The Unloved

by Jennifer Snyder

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  NICK

  I pulled the black blazer I’d bought from a local thrift shop on over the crisp, black button-up shirt I’d found to go with the suit. I wasn’t wearing a tie; I felt choked enough, unable to breathe due to anxiety and strained emotions. I’d thought that the time I’d spent at the hospital had felt unreal, but it was nothing compared to having to call and arrange for my mother’s funeral or even dressing myself for it.

  The only funeral home in town had heard all about my situation—dad in rehab, me losing my mother on my eighteenth birthday—and offered to wave all fees for the service and casket. They’d even paid for the headstone and a burial plot had been donated. I’d been more than happy, I’d been fucking grateful beyond words. Who would have thought that dying could cost so much?

  I sat down on the edge of my bed and slipped on the shiny black shoes I’d bought to go to with the suit. I’d never been dressed in solid black before—hell, I’d never been dressed in a suit before—but I could tell that this would be the one and only time. I never wanted to see myself in another suit as long as I lived. I never wanted to wear the color black again. Not after today.

  There was a knock at my door. “You ready, son?” dad called, and I gritted my teeth at the reminder that he would be present at my mother’s funeral. He’d arrived at the house this morning with his parole officer. It was like he’d been given a one-day pass, but his parole officer had to attend and babysit him.

  I hated him. No matter what Dr. Emery had said about some people being born with aneurysms and how they were ticking time bombs waiting to go off their entire life, I still believed my dad had been the one to cause my mother’s and I’d never forgive him for it.

  “Coming,” I responded, glancing at myself in the mirror above my dresser. I ran my hand over my freshly shaved head and sighed.

  ~

  Dad’s parole officer, Bill, drove us since dad had no license and I really wasn’t capable of driving at the moment. This was the only time all morning I was grateful that my dad’s babysitter had stayed with him.

  We pulled up to the large white building that resembled a colonial mansion more than what it actually was—a place to mourn over the dead before they were tucked safely into the ground in their final resting place.

  I slowly climbed out from the backseat of Bill’s blue Honda Accord and started toward the funeral home director, Mr. Wilkins. He held out his right hand for me to shake and then gripped my wrist with his left when I did. It was the tough man I’m sorry for your loss handshake.

  “I’m incredibly sorry for your loss,” Mr. Wilkins said, as expected.

  “Thank you,” I muttered, unsure why people felt obligated to say those two words after someone said they were sorry for your loss. It made no sense. Why thank someone for feeling sorry for you?

  Dad walked up behind me, Bill right beside him like a male mommy holding his hand. I entered the funeral home, stepping out of the coldness of the December morning air and leaving the two of them behind me. Warmth stung my fingers and cheeks as I passed through the threshold and into the foyer. It was like a sauna inside. A moldy, damp smell tickled my nose. At first glance I assumed it was from the numerous displays of live flower bouquets’ fighting for my attention at the far wall, but then a morbid thought entered my mind, maybe it was from the years of dead people that had passed through this room, like the walls themselves had absorbed the stench of it over time. I shivered and pushed myself forward to sit on the bench to the left of the entrance and beside the coatrack. Dad came in and sat beside me, leaving Bill outside.

  “You okay?” he asked, sounding all concerned. I hated that he seemed to care. I hated how different he was now that he was sober. I hated how unfair it was that he was here with me and mom wasn’t. It should have been him we were burying today, not her. Not the parent that I loved. Not the parent that had always cared about me.

  I didn’t answer him. The only answer you were supposed to give to a question like that was ‘fine,’ and I felt anything but fine with this day, in this situation.

  “I understand, son,” he said, squeezing the back of my neck.

  I shrugged him off. The feel of his touch didn’t comfort me like he’d intended, instead it pissed me off. “You don’t understand what I’m going through. Don’t you dare compare your grief to mine,” I spat in a low tone.

  “I might not have shown it in the right way or even acted like it at times, but I did love her. I was even trying to become a man worthy of her; that’s why I agreed to go to the clinic, Nick.”

  I glanced at him. It had been about six and a half weeks since mom had dropped him off at the clinic in Cambridge. He’d made it through the detox portion of his treatment, but I could still see the craving in his eyes. Especially today. Today would be what Bill, parole officer/sponsor of the moment, would call a Trigger Day, a day that triggers the want to drink. Hell, I was having a trigger day myself. I could relate to the want flashing in his eyes.

  “Whatever,” I said. “No matter how hard you tried, you’d never have been worthy of her.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  JULIE

  Blake pulled into the packed parking lot and took the first spot he could find. All five of us decided to go in one car because we didn’t know how much parking space was available at the Wilkins Funeral Home. I’d never been, and the million times I’d passed by I’d never once taken notice of the place.

  As I stepped out I adjusted the black pencil skirt that Emily had let me borrow and wrapped the black peacoat I’d bought for the occasion around me tighter, careful not to tear off the tag that hung from the wrist as I forced the sleeves down around my hands. I was taking it back to the store tomorrow because there was no way I’d ever wear it again after this.

