She shrugged. “She raised you by herself. That’s the story.”
I looked down at my hands, then at the tags on the table. I rolled them in my palm, the edge biting into the callus on my thumb.
“I don’t want to turn her funeral into a therapy session,” I said, voice flat.
Emily set the paper aside, her tone gentle but insistent. “Nobody’s going to think less of you for loving your mother. Or hating how she left.”
I felt the heat in my chest, the old, familiar surge of anger where the grief should have been. “She didn’t mean to leave.”
“I know,” Emily said, eyes on mine. “But you’re allowed to be pissed off. That doesn’t make the rest of it less true.”
Sergeant crept forward, resting her head on my knee. I scratched behind her ear, grateful for the excuse to look away.
Emily flipped to the next draft, reading quietly. She picked up a pen and started making small edits—nothing big, just shifting phrases, adding a line here and there. After a few minutes, she set it down and slid it back to me.
“I changed the last sentence,” she said. “You can keep it or toss it.”
I read what she’d written. “She never missed a chance to laugh, even when it hurt. She leaves behind a son who will never stop missing her.”
It was so simple, so clean. I felt my throat close up.
“She’d like that,” I said.
Emily nodded. “Then it’s done.”
We sat in the quiet, the only sounds Sergeant’s breath and the creak of the chair as I leaned back. The sun had dipped below the hills, leaving the apartment in a cool blue shadow.
“Thank you,” I said, not sure if I meant for the food, the edits, or just the company.
She collectedthe plates, stacked them in the sink, and rinsed them with brisk efficiency. I watched, feeling the awkward press of words I couldn’t shape.
She wiped her hands on her jeans, then turned. “You want me to stick around, or is that weird?”
The truth was, I did. But I couldn’t say it without sounding pathetic.
She smiled, like she knew exactly what I was thinking. “I can walk the dog. Or you can walk with us. Either way, you’re getting some air before you go insane.”
I nodded, let the leash jingle in my hand, and watched as Emily opened the door and held it for me. She didn’t rush, didn’t crowd, just walked slow, letting the night settle in around us.
The three of us—me, Emily, and Sergeant—moved down the sidewalk in silence, the first stars flickering above the dark ridge. For the first time since Ma died, I felt like I could breathe.
When we circled back to the apartment, Emily paused at the stoop. “You’ll be okay,” she said. “But if you need help, just ask. I’m not going anywhere.”
She let her hand rest on my shoulder, warm and steady. Then she turned, heading for her car, her silhouette framed in the yellow of the streetlight.
Inside, Sergeant jumped on the bed and circled twice before settling. I lay down next to her, the edited obituary clutched in my fist, and let the exhaustion finally win.
In the dark, I listened to the dog’s breathing and the hum of the street, and for once, I didn’t mind the noise.
***
The next day, the world was already waking up rough around the edges. I’d just poured my second cup of coffee, the dog sprawled upside-down in a sunbeam, when a knock landed on my door. This one wasn’t like Emily’s—the sound had gravity, a bass you could feel in your teeth. I knew before I looked who it would be.
I opened up, and Nitro and Augustine stood on the stoop, both in full regalia, wearing vests patched out, boots caked with dried mud, the stink of exhaust and Camel Lights wrapped around them like an aura. Nitro was built like a tackle box, short and dense with tattoos running up the column of his neck. Augustine was taller, skin pale, and hair buzzed so close it looked painted on. The kind of pair that made doorframes look smaller.
“Medina,” Nitro grunted, nodding past me into the apartment. His eyes swept the place, making a quick tally of the mess and the threat. Augustine didn’t even wait foran invitation—he stepped inside, glancing at the ceiling, the corners, the window, like it was a scene he might need to remember later.
I almost missed the second shadow in the room. Emily, standing by the couch with her jacket half-on, caught mid-exit. She’d come back early to return my mail, or maybe just to check if I’d survived the night. I could see the split-second flicker in her eyes—she was halfway between staying and making a run for it.
