Page 88 of Embers of You
“Are you almost ready?” Sutton asks, peeking her head into the room we’ve been sharing.
I adjust the tie I’m not used to wearing. The button down shirt and slacks feel oddly suffocating and it all just feels wrong. I don’t think I ever saw my dad wearing an outfit like this and it seems odd to wear this to honor him when he would just show up in jeans and a flannel.
But Ma insisted we all look nice to go to the funeral home where his service is being held, so I do it for her. Sutton is wearing a black short sleeve dress and low heels. She lookspretty, and I want to tell her that, but for some reason the words get caught in my throat.
I want to tell her everything that I’ve been feeling. But instead of complimenting her, or telling her how much she means to me or even how much my life shifted in a single night, I just answer her question. “Yeah.”
She nods before walking in, shutting the door behind her, and coming up to me, gently wrapping her arms around my waist. I haven’t denied her touch, and I never would. But it feels different now and I know she feels it just like I do.
“She’s hanging in there pretty well so far.” She looks up at me. “What about you?”
I clench my jaw, swallow roughly and look down to her. “I’m hoping to just get through today.”
“You will. I’m here for anything you need.”
Too good for me.
I lean down to press my lips against hers softly. She sighs at the contact and I hold her a little closer, wanting her to know how much I appreciate everything she’s been doing for Ma and me. I may not be able to voice much now, but I want her to know in some way.
We break apart and I tell her, “We should get going.”
I drive us to the funeral home. Ma and Sutton are in the back seat just like the night we left the hospital. The car is just as silent as that night, too. Once we get there, I lead Ma inside. She’s been weaker since that night, and sleeping more, but I can’t tell if it’s from the sickness or from her broken heart.
I guess they could go hand in hand. I can’t lose her too.
At the root of all of this, that’s the fear I can’t voice. I can hardly even consider the possibility that I’m going to lose both my parents in such a short amount of time. I want her to keep fighting. I want her to use this as her fuel to fight.
But I worry that this will make her give up. She can’t give up.
We get inside the funeral home, and the service goes by in a blur. I sit between Ma and Sutton during the speeches, Ma choosing not to speak. I opt out as well. There’s nothing to say that I want these people to know. Anything I want my dad to have known I could have told him. Should have told him.
But I didn’t.
We fought instead. The last interaction we had was a fight, a fact that remains unresolved. The tears are back, and I don’t wipe them away as I think about the last time I spoke to him. If I could go back and change everything, I would. I wish he was proud of me, and that he understood why I did what I did. I wish we cleared the air before…
“We can stay as long as you need,” Sutton’s voice breaks through my thoughts and I realize the service is over.
“We can go,” I grunt, standing up.
Ma is up by the urn that holds the remains of her husband. Her back is to us, but I can see her shoulders shaking with a sob. I step up to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and she turns into me, crying even harder.
Sutton stands by, ever vigilant, and I just look at her. The woman I’ve fallen so deep in love with and I’m mad at myself that I’m not giving her everything she deserves.
Some people say if you love someone you should let them go, and I always thought they were full of it because you should fight for your love.
But at what point is that unfair? When is it better to set them free? At what point am I being unfair to Sutton, and should let her go?
As I stand here, looking at her, watching as her bright green eyes shine with tears as she stands with me and the only family I have left. I know there’s no way I could be strong enough to let her go myself. But if she wants to leave, I’ll have no choice. I’m not going to hold her back.
We leave with Ma hugging Dad’s urn tightly, and as we get to the car, she stops Sutton from getting in the backseat with her.
“Sit up front with Jameson, honey.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” she says, her voice breaking.
I open the passenger side for Sutton and help her climb inside before we all endure another silent car ride back home. I reach over, placing my hand on Sutton’s leg just like I always have when she rides in my car. Immediately, her hand falls to mine, and she holds it tightly.