  Wind whipped across my face as the five of us hurried toward the funeral home entrance. There was an old man dressed in a suit near the door who seemed to be waiting on us. He extended his hand and shook each of ours as we passed through saying, “Thank you for paying your respects to the family today.” It seemed unreal that we were here for Nick’s mom. I’d known her better than any of the others. We’d just had Thanksgiving dinner together a few weeks ago.

  The five of us filed through the thick crowd of people dressed all in black. Anxiety tugged at my nerves and tightened my lungs. There were so many people crammed into one room. I had no idea Mrs. Owen even knew so many people. Then again it was a small town and with the way things had happened, plus the situation it had left Nick and his dad in, this many people was to be expected.

  A line had formed now that the time for everyone to arrive had passed. I stood just like everyone else and waited for my turn to tell Nick and his dad how sorry I was for their loss. My anxiety from the closeness of the people, the room that seemed taller than it was wide, the stench of death that filled the place like a lingering scented potpourri, intensified.

  “This place is creepy,” Tiffany whispered, turning around to face me in line.

  I nodded. “I know,” I mouthed back.

  Maybe that was what got me on edge, the creepy place mixed with people dressed in black. Or maybe it was because this was the first time I’d ever had to deal with death. Whatever the reason, I was sort of freaking out.

  “And it stinks in here,” Blake replied, crinkling his nose.

  “Have some respect, you guys. No one wants to be here, especially not Nick, but we are. So can all the talking and have some flipping respect,” Emily whisper-yelled to us all.

  She was right; we all knew that she was so none of us spoke again as we inched closer to Nick and his dad. The line of people separating our group from him grew shorter by the second. My palms began to sweat as I thought about looking into his hazel eyes and telling him the same words the forty people before me had. It seemed fake and unnecessary, like I, of all people, should say something more meaningful, but there wasn’t anything else to say. I’m sorry for your loss was exact
ly what was supposed to be said in this situation.

  When Nick came into view, so did his mother’s casket. It rested in the center of the wall behind him, a deep wood color without a glossy finish. The top had been opened and I was glad that I couldn’t see Mrs. Owen from where I stood.

  People expressed their condolences to Nick and his dad and then headed straight to the open casket. Nausea rolled in my stomach at the thought of actually seeing her dead. How was I going to do this? The urge to slip out of line and head back to the car was almost overwhelming, but then I felt Emily’s hand on my shoulder and when I glanced back at her I realized I wasn’t the only one scared. She was gripping Blake’s hand so tightly her knuckles were white. I flashed her a slight smile and turned around, my eyes searching for Nick. I needed to be here. Even if things between us weren’t worked out yet, he needed me here whether he wanted to admit it or not.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  NICK

  I saw her, Jules. She was standing just a few people away from me smack in the middle of our friends. It meant a lot to me that they’d all came. I had no clue who most of these people I’d shook hands with this morning were, but them I knew. Her I knew.

  We still hadn’t talked about the kiss between her and Brian. We hadn’t discussed anything. My entire life had been put on pause indefinitely. But I never had a doubt that she wouldn’t be here. She was there for me at the hospital and she was here for me now. That had to count for something, right? Maybe she cared more for me than Brian? A guy could hope.

  More people shook my hand and told me the same lines I’d heard all morning, the lines that were now permanently branded into my brain, “I’m sorry for your loss.” Followed by, “Let us know if there’s anything we can do for you.” Seriously? I didn’t even know them.

  This whole situation seemed morbid to me—my mother lying in her coffin right behind me, looking like she was sleeping and these people parading around dressed in black. And to think, it wasn’t even over yet. In two more days I’d have to go through all of this again when we actually buried her.

  Shit. We’re burying my mom.

  Tiffany stood in front of me. She’d dyed her entire head solid black. It was the first time I’d ever seen her hair one solid color. She took my hand, just like everyone before her, and said, “I’m sorry, Nick.”

  I nodded and shifted my attention to Jules. It was the only time I’d ever seen her in a skirt and heels. I assumed both were loaned from either Tiffany or Emily, but it didn’t matter where she got them from, all I was thinking about was how amazing she looked standing in front of me. I knew I shouldn’t be, given the situation, but I was. The sight of her rescued me from drowning in the black ocean of funeral attire any longer.

  She reached out to take my hand, but just before I gripped hers, she threw her arms around my neck instead and I became smothered in her scent, coconut. I wrapped my arms around her waist tightly while inhaling her.

  “I’m so sorry, Nick. I can’t believe this,” she whispered.

  “Me either,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut.

  Jules released me first, forcing me to let go of her. I didn’t want to; the feeling of her in my arms had been something I’d missed lately. Her hands locked with mine and then she glanced beside her at Emily before letting me go so that others could tell me how sorry they were.

  I tried to give everyone else my attention, but it had left the room with Jules.

