Apples & Oranges (The This & That Series) (20 page)

Chapter Eighteen

             
Speaking at funerals wasn’t my bag, baby.

             
Okay, so jokes were highly inappropriate at a time like this, but that was all I had. Too many emotions were pushing themselves to the surface. Too many terrified thoughts. Too many worries. Too much anguish had been witnessed. And I’d felt entirely too much pain for my own good. If the old saying was
when it rains, it pours,
then it was a freaking tsunami in the middle of monsoon season in my life.

             
When Candace asked me to stand up and say a few words at the end of Brian’s funeral, I thought she’d officially lost it. It was time to put her in a padded room with fork corks, the whole works. She’d lost it.

             
After all, Brian and I spent most of our time poking fun at each other and arguing. But the more I thought about it, the clearer it became. Candace could see what I’d always ignored, which was that her husband and I had become good friends over the years. He’d filled the space left empty by my parents when neither of them had any other children. He was, for all intents and purposes, my brother.

             
And so, with shaking knees and more sweat underneath my arms than a real lady would admit—but hey, let’s be honest, I’m not a lady… and I was sweating like a damn cow—I stood up and recalled one of my best Brian memories.

             
It happened during our senior year of college. He was planning on proposing soon, and I was the only one who knew about it. Candace had dragged us to one of her stupid plays, and he and I were bored out of our gourds and whispering back and forth in the darkened theater…

             
"Good Lord,” he’d hissed to me during an especially long stretch of undecipherable dialogue. “I'd so rather be watching ATTACK OF THE LIVING DEAD HOOKER FROM OUTERSPACE.”

I snickered. “Or watching paint dry.”

He grinned. “Or cutting my toenails."

I laughed, and slapped a hand over my mouth when Candace shot me a glare. "What?” I whispered from behind my fingers. “You don't simply adore this version of
Much Ado About Nothing
as seen through the lens of the Victorian age? But it's so character driven, and the costumes..." I sighed melodramatically, just as Candace had a moment before, "...are divine.”

Brian looked over at Candace, and the love in his eyes made my chest hurt, just a little. "Oh, Hell no. It's zombie movies all the way."

"Good luck getting Candace to go to those."

"Yeah," he said. Then he moaned loudly. "Brains!"

Candace shushed us, and I sank down lower in my seat. "Looking for one?"

He moaned again
, softer this time.  "Oh hey, sounds like your dorm room last night. Only if they're moaning
brains
they're in the wrong room. I guess you're safe from the zombie apocalypse.”

I hit him on the shoulder, but I laughed, because I never could help it when Brian was around. "You're disgusting."

"You wouldn't have me any other way," he'd said. “Can, on the other hand, would love to see me more refined.”

             
I looked at my blonde friend, watching the stage with her lower lip between her teeth. “Nah. She might like you to act human once in a while, but she loves you just the way you are.” I paused and Brian just looked at me. “You know, because her standards are so low.”

             
“Right.” He smirked. “But you know what?”

             
“Hmm?”

             
“I’d do just about anything for her.” He slid his hand over hers in the darkness. “She’s worth it.
We’re
worth it, you know?”

I just nodded.
In typical, know-it-all Brian fashion, he was right. But then, he was ALWAYS right.

I don't think Brian ever got Candace to watch zombie movies with him. But I can't even count the number of times they went to see Shakespeare. Every year, he'd go, and, as far as I know, he never once tried to weasel out of it. Because
that's how much he loved her—he'd do anything to make her happy.

Because for Brian, spending three hours with Candace, even if it was at one of those super boring
snoozefests that she liked so much, was three hours well spent.

And at the end of the day, isn't that what we all want?

Later, after the service, I looked at Candace’s red, splotchy face, and forced myself to smile. “Why don’t you go upstairs to lay down, and I’ll bring you a cup of tea or something to sip on.” She didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t register a thing I’d said. So I squeezed her shoulder, making her jump. “Candace?”

             
“Yes?” She focused on me, and blinked a few times. “What?”

             
My stomach dropped. She’d been like this for days. Six, to be exact. The funeral had taken the last shred of strength I’d had. Between speaking, the music, slide shows and shared memories, I had more crumpled tissues at the bottom of my purse than I’d even thought possible. At one point, I’d actually thought I was going to be sick from crying so much. All those years of barely shedding a tear, and now I couldn’t seem to stop.

But Candace?
Candace was beyond…

Her grief was palpable, like you could reach into the air surrounding her and grab a handful of it. She’d lost ten pounds already—that’s what happened when you refused to consume anything but coffee—and her black dress hung on her bones like a coat rack. Her hair, which I’d had to force her to wash this morning, hung in a limp ponytail down her back, and the circles around her eyes resembled soot.

I’d brought her home after the funeral and reception, in the hopes that being alone with her kids would perk her up. Candace’s parents were too busy taking care of the funeral arrangements—and Candace herself—to watch them. And Brian’s mother was drowning in her own grief, so sitting at home with three small children was impossible for her, as well. Lexie had two kids of her own to care for, plus she was struggling to help Fletcher cope, and it wasn’t going so well.

