London Undone

by Nan Higgins

  “That was your choice, London.”

  “No, Diana, it wasn’t. I didn’t choose to be gay, for the thousandth time. God, are we really having this conversation again, here, today? And why am I even a little bit surprised?”

  “Girls.” Frederick Craft’s voice broke through the argument, as it had so many times when they were children. “Let’s take a moment in private before people arrive to pay their respects.”

  As if he’d been anticipating this moment, the dark-suited man appeared and ushered the three remaining Craft family members into a small room adjoining the main space. London felt like a prisoner being taken away from her loved ones and into life behind bars as she caught a glimpse of her friends huddled outside the door. She hadn’t felt this vulnerable since, well, since the last time she’d seen these people who shared her blood and her name. As the door clicked softly, barring her from her friends, she was struck by the knowledge that she’d never felt at home with the people on this side of the door the way she did with the people on the other side.

  “Take a seat,” their father said, gesturing to two folding chairs. London and Diana paused to exchange a glance and sat. London felt more and more like a teenager. Their dad leaned against the Formica countertop and gazed at them. “Many words have gone unspoken for many years. Perhaps we will discuss pertinent matters over the next few days, and perhaps we won’t. But let me be clear: we will not be speaking of anything today except your mother, her memory, and her legacy. That is all that matters right now. Is that understood?”

  It was all London could do to keep from rolling her eyes. He wanted them to only talk about their mother? Perfect. How about the fact that Grace Craft had been battling cancer for years, and nobody had bothered to tell London? They could have at least given her a chance to say good-bye at the end, but no. She’d been notified only after her mother was gone, and she’d love to talk about that.

  “Girls,” their dad grumbled, “is that understood?”

  “Yes,” Diana said. London gave a curt nod.

  “Good. It’s going to be a long day. Two hours for the wake, a short break, and the funeral. London, you may want to take a moment or two with your mother before the wake begins. You have only a few minutes.” He turned, opened the door, and stepped aside.

  London followed her sister back into the plush main area. Reggie took her hand again as soon as she exited the tiny room.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Really?”

  “No, but I’m dealing. Where are the others?”

  “They said they had an errand to run.”

  “An errand?”

  “That’s all they told me,” Reggie said. “They said they’d be back in twenty minutes, tops.”

  “Okay. I’m going to go look…go see my mother. Will you come with me?” Reggie nodded and put an arm around her shoulders.

  Grace Craft looked small in the dignified, dark wood casket. That was strange because she’d been nearly six feet tall. It must have been an optical illusion brought on by death. London stood over her mother with her arms crossed. She hadn’t seen this woman in nineteen years, and after today, she’d never see her again. London touched her icy, rouged cheek, stroking it for a moment before taking a step back.

  To the left stood a collage of pictures from Grace’s life. London felt the reassuring pressure of Reggie’s hand on her lower back as she crossed to the display. There was Grace as a teenager on the way to the prom with her handsome date. Another showed her graduating from college and yet another on her wedding day, gazing up at her husband. There were photos of Grace and Diana in front of Niagara Falls. London remembered that trip well; she and Diana had snuck out of their hotel room that night and got drunk on Boone’s Farm. A picture of Grace, Diana, and their dad sitting at a picnic table looked more recent, maybe within the last five years. There was a picture of Grace handing Diana car keys while Diana proudly held her newly acquired driver’s license up to the camera.

  What London didn’t see was any pictures that included her, and while she wasn’t entirely surprised, she was hurt. She’d been completely erased from her family’s history.

  “We can fix this.” Tate, Grant, and Thomas appeared beside her. Tate moved between London and the collage and bent down. She looked at Thomas and Grant for clues but they only smiled. When Tate moved, she saw that he’d taped two photos of London and her mother to the bottom of the display. In one, they were feeding each other cotton candy at the state fair when London was about sixteen. In the other, they were standing on top of the Empire State Building with the New York City skyline in the background. It was just after London had graduated from high school.

  “How did you do this?” London asked, feeling the pinprick sensation of tears in her eyes.

  “I have all those photos from when I went on vacation with your family,” Tate said. “Remember a few years ago when I was obsessed with uploading every picture from my past on Instagram?” London nodded, not able to tear her eyes away from the photos.

  “We went to the Walgreens down the street and uploaded the photos on to a thumb drive so we could print them for you,” said Grant.

  Finally, London looked at her friends. These were the people she’d chosen to be her family, and never had she been more grateful for that. They were the family she’d always wanted. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

  “Anything for you,” Tate said.

  “London, it’s time.” Diana stood at the entrance of the room. “People are starting to arrive.”

  London shook hands of people she’d either known as a child or people she didn’t know at all, who had no idea Frederick and Grace had two daughters.

  “London and Diana,” mused a man with slicked back hair. “Your mother liked Great Britain, did she?”

  Diana chirped, “She was very knowledgeable about the monarchy. She traced our family tree back to British royalty.”

  “I thought the Keys Crossing Bulletin made a misprint in Grace’s obituary when it said she was survived by two daughters,” said one overly perfumed woman. “But here you are!”

