He hangs his head, groaning. I set the box to the side, reach over, and tug him to the seat. He sits a foot apart; far enough for anyone looking our way. My hand hesitates around his wrist and pulls back slowly.
His fingers chase mine, brief and unsure, then lock them down against the bench slats, like he’s afraid I might float off.
The air tastes extra fresh out here.
“I really wanted to invent a machine that did chores for you.”
I look at him, lips twitching. “Do you realise you turned into that machine? You’re a domestic god.”
He flushes.
The sight goes straight through me, too quick for a man who keeps so much bottled up.
He averts his eyes to the tree. “Then I wanted to build a theme park for pets. The sheep used the slide too. Albeit accidentally.”
I squeeze his hand.
“Later, I dreamed of kissing boys.”
The air stills. The nikau fronds whisper above us. I can’t look at him right away, I’m too aware of how near his knee has shifted to mine.
“Wow, what a tree,” I murmur on an almost hiccup. “All your dreams came true.”
His knee presses my knee for a long beat. “You better start dreaming then.”
I gnaw on my lip as I stare at the tree. “Okay, sure. Done.”
Trent leans in, nose a tickle in my hair as he murmurs, “Is it the same dream as mine?”
My breath catches. Trent draws back slowly. Our gazes hold.
“There you are!” comes Grandpa’s distant call.
And I snap my hands to the box, picking it up, standing on shaky feet.
Trent rises after me, slower, surer. “It’s okay,” he murmurs.
But my heart is still thudding in my throat.
No matter how good I am at sleight of hand, I’m playing with death if I drop the coin.
I feel Trent reaching out to touch my stiffened shoulder and I lurch towards Grandpa and the oldies following behind.
“Stay there,” Grandpa calls. “We’re bringing the wake to you.” He hits the screen of his phone and music blasts. “Ding Dong! The Witch Is Dead.”
“Sing it with me folks!” Grandpa calls, and they all shuffle over the grass, ailing bodies and big voices, coming together on the line “Wake up, you sleepy head.”
I hold the shoebox close to a sudden bizarrely bright feeling in my chest. Like opening my eyes to sunshine. So much of it, I really... need to blink.
John sings the coroner’s lines affirming that she’s sincerely dead.
And I rock on my heels as the oldies crowd around the bench and the nikau tree and me holding the coffin.
“We gather today in sorrow, but also in gratitude,” Grandpa says solemnly. The box sits on the grass with the rest of us circled around it, heads lowered. Music off, for now.
“Gratitude for this life, and for the ways we’ve been touched. A wake is a time to speak, to listen, and to remember. Is there anyone who wishes to share a story or a few words?”
I peek out the corner of my eye to Trent, who then looks to Grandpa as if to say,shouldn’t you start?
