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Central Cemetery hasn’t changed much since I was here last. Gray stones peek above the trimmed grass. Bright flowers sit all around in memoriam for loved ones lost. Tall mausoleums with last names carved into stone sit on the horizon in various spots.
“Is this where the dead people are?” Lyric asks, swallowing a lump in her throat. Her curious eyes dart across the stones passing by in slow motion.
“Buried here, yes.” I watch her shuddered expression closely as she nods.
“No zombies, Mommy?” she whispers frantically, searching her surroundings. “Daddy Rad and me watched zombies, they eat people's brains.”
“Did he?” Asher asks with a disappointed head shake. “Idiot,” he murmurs quietly, enough so she doesn’t hear.
“We’re going to have to give your daddy a parenting class on what four-year-olds should watch,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief. One dad always throws on a horror movie for a child who shouldn’t be watching it, and that dad is Rad.
“And say,” Asher chuckles, unclenching his fists.
My heart pounds when the car stops near the row my mother is buried in. I eye the names etched into the marble with interest, bouncing from one to the other.
Baker. Jones. Hogan. West. Montgomery.
Right there, under the dirt, rests her corpse. Still dressed in the same outfit Korrine and Ode helped me pick out—a dress she loved to wear in the sunshine. A simple headstone poking out of the ground with her name, date of birth, and inscription indicates where she rests eternally.
Loving mother and friend. Gone too soon.
What an understatement that is. If it weren’t for her autoimmune disease, she’d still be around, watching Lyric grow.
It’s odd that I vaguely remember the day I stood in the sunshine, watching for the last time as my mother’s body rested above ground. Her old and new friends gathered around, taking flowers from a large bouquet on her oak casket. Tears fell. Laughs echoed through the large cemetery in her memory. Some good. Some bad. Everyone remembered my mother in a positive light.
As for me? I was utterly frozen, running my fingers over the smooth wood, begging her to come back for one more day, just for a few more hours. There were so many unsaid words and declarations.
My brain was fogging in chaos, trying to digest what had happened. My mother fucking died. The boys left me without a word or goodbye. And I was carrying their child. To say my thoughts weren’t in the present was the understatement of the century.
I was a million miles away, but my feet were still in the same spot.
I knew she was in a better place. Or so they say. Her MS wouldn’t bother her anymore. She would be free from the complications of life. But it didn’t stop me from aching for one more hug. One more kiss on the temple. One more, ‘You did good, Riv.’ Just a single chance to tell her that I loved her and wished her well.
Fuck. I miss my mom.
My mother may not have been the best human being on the planet. She worked hard when I was a kid—left me to my own damn devices. But I still loved her. Always will. I reread the names, going down the line until my heart plummets into my ass at the realization.
Baker. Jones. Hogan. West. Montgomery.
I blanch, turning to look at Asher. He stares out my window, locking on the tallest headstone at the end of the row. Shade trees block out the sun, blanketing our moms in beautiful darkness.
“They’re…” I swallow hard, shaking my head.
“I can’t afford this,” I whisper to the funeral home director. “I can’t.”
“You don’t need to, Miss West,” he says softly, eyes brimming with understanding.
“I don’t understand. Why was she brought here? I told them… I…” I squeeze my eyes shut, leaning back in the chair across from him at his mahogany desk.
“It’s all been taken care of. An anonymous donor donated the plot, and the funds have been raised for the funeral. It’s just enough,” he says, sliding a piece of paper across the desk.
“But why would—”
“It was you, wasn’t it?” I whisper with tears streaming down my face. I swear, since I had a child, I have cried like a baby at everything. It doesn’t fucking matter the circumstance. “The donated plot? The funds for the funeral?”
“You asked for space, and I used that against you…” he trails off, looking over his shoulder at Ly playing with the flowers and lightly humming.
“Asher,” I breathe. The roughness of his fingers beneath mine has me gasping for air when I clutch his hand. “You did all that for me? But why?” Why would he leave me and do something nice for me in return? Why would he do that?
