addressed.
When Friday morning came, my elephant grew too big to ignore.
“His funeral is tomorrow,” I announced at breakfast, watching as Lauren’s spoonful of oatmeal stopped halfway to her mouth.
She set the spoon down, eyes staring a hole through mine.
I’d addressed my elephant. I was finally talking about him and mixed in with the shock in her features, there was some relief there, too.
I wasn’t completely scattered in the wind, she concluded.
“I don’t know if it’s even right that I go. ”
Lauren cleared her throat, thrown by the suddenness of my vulnerability.
I, too, realized that a Friday morning breakfast was a bit of an unexpected time to lay my problems at her feet.
But Lauren, as strange as it sounded, welcomed signs of weakness in me like no one else could.
Strange as it may have seemed, I felt oddly safe in her presence.
So for her, I would let my guard down from time to time. For her, I could cut the act.
“You’ll regret it if you don’t go.” She was absolutely right.
“I know.”
“It’s just…” I sighed, shaking my head resignedly. There were no words for the lurch in my stomach. What does a cringe sound like? “It’s hard not to feel like I’ll be that nigga who shows up to bury the man he killed.”
“You didn’t kill him.”
I only looked at her, a skeptical crease forming between my brows. Lauren and I both knew Amir would still be alive today if not for my requests of him. She herself had been there when Amir and I shook on it.
“I didn’t pull the trigger,” I amended. “But I might as well have.”
“The blame game is all about varying degrees of association,” she shrugged.
I eyed her with confusion, inviting her to explain that.
“What if Silas hadn’t killed your cousin?
What if it hadn’t rained that night, and traffic was a little better?
What if I didn’t try to stop you when you left? What if—”
“Don’t.” I raised a hand to stop her. “I’ve already been through all of the what-ifs. Thinking of you, and not me, as the reason Amir might be dead will not help.”
“I’m just saying you can make anything anyone’s fault if you look at situations from different directions.”
“Yeah, I know,” I replied dismissively. “But join me in skipping the ones that place the blame on yourself.”
“But you won’t extend yourself that same courtesy.”
“I don’t need to,” I replied.
“And you need to do so for me?” she posed skeptically.
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
“Why?”
In the haste of the back and forth, I confessed, “Because I don’t want to hate you.”
Lauren swallowed her words back down. She had nothing to say now, but I had something to add.
“Because my best friend is dead, and the last person I want to blame is my other best friend.”
Her eyes raised from her bowl of oatmeal, eyes watering a little at the sound of that admission. God, I hated to see her cry. Only this time, I wasn’t sure if her tears were of sadness or of relief.
Her voice was croaky when she spoke again, “I think you should go to the funeral, Kain.”
“Only if… Only if you come with me.” Vulnerability fit me like a pair of shoes two sizes too small.
I knew all the risks that came with being somewhere so public with Lauren Caplan, but after everything that happened in the past few weeks, it was only a matter of time before Silas found out about our relationship.
Lauren was genuinely taken aback by my request. “You want me there?”
A humorless chuckled rumbled up from my chest, and I shook my head at the question. Not because my answer was no, but because her asking it only served to show me that she had absolutely no idea. No idea at all…
“Lauren…” The words weighed heavy on my tongue, threatening to shatter my teeth on their way out.
This was so hard for me to admit. Not because I was ashamed, but because admitting it went against everything I’d been taught since birth.
Silas always used to say, the minute you need anything or anyone, it’s over. “Baby… I need you there.”
***
In Ghana, where my deceased friend was born, the colors of mourning are black for the grief, and red for the danger.
Because of the nature of Amir’s death, naturally, the crowd at the church was a sea of red.
At the moment I stepped through the threshold, the wave-like commotion among them seemed to hush into a complete silence.
One by one, conversations abruptly ended and heads turned.
I was easily able to ignore the hateful looks from those around me.
No one would say anything to my face. Funeral or not—I was still Kain Montgomery, and nobody wants a Montgomery for an enemy.
My eyes could only zero in on the closed cherry wood casket adorned with flowers at the pulpit.
Amir was in there, cold and lifeless, above ground for just a few short hours before finally leaving us in symbolic completion.
As expected, even though I was devastated, my eyes did not water.
I wasn’t one for crying over much of anything.
In the eerie silence of the church, Lauren’s hand found mine, squeezing my palm reassuringly. My eyes traveled up the red fabric of Lauren’s red dress—Lauren in red was always a beautiful sight—and met her watering eyes.
Wow, I thought to myself.
Lauren, a girl who’d known Amir all of four months could muster up the emotion it took to shed tears in the midst of his closed casket. And me? I had nothing but a downcast expression and an overwhelming feeling of guilt to offer my best friend of nearly fifteen years.
The sermon droned on, a bizarrely religious ceremony for someone like Amir whose faith never stretched beyond a ‘bless you’ post sneeze when he was alive.
The sounds of women—family and friends of his—crying in the church bounced off the walls like a choir of sniffles and whimpers accompanying the booming voice of the pastor.
I could feel dozens of eyes burning holes into the back of my suit.
It was oddly satisfying to be around people who blamed me just as much as I blamed myself.
When it came time for any friends of Amir to speak, a few heads turned my way, but I didn’t budge.
What would I say? Again, Lauren squeezed my hand to remind me that she was here for me.
It was without question that this ceremony would’ve been unbearable had she not been here.
One by one, we watched people who didn’t know Amir as much as I did take the stage and say their peace.
It grated on my nerves to have to sit through all of it, easily picking out the things that weren’t true, or the things he wouldn’t have wanted said.
It was only then that I realized that neither Marlon or Jay were present. This somewhat made sense. Closed-casket funerals are nothing but torture for the living—no sense of closure from a last look before saying goodbye forever.
The last person to speak was probably the only person in the room who knew Amir better than I did. Cierra, Amir’s girlfriend. Cierra, my sister.
Her fingers tightened around the mic as she tried to gain control of her breathing, looking at the floor as she spoke.
“I used to call him Mir.” A sob clamored from out of her chest. “I was the only one who called him that. He used to answer to it with the biggest smile on his face and just reply, ‘What is it, my love?’” She chuckled a humorless laugh and wiped at her cheeks.
“Not many people know that. Amir was such a soft and caring soul. So special. He loved hard, and I loved him back.”
My sister took a moment to get control of her emotions.
“I feel like a part of my heart was ripped out of my chest, and some days I swear it hurts to breathe. I miss him every second of every day, and when I talk to him in my mind, all of our conversations start with, ‘What is it, my love?’, and to that I say… I say I hope I wake up from this nightmare.”
Lauren’s hand came up to catch the tears she shed for my sister, a slight movement that called Cierra’s attention her way.
Cierra’s pained eyes darkened at the sight of my girlfriend’s tears.
There was venom in her gaze that pierced through Lauren as if she were looking directly at Amir’s killer in the flesh.
It occurred to me that this was because as far as Cierra was concerned—she was looking at Amir’s killer.
Or at least the reason he was dead.
From Lauren, Cierra’s eyes traveled to me, and with a simple look—I just knew. Cierra wasn’t just sad.
She was pissed.