Chapter Thirty Six
Astream of endless silent tears rolled down Ophelia’s face for the entirety of Mawmaw’s funeral service.
The front of her dress was soaked, and it took effort for Ophelia not to break into a loud and unending sob.
She wished she had the courage and wherewithal to express herself to the congregation, but she didn’t, and she hated herself for it.
Jade sat with Ophelia and her family during the ceremony, since she desperately needed someone who wasn’t breaking to hold her hand.
At one point, Theo ended up in her arms, and she buried her face into the rolls of his neck and pressed kisses to his round belly.
His sweet baby scent brought her comfort.
Etienne and his grandfather, Brutus, were there. Ophelia thought she spoke to both of them after the ceremony as people filed out of the church, but she couldn’t be certain. She barely remembered what happened that day.
After the funeral, she went home and didn’t move from her bed. It was all too much. The weight of life was crushing.
She had long dismissed the theory that she was immune to bad things.
That notion flew out the window during the attack in New York.
However, she missed that carefree, invincible feeling when she was younger.
The feeling of hearing about a tragedy and being sad for the victim, and then moving on with life.
Not anymore. When Ophelia heard of something bad, she now thought, “Oh, that will probably happen to me.” It was unhealthy and statistically untrue, but what were the odds that her life revolved around a serial killer who killed her neighbor and her grandmother?
There was too much loss. Mawmaw, Delphine, her own self-confidence, her sense of safety at home, and in New Orleans. She named the losses in her head. Repeated them ad nauseam, determined to never forget.
Work gave Ophelia two weeks off for bereavement.
During that time, she received several well-meaning texts from friends and colleagues, even a kind text from Etienne, which surprised her.
It was a long message about her Mawmaw and how much she meant to his grandfather and the community.
His message included a story about his grandfather, Brutus, asking Mawmaw out on a date a decade or so ago.
Her response was that she was “too much woman for him to handle.” Mawmaw never dated after Ophelia’s grandfather passed away before she was even born.
She could so distinctly hear her sassy voice say those words.
The anecdote left Ophelia sobbing on the floor. But she was thankful for the message. She needed to hear those things. She needed people to remember her Mawmaw.
For the first couple of days after the funeral, Jade and Jolie left Ophelia alone, but then they started showing up uninvited.
Jade was the most welcome. She came to Ophelia’s home, tidied up the place, brought in some groceries, and simply sat with her.
Whereas Jolie was an annoying ball of frenetic energy.
Jolie wanted Ophelia to stop “moping” around.
She was constantly saying things like… We should go to Audubon Park.
The fresh air will help. You need to eat real food, Ophelia.
Not just cereal. Your bed is getting tired of you. Trust me. The smell says it all.
And on the last day of her bereavement period, the Sunday before she had to return to work, Ophelia had had enough of her sister.
At noon, Jolie burst through her house and waltzed into her bedroom, flicking on all of the lights. Anger flared in Ophelia. Why couldn’t her sister leave her alone?
“Get up. We’re going for a run,” announced Jo.
“No,” said Ophelia as she covered her head with the duvet and scooted further into her two-week-old bed cocoon.
Jolie ripped the duvet off, and a rush of cool air on Ophelia’s bare legs felt like tiny pin pricks across her skin.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” yelled Ophelia as she sat up in bed, wrath radiating from her. “Seriously. What the actual fuck is wrong with you? Go home and leave me alone!”
“No! You are getting your mopey ass up and going for a run with me.” Jolie placed her hands on her hips as if to convey authority.
“Jo, I’ve had enough of you.” Ophelia got out of bed, walked straight up to Jolie, and got in her face.
“Stop coming over,” Ophelia began in a stern voice.
“Stop telling me how to grieve. And stop trying to make me do shit. I lost one of the most important people in my life, so for fuck’s sake, give me some time.
And shouldn’t you be a tiny bit upset too?
I mean… I know you weren’t that close to Mawmaw, but you could at least act like you’re sad. ”
Jolie stumbled back at her last words. “I am fucking sad, you bitch. I just don’t need to waste away like you.”
“It’s been two weeks! Mawmaw was murdered! Are you that heartless?”
“Yeah. I am, and you’re pathetic.”
“Get out. Get out!” With Ophelia’s last word, all of her energy drained from her body.
She sulked back to bed and pulled the covers over her head, not waiting to see if Jolie left.
She didn’t care about her bitchy sister right now.
She couldn’t even think anymore. That was the most thinking and talking she’d done in two weeks.
“No! No! You don’t get to go back to bed. Absolutely not.”
Ophelia could hear Jolie stomping toward her, but she ignored it and retreated internally.
“Fight me!” Jolie moved onto Ophelia’s bed and began shaking her over the covers. “Fight me, damnit! Yell at me! I hate myself. Yell at me. Yell at me!”
Jolie was still shaking Ophelia, desperately trying to get a reaction from her, but Ophelia was done, so she shoved her sister off her, and Jolie landed with a thud on the bedroom floor. Ophelia hoped the fall hurt her.
There was a beat of silence before a gut-wrenching yell erupted from Jolie that sent a lightning of panic through Ophelia. She sat up and looked at her sister sitting on the ground.
“Why can’t you do this with me?” Jolie sobbed. “I don’t want to feel the pain. Why? Why can’t you just be my older sister and distract me? I don’t want this.” Jolie clutched her chest.
