Rolling my eyes at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I sigh before calling out, “Sure thing, mom!”
Of course my mom came home for Gloria’s service; she was sobbing on the phone when I called with the news. They had been so close for so many years— and even though my mom moved to Florida, they continued to chat on the phone for hours at a time. Being an only child, my mom clung to her friendship with Gloria. I’m sure she feels as though she’s lost a sister.
As I retreat from the quiet haven of my room, I hear my back door open and close. Mom is outside on the patio with Mrs. Peachwood and some other women who were friends of Gloria’s. I assume mom didn’t hear my response and is coming to get the wine herself.
“I said I got it— oh. Hi.”
It’s not my mom, but Dominic. He looks the same as he did that night at the store, the night our world shifted and changed forever. Dark circles under his eyes, hair a greasy mess, and, I can’t help but notice, he’s picked the skin around his nails to the point where it’s raw and bright pink. He sees me looking and shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
“Hey.”
My heart aches at the listlessness in his voice. I haven’t seen him in a few days, not since we spent a few hours at the VFW planning Gloria’s celebration of life. They offered the space free of charge, since Gloria’s late husband was a veteran and both of them had been active community members. It’s appalling the amount of details and logistics one is subjected to when someone they love dies. I offered to help Dominic with all of it, since by nature I’m a planner, but it was absolutely exhausting.
I take a few steps toward him and wrap my arms around him. He doesn’t hug me back, but I don’t expect him to. I misstouching him, the intimacy we had developed not so long ago seems to have vanished. But that’s to be expected, right? When you’re grieving? Taking a deep breath, I’m acutely aware that the cozy, warm scents I tend to associate with Dominic are absent– he doesn’t smell good, at all. I wonder when he showered last.
He’s in no shape to go to this service in a few hours. I know what needs to be done.
Pulling away from him, I give his arm a squeeze. “I have to run something out to mom and the ladies.”
Dom nods slowly. “Yeah, I saw them on the way in. I came through your back gate because I heard Carl out there playing.”
I wince at the thought of Dom, deep in grief and self-isolation, being subjected to the whims of my mom and Gloria’s chatty friends. “I’m sorry. It’ll be just a minute. Go take a seat on my bed, please?”
He doesn’t respond but moves toward my room. God, I don’t know how to do this. I can hardly navigate my own feelings after Gloria’s death— how am I supposed to help my boyfriend? As I grab the white wine from the fridge, I smile for a second. My boyfriend. We never officially declared anything, but it sort of seems like that’s where we’re at.
As I shut the fridge, my smile falls as I realize we never officially got to tell Gloria about us. The thought sticks in my throat like a ball of emotion. Dammit, do these surprise moments of sadness ever end?
Popping out to the patio, I deposit the bottle on the table. The women pause and instead of being smart and dashing back into the house, I hesitate.
“Thank you, Pen,” I think her name is— Eva? Or Jo?-- says as she reaches for the bottle to refill her glass.
“Pen, honey,” my mom says as she pats the empty seat beside her. “Have a seat and chat with us.”
“Oh, I would love to, but, as you all saw, my friend is inside?—”
“Your friend?” Jo (or is it Eva? Who cares, honestly) muses, brows raised.
Before I can say a word, Mrs. Peachwood pipes up, “Oh, that poor boy. He’s taking her death so hard.” She holds her hand to her heart and I can feel the angry words begin to rise in my throat.
“Maggie,” my mom says, “of course he is, they were so close. It’s just a shame his mother, her own sister for crying out loud, can’t make the time to come home for this. It’s just?—”
“Excuse me, ladies.” I’ve heard enough. I’m not about to kick my mom and her friends out hours before the celebration of life party, but I’m not going to keep my mouth shut when they’re speaking this way about someone I love.
Love? Jesus, the surprises keep coming today.
The women look at me expectantly and I clear my throat before I continue, "This is undoubtedly a tough time for all of us. We all cherished Gloria. She left us so unexpectedly, there's just... we each mourn in our own way. You can choose to sit out here, sip your wine, and gossip"-- I gesture emphatically, trying to keep my voice subdued– "if that's how you choose to grieve, then that's your choice. But I won't allow you to talk about Dominic like this. Not now, not ever. He's in pain, and I'm going to go in there to support my friend. And y’all are going to stay quiet about himandhis mom, at least for today. Understood?"
My mom sputters. “Penelope Elizabeth, you are being incredibly rude?—”
“Mom, I love you. I do, but y’all are the rude ones here. Not me.” I spin toward the door and turn back only to remind them, “We’re leaving in an hour and a half. This is the last bottle ‘til we get to the celebration.”
The door slams shut behind me and I know in my bones they’ve gone back to chittering and gossiping, but I can’t bring myself to care. Not when Dominic is waiting for me.
He sits on my bed, motionless and emotionless.
“Dominic?” When he doesn’t respond, I nudge my way between his knees to stand in front of him. Cupping his face in my hand, I force him to look up at me. The anguish, the absolute dreaded reality of feeling lost saturates his eyes. “Let me help you, baby.”
He remains silent, but closes his eyes and turns his face into my hand, as if nuzzling me for comfort.
