Page 56 of To Go
At some point Beck brings in some food. I think it’s Greek. We barely pick at it. Beck scoops up Hazel and places her in his lap, allowing her to stay in her bubble of people.
Someone throws on a movie that no one watches.
I’m pulled back to a similar room.
Sitting in the corner of the funeral home as people stopped to offer their condolences. Every well-intended word glancing off of me, unable to pierce the numbness I had wrapped myself in. Speaking for the first time in days to plan the funeral when Dad was too distraught to get out of bed. An angry nurse telling me to take my inconsolable father out of the room so they could bring Mom down to the morgue.
Everyone’s pity.
I’ll offer to help Hazel plan the funeral in the morning. I’ve done it before, so at least it won’t be as daunting for her. It’s all I can think to do.
Right now, all we can do is be there for her.
I wake up with the worst kink in my neck. Pushing myself up, I find the pile of blankets I fell asleep on half-stolen by Fish. He snuffles in his sleep as I detangle myself and flops back over, tongue lolling out.
I’m the only one left in the room, despite other makeshift beds laying round.
I stretch and make my way to the empty kitchen. Without seeing, I go straight to the fridge and grab myself orange juice and a slice of bread.
I stick the dry bread in my mouth while I pour a glass and make my way to the barstools at the island. I hunker down, staring off into nothing as memories bombard me.
My mother’s diagnosis. Hospitals. Treatments. She was so frail. Surgeries. Emergency surgeries. Hospice.
The funeral home.
A wrecked breath shudders out of me.
“Hey, Stella.” I hadn’t even noticed Beck come into the kitchen.
“Hey.”
“You good?”
“No.”
We stare at each other, steeping in silence before he starts pulling eggs and bacon out of the fridge. I’m about to get up and start helping him when I hear the front door close gently.
“Get out of the way, you’re going to massacre those,” says Maria in her lilted voice. She draws her coat over a chair whileshooing him out of her domain. He takes a very full mug with him and starts to load it up with syrups and whipped cream. Hazel’s signature sugar coma in a cup.
Maria expertly starts preparing a breakfast for us, regardless of whether any of us have an appetite.
“Let me guess, he ordered pizza last night?” she asks as she gracefully whips her eggs.
“Greek.” My voice croaks. Beck had given up on cooking, unable to focus while Hazel was suffering in the next room. I only noticed the boxes later, along with the smell of something burnt in his garbage.
Well, he tried.
“Seems about right. Well, I’m going to make you all a decent breakfast so we can wallow while comfortably fed, okay?”
“Thanks, Ria.”
Beck gets up to wrap his arm around her shoulder and press his cheek to her hair before walking out. I hear him walk up the stairs, so he’s probably going to check on Hazel. Once he’s out of earshot, Maria looks over at me.
“How is she really?”
“Devastated. Relieved. Guilty about it all.”
Maria’s face softens. “It was complicated with them, right?”
