The funeral is small.

Everyone is welcome, even Jack, and I'm not one to play gatekeeper at my mom's funeral. I want to, but I know she would never forgive me for it. Since they can't treat Pinewood as a tourist attraction in the dead of November, they'll use the funeral service as a gathering.

I've lost count of how many casserole trays they've offered me. It feels rude to throw them out and it's a godsend knowing I won't have to cook, but it gets to a point. It beats sending me 'sorry for your loss' cards or gently patting my arm or my back whenever they see me.

I understand how tragic it can be for a parent to bury a child—and I wouldn't wish it upon anyone—but my mom would know how to navigate this. She'd be kind and grateful and graceful, whereas I'm getting by through sheer stubbornness and because there's no one to do it for me.

Jack helped. I don't know how many deep breaths I took or how many venomous words I swallowed, but he's been around. He didn't do anything without talking to me first—as much as one can do in a day—but I let him handle the bureaucracy. Contracts with the agency, phone calls with the funeral director. He offered to pay for everything.

Everything else was me. I chose the casket—cherry wood, like she asked—and handled the flowers with Judy's help, plucking them straight from her beloved garden and hothouse. There were some I had to buy, but most of them are hers, like the chrysanthemums.

I checked the venue, organized the order of service, and agreed to let Kinney help me plan the wake. Everyone will be proud of me and say I'm the strongest girl who ever lived. My mom is gone, and I'll be out of Pinewood soon.

But Jack will stay. Or so he says.

Kinney meets me at my mom's house, joined by Leo and his baby son. I know it's impossible, but Leo looks like he grew at least two or three inches since I last saw him. Maybe it's the time we spent apart or the fact that he no longer has to lean down for me.

Like Kinney, he looks like himself, just hardened. His shoulders are broader and he's nowhere as tan as I remember. Short stubble grows along his jaw, a shade darker than his light-brown hair. Kinney has always been blonder.

"This is Vee," Leo says, holding his son close to him with one arm. "Vee, that's your aunt. She could've been your mom."

Vee wrinkles his nose. "No."

"Thanks, kid," I sigh. I don't know if I'd have it in me to be a mother, especially now. I don't know how to be a mother without having mine around. "It's nothing personal, I promise, but I'm glad it's not me."

I don't think Kinney and I would ever come back from that. Or a wedding. My relationship with Leo nearly destroyed our friendship, a betrayal in two acts.

Leo is easier to forgive than me. I could never compete with someone she shared a womb with, kid or no kid. Even though Kinney hasn't been in Pinewood, their relationship would survive anything. It survived me.

No matter how much she loved me, she can't deny how unnecessarily cruel I was. I could've said goodbye, could've stayed in touch while I was gone, yet I did nothing. To me, a clean break was easier—for me, at least.

Even though I'd have to come back during the summer—no matter if my mom wanted me to stay in Europe—I stayed away. Mom was the priority. She tried so hard to get me to reach out to Kinney and Leo, arguing I'd need someone on my side, but I refused.

My mom wanted me gone to protect me. I refused to see it as her not wanting me around, a second parent rejecting me; it was a lot bigger and deeper than that. She didn't want me to watch her deteriorate, but my being gone wouldn't stop it from happening. Heartbroken, I forced myself to believe I didn't need Pinewood or its people.

I acted like Jack. He should be proud.

It's no wonder Kinney and Leo are guarded. I don't think they hate me, but they're hurt that I cut all contact with them. They're hurt that I refuse to let them in. I don't know why I'm acting like this. I've known them for so long, but maybe that's the problem.

We were different people then. We lived each other's lives in particular ways. We don't know each other anymore; there's some twisted comfort in knowing they're mad at the girl I left behind four years ago. They're mad at Marianne.

Mari might not be a tabula rasa, but it's a start.

"Thank you for being here," I tell them. Hating me or not, they're still here. Kinney has been helping me without a second thought, and Leo even introduced me to his baby. Maybe I'm redeemable. Maybe there are kind people, even when I don't deserve it. "It means—my mom would be so happy to see you. She would've adored Vee."

They exchange a nervous glance. The pit in my stomach widens.

"She was Vee's godmother," Leo confesses. Something inside me cracks. "She had always been a second mother to us. It only felt right. She loved him a lot."

I loved her a lot, too. I still do. Like Kinney, I have so many feelings, so many memories in my heart that I have no outlet for. They're hanging around me, meandering across the void.

"Oh," I croak out. "Yeah, that—that makes sense. Thank you for thinking of her."

He stiffly nods. "Yeah."

Kinney clears her throat. "Why don't we get going? There might be some traffic. More people will be out than usual."

I hate that this is what my mom's funeral is—an event. A hangout place. I try to find some solace in knowing they'll be supporting each other through their loss, as she was a beloved member of the community, but it doesn't hold.

With Jack there—and here—there will be unnecessary tension. They can forgive me, but they tolerate him at best for my mom's sake. Someone will argue. Someone will use it as an excuse to air out dirty laundry.

Perhaps it will be me. I'm so tired of biting my tongue, but I love my mom more than I loathe Jack.

I don't think it's hatred. Not exactly. But I don't have time to unpack that.

Kinney excuses herself to go set up Vee's car seat, as Leo brought it with him out of the car, and she takes Vee. This leaves two exes—ex-lovers, ex-friends—with years of history and nothing to say to each other.

He doesn't look at me. He stands in the middle of the living room, hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, jaw clenched tight.

I think I loved him once. Was in love with him; my love for him transcended a relationship.

