She looks me over as if she’s contemplating whether or not she wants to continue the silent treatment. The sound of her sucking her teeth lets me know she decided against it. “You have a new commission request.” As she turns her computer screen to show the request, my phone pings with a new email. I grab it to turn the volume down, but the lock screen preview makes me automatically unlock the phone to read the entire message. This has to be a joke.
Please be a joke.
From: [email protected]
Subject: ATTENTION REQUIRED - Tanya Holden Estate
Hello Mr. Wright,
I hope this message finds you well.
My name is Victor Townsend. I am Tanya Holden’s lawyer, and I am contacting you with unfortunate news.
Tanya passed away this past Tuesday after a long battle with colon cancer. Per Tanya’s last wishes, I would like to request your presence at her funeral and reading of the will.
Please see the details attached and let me know if you have any questions.
I look forward to meeting with you.
Sincerely,
Victor Townsend, Esq.
It’s not a joke. I click on the attachment, and smiling back at me is the woman I consider a second mother. Underneath her name is her birthdate, but the sight of her death date right next to it is jarring.
How could Tanya not be here anymore? Death comes for everyone. I’ve understood that from a very young age, but Tanya is … Tanya was larger than life. Like an asshole, I assumed she’d have more time.
The lawyer mentions in his message that she had colon cancer. We hadn’t talked in the last two weeks while I was away for Arnold and Amerie’s wedding. I had wanted to visit in the weeks before leaving, but she said she was out of town and would let me know when she got back.
She never followed up, and I let life get in the way of reaching back out to her.
Fuck. She was one of the most important people in the world to me, and I didn’t even know she had cancer. The gravity of that sends me crashing face-first into the pool of regrets never far from my mind.
My hands feel impossibly heavy, so I let them drop, forgetting I was holding my phone. The sound of the screen hitting the floor is so dull it barely registers. I can hear the worry in Bailey’s voice calling out, but I don’t have it in me to answer. Something pulls at the sleeve of my shirt, and it isn’t until I catch sight of Bailey’s shoes that I realize she’s dragged me to sit in her chair.
She bends down so we’re at eye level. “Micah, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
I look back at her and force words from my mouth that I’m in no way prepared to process. “It’s Tanya. She’s dead.”
I hate the sound of disingenuous tears.
About fifty people are standing inside Huber Memorial Church, each one a worse actor than the last. The woman who worked beside Tanya at the Baltimore Museum of Art and undermined her at every turn standsby her casket, wailing into a handkerchief. I recognize the woman consoling her as the one who cursed Tanya out in the parking lot after she fired her from the museum.
The man sneaking sips of what smells like whiskey between his sniffles, meant to look like he’s choked up, is the man who used to run the rec center. Tanya always said she hated the man because he had a rotten soul.
None of these people cared about Tanya, and she didn’t care about them. There were so many people who loved Tanya, so many whose lives she changed.
Why aren’t they here?
My hands curl into fists when I hear someone ask why bad things always happen to good people, so I move to find a seat in the back of the church, hidden away from prying eyes. The sooner I can get out of here, the better.
As soon as I find a seat, the wailing woman moves away from Tanya’s casket, and theresheis. The shining beacon who makes swimming in this sea of inauthenticity worth it.
From the moment I first saw Dani Jenkins, I knew I had been bested. I knew nothing I could create with my own hands would ever come close to her beauty. Looking at her now, standing by Tanya’s casket in silence, sunglasses covering her eyes, I still believe that wholeheartedly. I’ve never met anyone quite as radiant as her.
A part of me knows I should go on as if I don’t see her. Considering the way she avoided me in Tulum in the face of joy, approaching her in the face of grief is bound to send her running. But a bigger part of me needs to talk to her. Tanya was a considerable part of both of our lives, and her loss is devastating. I can’t leave here without knowing how Dani is coping.
