He didn’t.
I turned back around and paced the house.
*
I didn’t know what was happening to my life, and I felt like I was just there going through the motions. I didn’t cry again since the hospital. I swallowed it all down, unsure of where it’d been bottled up exactly. Somewhere dark, maybe. Somewhere I couldn’t find, hopefully.
On the day of the funeral, Adrian showed up at our house in the morning, wearing a black suit, looking surprisingly sharp. His dark eyes met mine and he smiled sympathetically as I waited for Mom and Aston to come down. I was wearing a black plain dress. My hair was down in loose waves, hardly presentable. I couldn’t help but feel like Mom should have been there. She should have pushed me to comb through the strands of my hair, to put make-up on and look more decent. To carry on even though I ached.
But she didn’t care.
“You’ve been so strong, Elise,” Adrian told me quietly, admiration in his voice.
“No,” I replied numbly, “I think I’m just too broken to feel anything.”
Mom came down first, still plagued by grief to notice me. Then Aston followed. My body stilled, and my eyes locked on him as he made his way down the staircase in a black suit and crisp white shirt. It was the first time I’d seen him properly since the hospital, and god, I really needed to see him. He’d already lost a family as a child, and now he was losing another person he loved all over again.
It was without explanation that I was capable to shove aside my pain and want to heal him. I just had to. I needed him not to hurt. It scared me how much that meant to me.
As we walked outside to Adrian’s car, I grabbed at Aston’s arm and stared up at him, waiting for him to acknowledge me. He glimpsed at me briefly, but there was nothing there in his eyes. I let go of his arm and let him walk ahead of me. I felt lost. Everywhere I turned there was no way out.
Give him time. I told myself. He just needs a bit more time.
The viewing was the single hardest thing I had ever had to do. I purposely kept my eyes drawn away from the man that raised me from birth. It wasn’t real. He wasn’t my father. No, he was just an empty capsule. The father I loved was lost, gone, and I never got to say good bye. Every time he wanted to spend time with me, I was too embroiled in my teen angst to give him the attention I used to give him as a little girl.
As his butterfly.
I sucked in deep breaths as we stood by the casket. People flooded in, and it was all a daze to me. I nodded, I whispered thanks, but that was it. Lamely, I tried to grip Aston’s arm again, but he stiffened and didn’t look at me. I turned to Mom and held her arm. She was soft, but she didn’t look like she cared that I was touching her. I retreated from both, like an outsider, and glimpsed at Dad’s empty body.
He looked strange. Familiarities mixed with powdered make-up and whatever the fuck else they did to him. Why did I let them do this to him? He wasn’t my daddy. I whipped my face away, and suddenly it was all too much. I had this urge to just run. To get away from reality. To be clear of everyone and everything. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. I tore myself apart. I could taste shards of anger in my mouth, and felt the venom all the way to my toes. I needed out. I screamed internally, hoping for a break, for tears to finally come, for my being to rupture so I could collapse and mourn.
I needed that relief.
On the outside, I continued to whisper thanks, my legs remained in place, and my dead eyes watched on, patient, kind, and grateful.
Just like Daddy taught me.
*
The funeral came and went. It was a nice day too. I would have liked some clouds in the sky at least. Or a fucking drizzle of rain. Something that wasn’t blue skies and sunshine. You’re not meant to hurt on a beautiful day. That wasn’t how it was supposed to work.
People scattered back to their lives, leaving the three of us empty souls standing at the gravesite. Adrian waited by the entrance of the cemetery, giving us our space. I never stood so close to my family and felt so far away from them.
Mom kissed the arch of the gravestone and walked away first. Her steps were slow, and she looked so fragile. I stepped forward to offer her my arm, but she shook her head at me and I wavered back, turning to Aston.
He stood tall, hands in his pockets, head down. His gelled-back blond hair had come apart and strands framed his face. His eyes closed briefly, and when he opened them again I was by his side. My arm brushed against his, and I yearned for the warmth of his body. I edged nearer, until I was flushed against his side. We didn’t speak, but I looked at him, waiting.
Was it wrong I needed love right now? I ached for human touch. If he could just wrap his arm around me, I was certain I’d feel better.