I don't do this. When my mom wanted to talk, she never left things unresolved—except for the letters and possibly being in contact with Jack, but I never asked. Maybe she didn't think I'd want to know. She always told me to fix things with people, to talk to them. But I never did.

I never asked her so many things, and now I won't ever get to.

With Leo standing in front of me, I have an opportunity to make it right. It doesn't have to be like this, but this is who I am—an avoider. I hide behind my plans for the immediate future: I'll leave anyway, so I don't need to dwell on this.

But Leo deserves more than that.

"Leo, I—"

He raises a hand. "Can we not do this right now? Please? I don't know what you told Kinney to convince her that everything is fine, but I'm not her. I need . . . I need time. I don't want to get close to you only for you to run away again."

I pick at a hangnail, my throat tied into a tight knot. "I know. I didn't—I didn't tell Kinney anything. We ran into each other at the grocery store, and she offered to help me out. It was just . . . she's been helping me sort through my mom's belongings. She's been helping with the funeral. I've done most of it, but she and Judy have been around. Jack's covering the expenses. I never stopped to think about how expensive and bureaucratic planning a funeral could be. But I promise I'm not trying to get her hopes up, or anything of the sort. My plan was to come here, arrange the funeral, sort out anything I'd need to, and then leave. This came out of left field."

I don't tell him that these last few days with Kinney have brought back feelings I thought I'd buried years ago. Even with our complicated history, it's always been me and her, and being around her has made it clear I'm not over it—whatever it was.

But I'll have to be. Denying myself an alternative future where we're happy together isn't punishment; it's a consequence of my decision. It didn't have to be this way, but it is, and I'll have to live with it. If I'm leaving, I'll always remember Pinewood as the place where I buried my mom. Where she died without me.

Where Jack will be. Where Leo is.

"I didn't mean you have an ulterior motive," Leo continues. "We knew you were back. Kinney wanted to reach out, but didn't know how; she would've done it regardless. I should've reached out too. Helped."

"There's a porch light that needs fixing."

"Still?"

I shrug. "You know my mom."

"Yeah. I can take a look later. Tomorrow. Whenever you want. The point is, I'd never hold this against you. You need support. Kinney would never leave you hanging, especially now." That suggests he would. "I'm worried about what comes next. After she's served her purpose."

"That's not what this is about."

"I don't know that. Kinney doesn't know that. You're staying for the wedding, which is, like, a month away. That's one month of getting close again and creating expectations you have no intention of upholding. You know her. You know how badly we hurt her. It's nothing compared to what you did when you left. You end a friendship, you don't text, you don't call, and she tries to pick up my pieces. She doesn't let me do the same. So I spend the next four years of my life constantly worrying about the moment she'll collapse and shatter. She's just started to get better."

"If you think I'd do anything to hurt Kinney like that again, maybe you don't know me as well as you think. Maybe you don't know me at all."

"Maybe not. But I know my sister. And I can't let you break her heart again."

I don't process the funeral.

It could very well be happening to someone else. For all I know, I'm watching someone else's life on a film screen. I'm not an active participant in the spectacle that is my life.

I know I'm present.

I feel the chill in my bones brought by the November wind, the humidity of the air clinging to my hair and curling it around my face. The dirt is wet, soft under my boots. My scarf is a welcome protection from the harsher gusts.

People weep. The wind hisses. No prayers.

Kinney reaches out for my hand during the burial. The soft, warm pressure of her hand in mine is seared into my brain. I wish it could be the thing I remember most about this moment. I wish it could happen under different circumstances—no one would be dead, no one would leave, no one would be scared.

What I will remember most is my mom's basket being lowered into the ground. It's pathetically cruel how time slows down as much as possible, prolonging the agony.

Across from me, on the opposite side of the hole in the grass, my eyes meet Jack's.

I don't remember ever seeing him cry. He's not sobbing, but the redness in his eyes is undeniable. His lips press into a thin line as he gulps, Whitney's arm wrapped around him.

He looks so small. So defeated. So unlike him.

Jack blows into Pinewood like a hurricane and demolishes my life in the process. I'm supposed to be okay with it, to be the bigger person. At least he's trying, and all that.

I don't want to be the bigger person. I don't want to be considerate. I don't want to bend and break to accommodate him or turn my fury or grief into more palatable, twisted versions.

This is what Pinewood gets. This is what he gets. He didn't want me then, when I was a child so desperate to be loved, and he certainly won't want me now.

I want my mom. I want her alive and well and with me. I want to hold her, to hear her laugh, to be outraged when she spoils the ending of a book. I want to learn how to bake. I want to see the sunset at the beach with her.

I want one more moment with her. Just one.

"I've got you," Kinney whispers. The casket is out of view. "It's okay."

I finally allow myself to breathe. It's a small exhale, a shaky sigh, but it's all it takes.

I feel like I'm drowning. Suffocating in my own tears. My body is being ripped apart limb by limb, bone by bone.

I'm on my knees, the wetness of the dirt seeping through the thin fabric of my pantyhose, and press my crossed arms against my stomach as I bend forward. I don't know what I'm trying to keep inside or what I'm trying to hold together.

Kinney follows me down, sliding an arm around my shoulders, and not even her face buried in the crook of my neck helps.

It doesn't keep me from crashing. It doesn't stop my world from falling apart.

I sob, wail, beg. Like it helps.

Come back.

Please come back.

Mommy, I need you.

word count:

chapter: 2398 (docs) / 2419 (scrivener) / 2331 (wattpad)

total: 19264 (docs) / 19383 (scrivener) / 18708 (wattpad)