Page 52 of Resisting the Temptation
Icried myself to sleep last night after debriefing Jordy on what was going on with my grandpa. They told me they’d try to make sure they were available to go to Utah with me for the funeral, but I assured them I’d be fine if they couldn’t.
I fucking hate funerals. I hate death. I’ve experienced far too much of it in my twenty-seven years, and I just want a fucking break.
Growing up, the Mormon church taught me that when a person dies, their spirit leaves their body and depending on how “righteous” they are in their mortal existence, the spirit is sent to spirit prison or spirit paradise. The people in paradise get to teach the “prisoners” and “bring them to the gospel.”
I was assured I would see my cousin again when he died of cancer when I was nine.
I was assured I’d see Grandma Price again when she passed when I was thirteen.
I was assured I’d see Grandpa Price when he died when I was eighteen.
I was assured I’d see my brother Andy again when he died two years later.
I had already started deconstructing when Andy died, so I spiraled a bit, not knowing if I’d see him again.
Now, Grandpa Monson is going to pass away, and I won’t get to say goodbye.
I’ll have to suffer through another Mormon funeral.
Gag.
If I go, the family will whisper about how far off the path I’ve strayed, and everyone will pry into my personal life. But if I don’t go, my mom will yell at me, calling me a disappointment.
What else is new?
Checking the time and seeing it’s almost eleven, I roll out of bed and make my way to the kitchen for some food, even though my stomach feels like it’s going to reject anything I give it.
Jordy is in the living room reading when I sulk past them; they offer me a sad smile.
I’m just about to open the fridge when the doorbell rings, so I change direction and make my way to the front door.
Looking through the peephole, I’m met with a large bouquet of flowers.
“What the hell?” I murmur as I open the door.
“I’m looking for an… Emma?” the man holding the flowers says, looking at his clipboard.
“Um, that’s me.”
“Sign here, please.”
I take the clipboard and sign, then he hands me the flowers as he takes the clipboard.
“Have a good day, ma’am.”
“You, too.”
Perplexed, I walk back into the kitchen and examine the bouquet. It’s a beautiful mix of purple carnations, pale pink roses, and white daisies filled in with baby’s breath. It’s something I would pick out for myself if I ever bought flowers. There’s a note sticking out in a plastic card holder.
I recognize the neat handwriting immediately because I see it almost every day.
Hope these brighten your day.
Missed you last night.
-B
“Well those are pretty. Secret admirer?” Jordan asks, rounding the counter to read the note in my hand. “B? As inBen?Your coworker and fuck buddy? I thought it was only casual.” Their tone holds no judgment, only curious surprise.
