Page 30 of Midnight Mass (Priest 1.50)
More laughter. I looked down at my notes, notes I’d written in Sean’s penthouse while gazing out at the gray winter sky. Notes that I’d written thinking about my last night with Poppy, when I’d told her I knew her better than any other person alive.
“Today is a day where we mourn and miss the Millie we all knew. But I want to take a minute and think about all the things we didn’t know. The things we’ll never know now. Whether she liked to keep her hand on the remote while she watched television. Whether she waited for her coffee to brew in the kitchen or whether she did other things while it brewed instead. Whether she preferred her crossword in the morning or at night. We might remember her favorite meal, her favorite hymn…which candidate she sent nasty letters to during the last election.”
Laughter again, because yeah, we all knew that one for sure.
“But a person is so much more than those big things. A person is a collection of small things, of tiny invisible moments, of thoughts too inconsequential to share, of feelings that are too petty not to hide. Of glorious epiphanies too perfect to taint by speaking them out loud. And the real tragedy is not just that we won’t ever get to know these things about Millie. It’s that we so rarely take the time to know them about each other.”
My throat tightened as I thought about Poppy.
“When you go home tonight, look at the people around you. And search for those secrets. Millie would want you to hold on to them, those fleeting insubstantial moments. That was one of her gifts: seeing people how they really are.”
I paused, because I was at the end of my notes, but looking out at the crowd—all crying again—I didn’t want to leave them like this. I wanted to leave this lectern with levity and with laughter. For Millie. So I leaned down and murmured, “And her other gift was casseroles,” which earned the loudest laughter of all, but I didn’t even care at that point because when I lifted my eyes to the back of the sanctuary, I saw a slender woman clad all in black with dark hair and red lips, and it was like lightening striking me where I stood.
Poppy had come after all.
By the time I left the lectern, Poppy was gone. Behind me, I could hear Father McCoy beginning the final prayers and farewells that would wrap up the service, and it would be disrespectful and rude to simply walk out of the sanctuary at this point, but I didn’t care. I had to find her, and I also knew that Millie would have wanted me to do the same thing.
The narthex was empty except for a couple of children chasing each other around the fonts of holy water. Their shouts and squeaks were incongruous with the heavy atmosphere just inside the sanctuary, but also perfect. Millie loved children; she would have wanted them happy and playing at her funeral, and so despite the fact that I was hunting for my wife with my heart jackhammering at a million miles per hour, I smiled at them. Smiled and wished that I could count on a future where I would have loud children running around a church, happy and playing, and ours.
I pushed the outside doors open, the bitter wind bringing with it tiny pellets of ice and sleet. Even though it was only four in the afternoon, the sun was setting, and already the Christmas lights along Weston’s main strip of antique shops and wineries were lit up. The glow gave the scene a homey, cozy feeling despite the desolate sky and the brownish river bluffs in the distance.
“Tyler,” came a quiet, shivering voice.
Poppy stood at the edge of the steps outside the door. Rosy spots had blossomed high on her cheeks and her breath came in large white clouds. She wore a black-netted veil, which hung down to her chin, pinned with small ruby-encrusted combs into the graceful sweep of her hair. With her tailored coat and heels, she looked like a femme fatale from some 1930s noir drama, and I wanted to lift that veil and kiss that deadly red mouth. I was too tired for anger or defensiveness any longer.
A kiss would be enough.
But I kept my physical urges under control. “I’m so glad you came. It would have meant a lot to Millie.”
She nodded, her eyes on the twinkling lights down the street. “And it meant a lot to me to be here. I cared about her too, you know.”
A few days ago, a whole host of angry responses would have been hot and waiting on my tongue, but not today. Instead I tore my eyes away from her face and pinned them on the salt-strewn steps. We need to talk about our future, I wanted to say. Or maybe the less threatening we need to talk about us. Or maybe simply can I buy you a cup of coffee?
She beat me to it. “I flew in this morning. I’d like to get a hotel room together, if that’s okay with you?”
A fragile needle of hope pierced through my grief-haze. “Yes,” I said softly. “Yes, that’s okay with me.”
We stayed for the funeral reception in the church basement, sharing stories of Millie and her life, and even Poppy spoke up a few times, although it was usually to add a small detail to what someone else was saying. After we ate our fill of potato-chip casseroles and pasta salads, we climbed into Sean’s Audi. He gave me a look after Poppy climbed in, a what the fuck is going on look, but I ignored him. Mostly because I didn’t trust that he wouldn’t be an asshole to Poppy in the car, but also because I didn’t know what was going on myself.
We swung by Sean’s place to get my bag, and then he dropped us off at an expensive hotel downtown. When I made a noise of protest, he interrupted. “I’m taking care of it,” he said firmly.
“Sean, man, I can’t let you do that.”
He shrugged. “I would like to see you stop me, given that I’m driving.”
I flipped him off.
He punched my shoulder as I got out of the car and went to grab our things. After I helped Poppy out of the car, we walked inside the lobby and rented a room.
She was silent the whole time, somber and inexpressive in her netted veil and black clothes, and when we made it up to our room, she took off her coat and kicked off her heels without saying a word.
What was I supposed to do now? Was I supposed to ignore her? Ask her what’s wrong? Tackle her to the bed and fuck her until we were both too tired to move anymore?
I didn’t want to do any of those things, however, even the fucking. I put our bags on the floor and walked over to her, noticing the way she both tensed and canted toward me at the same time. She had to be as conflicted as I was, as torn apart by warring feelings, and everything
about her screamed loneliness and unhappiness.
“Say ‘red’ if it gets to be too much,” I murmured.