I watched as Candace looked past my shoulder at her kids watching a video in the darkened family room. She’d hardly touched Ellie, Quentin, and Aubrey since the day Brian died, and they were climbing the walls, desperate for
Mom’s attention. Ellie and Quentin were now sleeping under Quentin’s bunk bed together at night, and had wet their pants at least twice a day, every day this past week. I’d done more laundry recently than I’d ever done in my adult life, and I had no idea how to help them stop regressing. Aubrey also refused to sleep unless she was resting on my shoulder, so I’d spent the last few nights sitting upright, so she would sleep. My back was killing me, and I couldn’t turn my head to the left at all.

I’d been thrust into full time motherhood in the blink of an eye, and there was no damn instruction manual for these kids. I was flying blind, and it sucked.

But what else could I do? They needed me. And honestly… I needed them.

             
Since leaving him outside his house that night, Demo called my phone eleven times, and left three notes and two bouquets of lilacs on my doorstep. He’d even left notes for me at Eats & Treats, but since Lexie and I had cancelled a week’s worth of events, and I’d been sleeping at Candace’s house, I’d managed to avoid Demo pretty well.

             
Oh, I knew what he wanted. His voicemails were clear enough.

             
“Listen, Marisol, I know this is bad. I’m not gonna lie, I’m freaking out, too. But we can get through this. I know we can. I
love
you. I don’t love her, and I never did. People co-parent without being together all the time. There’s no reason I can’t do that with Stacia. We just need to talk this out. Call me.”

             
But I didn’t call back. I’m not sure why. I mean, he was right. We
could
co-parent with that Stacia chick. And we both wanted kids someday. Well, now we had that chance.

             
So why was I ignoring Demo?

             
Because watching Candace’s grief rack and shake her body, lay her out for days on end, and suck every drop of life out of her heart and soul… was an eye opening experience. She was so consumed by sadness she couldn’t even
hug her children
. I didn’t want that kind of agony in my life. Living alone and coming home to an empty house every day was depressing, yes, but not nearly as excruciating as burying the love of your life. And I knew this to be a fact, as I’d just watched my best friend do it.

             
I didn’t need Demo to have kids. If I really wanted one, I could adopt one. Hell, that Angelina Jolie adopted like ten of them. I could do that, too. I had the money. And the space.

             
Besides… if I did it alone, I would never have to worry about Demo hurting me again. Or knocking somebody up. Or keeling over on a golf course someday.

             
No love—no loss. It was the perfect plan.

             
“Go.” I turned Candace by the shoulders, and shooed her in the direction of the stairs. “Go lay down for a while, because I’m making you read your kids a bedtime story tonight. No exceptions.”

             
“I… oh… all right,” she mumbled, starting up the stairs.

             
“I’ll bring you some tea,” I called after her.

             
She disappeared around the corner. “Coffee.”

             
“Right.” I sighed. “I forgot you only drink black death.”

             
Picking up a sponge, I started to wipe down the already spotless countertops. I’d already scrubbed Candace’s kitchen twice that day, but a third time never hurt. With all of the people coming in and out of the house, and all of the casseroles being dropped off from neighbors, the last thing I needed was for one of these kids to get sick. I was barely keeping them alive as it was, add in a bad case of influenza, and I was going to wind up killing someone.

             
Okay. Bad timing on the killing joke. I told you I was bad at this.

             
I dropped the sponge and covered my face. What the hell was I doing? Helping a friend? Playing house with her kids?
Hiding
? My shoulders started to shake as I started to cry, and I leaned forward to rest my forehead on the cool granite countertop.

             
“I would give anything to go back in time one week,” I whispered to the empty kitchen. “Just one week back… before everything turned to garbage and everyone’s lives were ruined.”

             
The doorbell chimed and I sat straight upright. “Great,” I muttered, tossing the sponge into the sink, and wiping my hands on my black skirt. More neighbors with more inedible casseroles. I’d eaten more chicken and Bisquick in the past six days than I ever wanted to consume again.

             
“Who is it, Auntie Marisol?” Ellie asked, peeking through the family room door. The lower half of her little dress was wet. She’d peed again.

             
“Probably just another neighbor.” I bent down and pressed a kiss to her head. “Go change your clothes, sweetie. But wake don’t your mama up, okay?”

             
“I want my moooooomy,” she whined, leaning into me.

             
“I know,” I said softly. “She’ll feel better soon. I promise.”

             
Sniffling, Ellie stomped up the stairs. I sighed and walked to the door. I didn’t know if I had it in me to sit through another fifteen-minute conversation about how shocking Brian’s death was. I already knew it. We all did. Good Lord, I was pretty sure that people three counties over heard Candace screaming about it that first day.

             
Pulling the door open, I plastered a fake smile on my face. “Hello…” I stopped speaking, and all of the air drained out of my lungs in a long, noisy whoosh.

             
Demo stood with his hands in his pockets and a frown on his face. The warm streak had broken and now rain poured from the heavens, soaking his oil streaked coveralls, and separating his brown hair into wet clumps across his forehead.

             
“Hey,” he said, his voice low and gravelly like the first time we met.

             
“What are you doing here?”

             
“You weren’t answering my calls.” The line between his eyebrows deepened. “Did you see the letters I left at your house and at your shop?”

             
I nodded. “Yes, I saw them.”

             
His mouth pulled into a line. “And you still didn’t call me?”