Page 94 of Someone to Remember
“Ninety-five percent is for you, two percent is for Iris and Christy, and three percent is for Taylor.”
“Leave it to you to make a math problem out of it.”
The droll comment is much more in keeping with her usual chipper personality, which is a relief. “I’ve been taking the fun out of things for nearly forty years now.”
“Speaking of your four-oh, we need to have a party.”
“We absolutely do not.”
“Do.”
“Don’t.”
“We’ll see.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
“Whatever.”
“Roni, I mean it.”
“I heard you.”
The difference between Vic and Roni is that Vic would’ve heard what I said and acted accordingly. Roni heard what I said, but I can’t be sure of what she’ll do. I try to never compare them because I love them both, but life with Roni is full of surprises that I don’t really mind, despite what I said about a possible party.
If I’ve learned anything from my own loss and those of my friends, it’s that life is to be celebrated, even milestones we’dmuch rather ignore than celebrate. Vic and many of our widow friends’ spouses and partners never made it to forty. I see it as the gift it is, even if I’d rather not make a big fuss of it.
Luckily, I won’t be alone. Several of my closest friends are right there with me, hitting the big four-oh over the next year or two.
Not to mention the wake we’re about to attend for a thirty-eight-year-old who would’ve loved to be forty someday.
I have no complaints.
Twenty-Two
Roni
Though I was adamant about coming to the wake, as we wait in the enormous line outside the funeral home, I’m less confident about it with every passing minute. It’s an unusually warm, sunny November day, and the gorgeous weather is making a mockery of this solemn occasion.
When Iris sees us coming, she gives me a “what the hell are you doing here?” look and a smile as she hugs me. “You didn’t have to.”
“Yes, I did.”
Christy’s Trey and Joy’s Bernie insisted on attending with them, which makes my heart happy for my friends.
This the first time we’ve met Bernie, so Iris suggests we grab dinner together after the wake so we can get to know him. That gives us something to look forward to as we make our way inside to sign the guest book and take a copy of the prayer card that bears Will’s handsome, smiling face.
My chest aches as we round the corner and see Taylor and the children standing in the receiving line with Will’s family next to his closed casket.
That’s a relief.
I’ll bet they made the decision to keep it closed out of concern for the kids, who might be more traumatized by seeing him than not.
Taylor looks beautiful in a black dress, with her hair falling in long curls around her pretty face, which is red and swollen from crying. She clutches a tissue in her left hand as she greets each person who’s come to offer their condolences.
Miles, wearing a gray suit, and Eliza, in a navy dress, stand by their mother’s side, also shaking hands with everyone who comes through. Their poise and strength are astonishing.
“The kids, though,” Derek whispers to me.
