Page 64 of Unconventionally, Elle
A few hours later, I was in bed with Louie. Emma and I had been texting ever since I left the hospital.
Emma:Mom was hammering him about the company. She and Dad were apparently arguing about it before he collapsed. She knows Barrett doesn't want to run it, but now he must. There's no other plan.
Me:Jesus, does Barrett know?
Emma:That they were arguing? Yes. About him? No. But I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Mom was trying to get Barrett out of this. She never interfered with Dad and this whole Henry legacy bullshit. I don't know what changed her mind, but she was adamant that Barrett be allowed to do what he wanted to do.
Me:Fuck.
Emma:Yeah, I was in the kitchen trying to ignore it. Harold and I could hear them arguing in the dining room.
Me:Omg! P.S. How is Harold taking this?
Emma:He's with Mom right now. He's holding it together. Remember, he wasn't the biggest fan of Dad. But poor Harold, he's the one who called 911 because I was with Mom and really just in shock.
Me:You didn't want this for your brother either?
Emma:No, none of us did. Dad was the only one oblivious. I tried to tell him. I was the only one he'd kind of listen to about it. But he said it was Barrett's duty and his place to take over the company. I can't imagine that pressure.
Me:But aren't you taking over the magazine?
Emma:It's not the same. I love the magazine, I love writing. I've been working in that building ever since I can remember. Well, not really working. Aunt Olivia would bring me to work with her a lot, and I basically grew up with that magazine. I WANT to take it over and be involved.
Me:Fair point. Definitely a difference.
Emma:I don't know how Barrett deals with it. To be honest, before he met you, he was miserable. He and Margaret were the most toxic couple I've ever seen. If the job didn't kill him, she would.
Me:How do you think your mom is going to handle all of this?
Emma:Honestly, I think she'll go home and drink a vodka tonic, wake up tomorrow, put on makeup, and go about her day. She'd die herself before she let any of us see her get emotional.
Me:Seriously? Just like that?
Emma:Seriously. Just like that. She's already made the arrangements. It's what the Henrys do.
39
Now
Instead of Christmas dinner, we were at a funeral. I arrived early with Barrett so he could pay his respects without the eyes of strangers bearing down on him. We walked into the historic church and slowly made our way to the open coffin, where Emma stood looking over her father. The room exuded grandeur and spaciousness with its high ceilings and circling balconies. An oversized chandelier sparkled over the aisle, and Mrs. Henry sat still as a statue, alone in the front pew. Even though her black veil hid her narrow face, I noticed her shoulders shudder with every sniffle.
Barrett looked handsome yet solemn in his black suit. I'd donned a new black dress with an elaborate fascinator. My red lips gave my face contrast in a room full of pale grief.
This was the last place either of us wanted to be. I'd never been to an open-casket viewing before, so I was already very uncomfortable. Both my grandparents wished to have a closed casket. My heart rate rose the closer we got to Mr. Henry and Emma. Barrett squeezed my hand tighter. I wasn't sure how many funerals he'd been to. I didn't ask. But I saw the tensionin his shoulders and his jaw set with concentration. How did someone say goodbye to a parent with whom they'd shared a complicated and often tumultuous relationship?
Emma turned around as we stepped close to the coffin. My throat immediately tightened. I didn't like this. I couldn't stand here. I had to get away.
Mr. Henry's eyes were closed, his lips pressed into a firm line. I'd done my research. I knew why his mouth stayed closed. My stomach squeezed and began to cramp.Oh no.I was going to be sick.Oh my God, I can't do this.
I squeezed Barrett's hand and gave him a quick, panicked glance. He furrowed his brow and whispered in my ear, "It's okay, go have a seat. I'll be right there."
I felt my throat release a little when I dropped his hand and turned away from the dead body.
Within the hour, hundreds of people showed up to pay their respects. The Henrys stood at the front and received the blessings of strangers, friends, and employees. Emma kept her head down, and the few times she lifted her eyes, I saw her splotchy red cheeks. Barrett's face was unreadable. Serious and professional, he shook hands with the assembly line of people and kept glancing at his mother to check on her.
He'd mentioned earlier that morning that he was worried if this funeral would be too much for her to handle. She'd been aloof and in a frail state ever since the hospital. All the arrangements had been made, sure, but personally, I thought that Mrs. Henry was a shell of a woman trying to put on a smile for the masses. I pitied her.
When the service began, I was seated in the front row with the family. I looked behind me to take in the audience. Every pew was packed, and it was standing room only in the back.