  London agreed that she was, in fact, there. It was odd and surreal, but she was making it through. There were just a few minutes left before they’d be done with the wake. Only a handful of guests stood near the alcove where the Crafts greeted mourners.

  “Do you need anything?” Reggie asked. She had brought London a few cups of water already.

  “No, I’m okay,” London said. Reggie kissed her on the cheek before joining the guys in the corner on the opposite side of the room. With that kiss, London felt the bond she and Reggie shared, so strong and sturdy. Despite their recent troubles, London was confident their connection would carry them through much worse than the awkward marriage proposal.

  “Disrespectful,” Diana muttered.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said you’re being disrespectful,” Diana said, still speaking in a low whisper. “Bringing that person here. And it couldn’t just be a woman or just a black person; it had to be both, didn’t it?”

  “That person is my partner,” London said, matching Diana’s low tone. “She’s not a political statement. She’s the woman I love.”

  Diana snorted. “Everything you do is a political statement.”

  “Girls.” Their father’s voice was hushed, but his warning was clear. London and Diana finished the rest of the wake without any further words, and when it was over, London and her friends stood again under the No Smoking sign with London and Tate passing a cigarette.

  “What did she say?” Reggie asked, referring to Diana’s remarks. London shook her head. Reggie didn’t need to hear those ugly words, and London didn’t want to even say them out loud.

  “Ms. Craft?”

  London instinctively held the cigarette behind her back when she saw an elderly man approach.

  “Don’t worry, you can smoke your cigarette,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve earned it
. I won’t tell.”

  “Thank you. Mr.…”

  “Kopp. Larry Kopp.” He opened his suit jacket and pulled out a business card that read, “Larry Kopp—Attorney at Law,” and below that, “Estate Planning and Wills.” “I’m the attorney in charge of your parents’ estate,” he said. “Since your father is still living, most of your mother’s assets stay with him, but I do need to meet with you. Your mother renewed her will a few years ago, and she added a clause pertaining to you that’s a little…unorthodox.”

  London felt her throat tighten. “Unorthodox how?”

  “I’d rather not get into it here,” said Larry. “I don’t know how long you’re in town, but I’m available to meet tomorrow morning if you are. Stop by my office; the address is on the card.” He rested his hand on London’s arm. “I’m very sorry for your loss.” His watery eyes looked kindly at her.

  “Thank you. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He nodded and walked back inside the funeral home.

  “What do you think that’s about?” Thomas asked.

  “I don’t know. My mom was pretty traditional. If she did something unorthodox, it’s probably not good.”

  “You don’t know that,” said Tate.

  “I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.” Uneasiness crept into London’s chest. She passed the cigarette back to Tate and held up her hand when he offered her the last drag before he stubbed it out.

  * * *

  The rest of the day was a blur. London felt as if she was watching herself at the funeral and then again at the cemetery. She couldn’t seem to connect to what was happening, to the people around her, or to the finality of the services taking place. She opted to ride to the cemetery in Grant’s enormous SUV with her friends rather than in the limo with her dad and sister.

  After the final prayer, she dutifully took a rose from the top of the casket. The mourners began to mingle a bit, but she stood and watched the grave attendants begin lowering the casket into the ground. The cold numbness that seemed contained in her extremities earlier in the day now seeped into her core, making her chest feel chilled and her heart slow.

  Car doors slammed, and she saw that people, including her dad and Diana, were leaving. She turned back and watched dirt cover her mother’s casket. She wanted to cry. She wanted the holy heartbreak of tears and soul-wrenching sobs that leave the grief-stricken raw and vulnerable. But that cold numbness blocked everything.

  Finally, she turned away from the grave and walked to the outstretched arms of her friends, who were waiting a few headstones away. They walked to Grant’s Suburban, one of two cars left. The other, an older Nissan Maxima, was parked an inch or two from Grant’s back bumper, and a woman inside watched them.

  “I wonder who that is,” Reggie said.

  “Shit, not today,” said Tate. The woman got out of her car, and London recognized Tate’s mom. Tate took two steps backward.

  “Hello, Tatum,” his mom said. “I knew you’d be here.”

  “Marsha,” said London, “this is not the time—”

  Tate’s mother held her hand up. “I won’t be long.” She walked to Tate, who was motionless, and stared into his eyes. She reached up slowly and touched the whiskers on Tate’s cheek, her fingers barely grazing his face. Tears filled her eyes.

  “Mom,” Tate said, “It’s okay. See? I’m still me.” His hand gently covered his mother’s smaller hand.

  After a few moments, she pulled back and slapped that same cheek, hard. “Abomination!” she shrieked. “You’re not my daughter!”

  Reggie, Thomas, and Grant moved between Marsha and Tate while London went to Tate and hugged him fiercely.

  “God is going to punish you for what you’ve done to yourself, Tatum,” Marsha said, heavy tears rolling down her face. “You are dead, do you hear me? You’re dead to me!”

  “I hear you,” Tate said, his voice shaking.