  ~

  After the final person shook my hand, exhaustion finally set in. This had been draining, more draining than I’d ever thought it could be. As I piled into the backseat of Bill’s car I’d already decided that when I died I did not want to have a funeral like this, I’d rather be cremated instead.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  JULIE

  I went home right after leaving the funeral, going out to a late lunch with the others just seemed wrong. I wasn’t hungry and I didn’t feel like smiling or holding a conversation. My thoughts were still with Nick. Maybe it was because I knew him better than they did. Better than most. The same with his mom. Or maybe it was because I cared for him. I loved him.

  I stood at my bedroom window, watching the road and waiting for that blue car to pull into his driveway. The urge to talk to him alone, to console him, ate away at my insides. The thing that stopped me was that I didn’t know where we stood. We hadn’t discussed anything and now wasn’t the time. I knew this, but it still ate at me nonetheless. The guilt from what Nick probably thought he saw starved my lungs of air.

  The blue car pulled into Nick’s driveway. I stared as Nick and his dad got out while the strange guy with glasses remained in the driver seat. They didn’t go inside; instead both of them stood beside the car and talked. Nick nodded and his dad reached out and gave him a long hug. I saw Nick hesitate in returning it, but smiled when he eventually did. At least his dad was trying. They parted and his dad slid back into the passenger seat and drove away, leaving Nick standing in the driveway.

  He was still standing in the same place long after the blue car was out of sight, his back to my house, staring at the front door with his hands shoved into his front pockets. I watched a large puff of air swirl around his head like smoke before disappearing into nothing.

  Shoving my feet into a pair of fuzzy purple house slippers, I grabbed my red coat off the floor and started down the stairs. When I opened the front door Nick still hadn’t moved from where he stood. The only thing about him that had changed was his hands were now at his sides as he continued to stare at the door like he was mustering the courage to step forward and grip the handle.

  I pulled my jacket tight around myself and walked across the street.

  “Hey,” I said. Without thinking I slipped my hand in his as soon as I stopped beside him.

  His hand gripped mine and he turned to me and smiled slightly. “Hey.”

  My heart hammered in my chest at the sight of his tiny smile. “What are we staring at?” I asked, shifting my gaze to the front door.

  Nick turned his attention back to the door. “The house that my mother died in. The house that feels like it died with her.”

  My chest tightened as tears began to form and I shifted my eyes to his house. The house did look different. Empty. Cold. Lonely. I hated the thought of walking through that door, let alone leaving Nick alone in there all night.

  “It seems so final now. I’ll be burying her in what, forty-eight hours?” he said, never breaking his stare from the door.

  I gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Come stay at my house tonight,” I said without thinking my words all the way through.

  Nick eyed me. “At your house?”

  He didn’t seem as repulsed by the idea as I’d thought he would be, considering where we stood at the moment in our relationship status, so I went with it. “Yeah, my house. Mom’s sleeping right now. She’ll be working tonight and who knows where Cole will be. Even if he is at home all night, so what? Come stay. I don’t want you here alone.”

  “Okay.” He grinned half-heartedly, relief pooling in those greenish-brown eyes of his and I felt good about my asking.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  NICK

  Jules had me wait in her bedroom with her door tightly shut until after her mom left for work before I was allowed back out. I didn’t mind, of course, but I never realized how stressed out her mom’s chosen occupation made her feel until now. It was something we rarely talked about growing up. I always knew Charlotte was a stripper, but I never knew it bothered Jules so much until tonight.

  “It’s not about getting caught,” she said, taking another peek out her bedroom door and into the hall to see if her mom had went downstairs to leave for work yet. We’d spent the afternoon downstairs watching TV until we heard her mom get up around five, then, at Jules’ demand, we’d booked it up the stairs and high-tailed it into her room. “It’s about you seeing what my mom is wearing while walking around the house.”

  “What’s she wearing,
her birthday suit?” I teased.

  Jules rolled her eyes. “Those stupid sequined things with tassels that hang.”

  “Seriously?” I searched her face to see if she was joking, but there was no sign of mock play on her face. In fact, all I saw was complete embarrassment.

  Jules nodded her face still devoid of any trace of mockery. “Seriously. It’s her new costume that she and some lady named Heaven Sent she works with wear together in their show.”

  “Heaven Sent, what a stage name.” I sat up on her bed. “Can I just take a quick peek?”

  “Supposedly it’s not a stage name; it’s the actual name her parents gave her at birth. Guess they realized her potential for dancing on a pole when she came out of the womb. And no, you cannot take a peek!” Jules smacked me on the shoulder with a grin.

  I’d missed teasing her like this. I’d missed the comfortableness, the ease of our relationship. I’d missed my best friend…but most of all I’d missed my girlfriend.

  “Okay, I won’t go peek at her. I’m sure my mental images are pretty close anyway.” I winked.

  Jules smacked me again. I grabbed her arm and then began reaching for the other one, but she fell sideways, taking me down on the bed with her. I tumbled to the side and landed partly on top of her, chest first, her hands pinned between us. Jules’ eyes widened and my breathing hitched as her soft lips became the only thing I could focus on. Everything else became a blur, those supple lips being all that I could see. She licked them almost like in anticipation of what I might do and an image of Brian locking lips with her in his Blazer flashed through my mind. I sighed and pushed myself off her as my agitation broke the moment.