Page 124 of Becoming Us
“Right,” I muttered.
The heavy weight of my flask settled against my chest as I closed my jacket.
“Ready?” Ilana asked.
I didn’t think anybody was ever ready for this, but for all intents and purposes, I was.
Her hand rested on my shoulder—a light, barely there touch—before it was gone.
“Mom?”
She pulled on her coat too. “She’s almost done.”
“Did Diego and Mati get here already? Are they meeting us there?”
Ilana’s face tightened into a grimace. “They’re not coming.”
The silence got louder.
“What?” That couldn’t be right. I understood why they were angry with him, but this was different. This was hisfuneral. The man had just?—
I bit the inside of my cheek and curled my hands into fists, my nails digging into the skin of my palms.
“It’s not worth it, Noh,” she said. “Today’s just about Dad. Everything else can fuck off, okay?”
I nodded once.
What’s the point?
The anger faded as fast as it came, dissolving into nothing. I followed her out of the room and into the car.
The drive was just as quiet. My mother stared out one window, Ilana out the other. I sat between them, eyes fixed straight ahead.
At the funeral home, they led us into a room, and I stopped short the moment I stepped inside. In the center, surrounded by flowers, sat a closed casket.
That’s not him.
He’s not in there.
He’s gone, remember?
I shifted my focus to the person stepping forward to shake my hand. After that, the day blurred into a seemingly endless river ofI’m sorry for your lossandHe was a great man,one after the other. By the time they ushered us into the Mass, I was blanketed in the scent of a hundred different people. Most of their names escaped me.
The church was packed. And as we stood in the front pew, forced to face that closed casket, the weight of it returned. That quiet, gut-deep knowing—I was completely, unspeakably alone. The one person who knew me, who loved me, was inside that box—and they were about to bury him in the ground.
Memories flashed through my mind. One by one.
The last hug he gave me.
The way his voice rasped when he told me he loved me.
My stomach twisted. I reached up and tugged at the collar of my shirt, trying to loosen my tie.
“Don’t do that, muñeco. You have to go up there after your sister,” my mother whispered, leaning in close.
The wood on the casket was too shiny. How many coats of varnish did it take to get it that way? And why? To preserve it longer? To seal it tight, considering what it was holding?
Bile crept up the back of my throat.