  “Let’s go,” London said, guiding Tate to the Suburban and opening the door. As they pulled away, London looked back and saw Marsha was on her knees in the grass, her head bent. Her heart broke for her best friend. When she turned to look at him and saw the angry pink mark where Marsha slapped him, the tears she’d been wishing for all day filled her eyes. She took his trembling hand and held it all the way back to the hotel.

  * * *

  “Here’s to our mothers,” London said, clinking her Guinness bottle against Tate’s.

  “Yeah, our mothers,” Tate slurred. “Our motherfucking mothers.”

  Rather than attend the post-services gathering at her family’s homestead, London hosted a gathering of her own at the hotel bar with the only people she cared to see. They sat in a semicircle around the fireplace in the back, and besides a few people sitting on barstools across the room, they were the only people in the place.

  “Is that the first time you’ve seen your mom since you…” Thomas trailed off.

  “Since I told her, congratulations, it’s a boy? Yeah,” said Tate. “She made it pretty clear she didn’t ever want to see me again. I wonder what changed her mind.”

  “It’s her loss,” Reggie said. “Both of your mothers missed out on a lot. This is a problem with them, not with either of you.”

  “I know that,” Tate said. “I do. It doesn’t make what happened today any easier.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” London somehow felt worse for Tate than she did for herself. Yes, her mother was gone, but Tate’s mom had gone out of her way to come to a funeral just to be hateful to him. Still numb about her mother’s death, London had no problem feeling a searing thread of anger toward Marsha for what she’d put Tate through.

  “I’m sorry, honey,” Tate said to London. “As if you didn’t have enough to deal with right now.”

  “Hey, don’t do that,” London said. “This isn’t your fault. Nobody could have predicted what happened, even knowing how crazy your mom is. She outdid herself today.”

  “Yeah.” Tate stared into the fire.

  Grant pulled London aside. “I hate to do this, but it’s getting late, and Thomas and I have to work in the morning. Will you two be okay tonight?”

  “Of course,” London said. “Thank you so much for everything. I’ll walk you guys out.”

  Grant and Thomas got in the Suburban and waited with the engine running to give London and Reggie some privacy.

  London pulled Reggie into a tight embrace. “Thank you for being here.”

  “You don’t have to thank me.” Reggie’s voice was very close to her ear.

  London pulled back to look in her eyes. “So I have to meet with my mother’s lawyer in the morning before Tate and I hit the road. Will you be home when I get there?”

  Reggie pulled back almost imperceptibly. “I can’t, London. I’m going back to my parents’ place for a while.”

  “I see. What is this, then? A breakup?” London took half a step back, breaking their embrace. The thought of going back to her house without Reggie was too much. She was sullen. No matter what kind of argument they had or what they’d disagreed about, London would never make Reggie go through something like losing a parent by herself.

  Reggie held on to London’s hips. “Don’t do that.”

  “Don’t do what?”

  “Put your walls up. I’m not breaking up with you, not now. But I do need some space.”

  “Space to do what?”

  “To think about how to move forward now that I know you’re not going to marry me.”

  “Reggie, why does this have to change anything?”

  Reggie dropped her hands to her sides and strode to the car door. “See, that’s the difference between you and me. You’re asking why this has to change anything, and I’m wondering how it doesn’t change everything.” With that, she got in the Suburban and slammed the door.

  London watched the Suburban pull away from the hotel. Grant and Thomas raised their hands to wave good-bye, but Reggie stared straight ahead. London’s connection to Reggie that had seemed so s
trong earlier in the day now felt as tenuous as a few strands from a spiderweb. The loss of that connection hit her harder than anything she’d been through in the last several days. She clenched her hands into tight fists and unclenched them to match the rapid beating of her crumbling heart.

  * * *

  Several beers later, London and Tate stumbled into their room. London went into the bathroom to change into her pajamas, and when she came out, Tate was in her bed.

  “Hey!” She laughed when he patted the space beside him.

  “Come on,” Tate said. “Get in with me; it’ll be like our slumber parties when we were kids.”

  “Okay. Scoot over.” She turned off the lamp, got under the thick comforter beside Tate, and looked up at the ceiling in the darkness.

  “Should we tell ghost stories or something?” Tate asked.

  “Sure. Have you heard the one about the girl who was haunted by her homophobic mother?”

  “Grace has better things to do than haunt you. I’m sure wherever she is right now, she’s already busy redecorating and bossing people around.”

  “Her two favorite things.” She thought carefully before asking the question that was on her mind. “Tate?”

  “Yeah?”

  “We’re better off without them, aren’t we?”

  She couldn’t quite see him in the shadows, but London felt Tate put his elbow on a pillow as he propped his head up. “We’re better off without anyone who can’t love the badasses we are, don’t you think?”

  “We are pretty amazing.” She paused. “I’m sorry about your mom, about today. It never occurred to me that she’d show up.”

  “I know it didn’t.”

  “Did you expect her to be there?”

  “I prepared myself as much as possible. Marsha loves a public scene. Remember when she chaperoned our junior high dance and told off Billy Jenkins when he didn’t want to dance with me?”

  “God, I’d forgotten about that. We ate our lunches in the bathroom for weeks after that so you could avoid him in the cafeteria.”