Ophelia recognized what was happening. It’s what happened to Ophelia weeks ago.
It’s what Jolie had clearly been avoiding— the irrevocable splitting of one’s heart.
The drop of one’s stomach like unwelcomed turbulence on a plane.
A sucker punch to the chest. Bricks being placed on one’s shoulders, a block at a time, but the supply is endless.
Ophelia knew it intimately.
Ophelia got up and pulled her sister into her bed cocoon, and they both cried until sleep pulled them under.
During Ophelia’s first week back to work, her colleagues seemed as if they had forgotten how to talk to her, but Ophelia felt the same.
Those everyday interactions were veiled in grief.
It was as if they could see her grief like a dead animal she carried around on her back.
No one really wanted to talk to her. The dead animal smelled, and they were probably worried that she’d ask them to carry it for her for a while.
Then there was a pain in her chest that started during her first week back to work.
At first, she attributed it to heartbreak or heartburn from her poor diet.
But it continued to grow day by day and gnawed on her incessantly.
When it grew pronounced, her instincts told her it was her magic bubbling up, wanting to be used.
But Ophelia liked the chest pain like she liked the pain from her grief.
She wasn’t going to walk away from it like nothing ever happened.
She couldn’t act like Jolie did, as if everyone should move on and not feel it.
Deep down, she felt responsible for her grandmother’s death.
Holding on to the discomfort was the least she could do for her grandmother.
And by late Friday afternoon, Ophelia called it quits and laid horizontal in her bed rotting and rubbing at the pain in her chest when a knock sounded at the door. She didn’t move. Jolie and Jade both had keys and would barge inside on their own anyway.
The knock continued. Ophelia grumbled and lifted her heavy body as she moved to open the door.
“Girl, you look like some kind of fresh hell,” said Avery, pushing past her into the kitchen.
“Thanks,” she mumbled. Ophelia eyed a large container Avery was carrying. “What is that?”
“This,” said Avery, holding up what was clearly a small crate, “is your new cat.” He beamed brightly as he shoved the crate at Ophelia to take.
Ophelia didn’t move to grab the crate, and silence followed as she stared at his eager face.
“Come on, now,” said Avery, moving the crate closer to her. “Go ahead and take a look.”
“But I like dogs,” she said lamely.
“Well, now you like cats.”
Ophelia took the crate and set it on her kitchen island.
As she peered into the container, she saw brilliant marigold and turquoise eyes staring back.
She knew Avery was giving her the cat so she’d have something that externally motivated her to do things, and so she’d have a cuddle buddy that came with unconditional love.
However, cats weren’t typically cuddly. She wondered if Avery had ever owned a cat before. Probably not.
“Is it trained?” asked Ophelia curiously.
“Yep.”
“Where is it from?”
“Well, it was Lauren Cash’s cat, the woman who…” Avery trailed off. “Anyways, her parents kept her for a while, but her dad is allergic. They posted about it on Facebook, and I snagged her up for you.”
“Her, huh? Does she have a name?” Ophelia asked as she opened the metal door of the crate.
“Tigger.” Avery chuckled. “Like from Winnie the Pooh. Apparently, she’s very goofy.
” Tigger gingerly stepped out of the crate onto the kitchen counter.
She looked around, observing Ophelia, Avery, and her new surroundings, then she leapt from the kitchen counter to the sofa, which she barely made, tumbled onto the cushions, and did a cute little hop as if to celebrate her feat.
Ophelia observed the little creature. She was orange with black stripes, hence the name, and she had the sweetest little face with a tiny pink nose. Ophelia supposed that having another tiger-like creature around wouldn’t hurt. Tigers were just her thing now.
“She can stay,” Ophelia smirked tiredly at Avery. “But if she scratches up shit, you have to find her a new home.”
“Easy.” Avery walked to the porch and returned carrying several bags. “Here’s the leftover cat food Lauren’s parents had and the litter box.” He put the items in the corner of the kitchen out of the way and then placed a brown paper Prytania Botanica shopping bag on the counter.
“Also, I made these cleansing bath salts for you. You don’t smell or nothin’, but you gotta get your energy right. Clear yourself of that soul-succubus juju.”
Ophelia managed a half laugh. “I’ll need a year’s supply, but thank you.”
“When can I start putting you on the schedule at Botanica again?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Okay, but don’t forget about wanting to treat people at the shop. It’s still on the table. You just need to start practicing, get the word out, commit, ya know?”
At the mention of treating, Ophelia pressed her hand to her chest. “I know. I just need more time.”
She could feel the discomfort of her magic building up in her chest, anxious to be used, but she pushed it down. She wasn’t ready.
“That I understand. Grief takes time. I just want you to know that I’m here. Prytania Botanica is here. Whenever you are ready. Now, come give me a hug.”
Avery opened his large arms and pulled Ophelia into one of his infamous hugs, enveloping her in his scent of incense and fresh fruit. Her heart tightened at the thought of how much she loved him.
“Thank you, Avery. I mean it. I know I’m not the best friend or employee right now.”
Avery pulled her back from their embrace and leveled a stare at her. “If anyone gets it, it’s me.”
She nodded and squeezed his hand. “I love you bunches,” she said and kissed his cheek.
“Love you too, girl,” Avery said as he blew her a kiss on his way out the door.
Ophelia and Tigger silently stared at each other as if they were both asking, So what now? Tigger answered by catapulting off the back of the couch into Ophelia’s arms.