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And just like that, the moment is lost to the harsh reality of another day. The first full day without her.
“Where’s Nina?” My voice is rough and scratchy.
“With Kira. Don’t worry; she’s fine.”
What kind of mother does it make me that I wasn’t worried? I know she’ll be taken care of.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
I slide away from Arsen’s arms, because the answer is that I’m feeling barely human. My limbs are heavy. I can’t even blink without pain. The loss of his warmth sends my heart sinking lower, if that’s even possible.
“I feel like my mother just died.”
I swing my legs to the edge of the bed, but I don’t know what to do after. I can’t lie here forever, but I don’t want to get up, either.
Arsen moves in front of me, ruining any chance I had of ignoring him. He sinks to one knee, and it occurs to me that, just a few months ago, something as simple as that would’ve sent me into a tailspin of desire.
Right now, I don’t feel anything at all.
“You need to take a shower, Laila. You need to get dressed.”
I scowl even as my eyes burn. Tears I can’t afford to cry sting like hellfire, but even still, I don’t let them loose. I’ve cried enough for a lifetime.
“For what?”
“For the funeral.”
Right. The funeral. My mother’s funeral. Which is happening because she’s dead.
I test the words out, rolling them around in my mind, but the thought just doesn’t catch. Does not compute. I always thought cancer meant I’d have time to prepare, but that’s turning out to be the biggest joke in the world.
There’s no preparing for this feeling.
“I’ve taken care of everything,” he continues, “per Marie’s instructions. I hope that’s okay.”
Okay.That’s the second-biggest joke in the world. None of this is “okay.” He’s told me this before—what she wanted, how she wished to be laid to rest. I think I remember him telling me yesterday. Or maybe it was last week. Might’ve been a century ago.
If I ever cared, I don’t now. I’m not in any state to plan a funeral.
I look up to see he’s watching me carefully. I lick my chapped lips and nod. “Okay.”
“I’ll help you to the bathroom.” He offers me his hand—large, warm, steady. All at once, everything in me wants to cling to it and never let go.
But I clench my fists against my thighs instead. “I can manage on my own.”
I use the bedpost to haul myself to my feet, but one step is all it takes before my knees buckle. I sag against his chest, because he’s there, because of course he is.
This time, when he wraps an arm around my waist, he doesn’t ask, and I don’t refuse. I let him lead me into the bathroom. A new bathroom, actually. As I look around, I realize none of this stuff is what it should be.
He leans me against the countertop and turns on the shower. Steam begins to billow and fog up the mirror.
“Why am I here?”
Arsen looks over his shoulder. “You don’t remember?”
I’m guessing I should. But the last… I don’t even know how long it’s been, but it’s hazy. All of it.
Arsen turns and unbuttons my pajama top with professional indifference. “It doesn’t matter. The room will be ready again in a day or two. You’ll have it back soon enough.”
