Pen’s eyes widen and she shakes her head. “What?” she mumbles. “Dom, what do you mean?”
“Miss? Are you serious right now? I need some help!”
The comfort of Pen’s hands on my face disappears as she stands up straight. “Get out,” she says, eerily calm. I notice her hands trembling at her side and it’s just a matter of time before?—
“What the hell did you just say to me?”
Give this woman hell, Pen. I can’t help the smirk that forms on my face, despite this being the worst fucking day of my goddamn life. I give myself ten seconds of morbid satisfaction as my girl goes off. Six months ago, Pen wouldn’t have the courage to speak back to a customer like this woman. And now?
“Get OUT!” Pen shouts the words next, whipping her arm to the door. “The store is CLOSED. Everyone out, now!”
There’s grumbling and mutterings of confusion from the customers, but most of them leave without much complaint. The woman who triggered Pen is the last to leave and she pauses at the door. She thinks she’s going to get the last word. That’s cute.
“Get the hell out of this store,” Pen grits out, stalking toward the woman.
The woman hurries out the door, as if she’s afraid Pen might be walking toward her to get physical, when really she just wants to lock the door.
“Uh, what the actual fuck just happened?” Grace asks, darting glances between Pen and me.
Pen takes a deep breath before walking back over to me. She sits next to me on the couch and pulls my hands into hers.
“Say it again,” she whispers.
I should look her in the eye and tell her the awful truth, but I can't bring myself to do it. If she falls apart, so will I, and I don't know how to recover from that right now. My gaze drops to a stain on the carpet— a coffee stain Aunt Gloria left in January. I had promised to hire someone to clean the carpets in spring, but I never did.
Tears prick my eyes painfully.
"Aunt Gloria passed away. In her sleep. She just… didn’t wake up this morning," I whisper, my voice cracking.
"Oh shit," Grace exclaims from the counter, her hands flying to her mouth.
"What can I do?" Pen asks, surprising me. I expected her to ask how this could possibly happen or if I’m making this shit up, so I glance at her to see if I heard right. Her hands hold mine warmly in her lap, her thumb soothingly caressing my skin. Emotion clogs my throat. She nods, understanding I have no answer. Without breaking eye contact, she tells Grace to count the drawer and secure the money in the safe.
We sit in a heavy silence, thick with grief, as Grace closes up. I must have zoned out because suddenly the bells tinkle, and Grace is gone. Pen and I remain, alone in a store steeped in the memories of my aunt. She was just here yesterday, talking with customers and laughing with us.
The realization hits me like a wave once more. She’s gone, yet we remain. This store was her passion, her dream. It brought her immense joy, and the fact that it still stands when she does not…
I struggle to breathe. Pen pulls me into her embrace, and though I'm larger than she is, her comfort surrounds me entirely.
She says nothing, as no words could possibly ease the pain of this moment. She just holds me, gently stroking my hair and back, while I cry into her shoulder.
Whether it's an hour later or just a few minutes, when we've both cried enough to feel drained and stiff, Pen softly speaks words that gather up my shattered pieces, binding them into something messy, yet whole.
“I’m here with you, Dom. Whatever you need, I’ve got you.”
FIFTEEN
august
PENELOPE
Gloria’s celebrationof life is held the first weekend in August. Dominic chose to delay it a few weeks so Gloria’s friends and family from all over the country could attend. It’s hot as hell and she would have bitched about the humidity the entire time if she were here. Which she’s not.
It’s still beyond comprehension. Two weeks have passed since Dom walked into the store with the news. My heart breaks every time I think about it— not just the news he delivered, but the vision of him. Dom’s eyes were blank, completely dissociative and empty.
I think Gloria was more of a mother-figure to Dom than she was to me, so he’s taking the loss incredibly hard, as I expect. But he hasn’t snapped out of that zone of shock. I’m not sure what it says about me, but I flew past the anger stage and I’m deep into sadness. Feeling this way makes it more difficult to connect with Dom than ever— it’s like we’re both blindfolded, stumbling through a maze, never quite able to reach the other.
“Pen, baby, can you grab the bottle of white from the fridge?” a voice shouts from outside. She’s lucky my bathroom windowfaces the patio where she and her friends are sitting, otherwise I wouldn’t have heard her shout.
