We were having coffee at Firehouse Café. I looked over at Nate. His lips twitched with a smile, and I knew he’d noticed her caution. He knew Holly as well as I did, probably even better now.
“I think she’s going to come here, but I don’t want to push her to make anything final, not right now. It just doesn’t feel right.”
“Just wait,” Nate chimed in. “Long-distance relationships are hard enough. Throw in a parent who’s sick and dying, and four thousand miles or so between you, and you don’t wanna add to the pressure.”
“What he said,” I replied before draining my coffee.
Over the next few weeks, I found my communication with Delilah was more sporadic. That worried me. She was busy enough as it was without any actual complications getting in the way.
Late one night, I got a text from Shay. “Call me.”
Well, that was weird. Shay had been instrumental in getting Delilah out here after my accident, but it’s not like we chatted or texted often.
I called her immediately. “What’s up?” I asked the moment she answered.
“Hey, you have my number in your phone, Alex. I feel special,” she teased.
“You texted,” I replied.
“I did.” Shay paused to clear her throat. “Delilah’s father passed away today. I happened to see her at the gas station, and she doesn’t look good. I didn’t know if she’d called to let you know.”
I silently swore.
As if Shay could read my mind, she said softly, “You know how private she is, Alex. She’s not used to leaning on anyone.”
“I do. I’m coming there. I’ll catch the first flight I can. Don’t tell her.”
“Do you need a ride?” Shay asked swiftly.
“No, but thanks. I’ll just rent a car at the airport.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Delilah
I just felt strange. That was the only way I could describe how I felt after my father finally died. Grieving someone when they’re still alive and you knew they wouldn’t ultimately survive was exhausting.
My emotional state felt gray, and I was tired and irritable on top of it. I also felt guilty because I hadn’t called Alex yet. My father had only died the night before. I’d spent the night with my mother, and it hadn’t felt right to call him then.
Now, it was the following afternoon, and I was at the funeral home helping to make plans. I’d gotten myself psyched out. I needed to call him and let him know what happened.
“Do you know if your mother would like a casket? Or are you planning to have him cremated?” the gracious funeral director asked.
This man had the absolute perfect demeanor for his job. He was calm and soothing. I imagined I could tell him anything, and he would simply nod and smile gently at me.
The problem was I didn’t know what my mother wanted. Although my mother and I’d been talking a lot more than usual lately, she hadn’t said a thing to me about funeral planning. When I’d asked her earlier, she said she didn’t know. Apparently, there was no plan.
“Can you tell me what you recommend for a family who doesn’t have a plan?”
My pleasant funeral director didn’t miss a beat. “The biggest choice is whether you’d like a casket or cremation. If you don’t have a preference, I usually recommend cremation. If only because it’s more affordable. The internment of ashes in a permanent location allows you to visit just as one would if you’d chosen a casket burial.”
“Okay, let’s do that.”
The next thing I knew, I was in his office signing paperwork and texting my mother with various questions, to which she kept replying, “Whatever you think.”
I knew grief made people weird, but this was annoying. I had a headache, and I was waiting for the funeral director to return to his office with several urns for me to choose from. A sound from the doorway drew my attention. Alex stood there. His eyes swept over me, and he stepped hesitantly in my direction.
I leaped out of my chair and basically threw myself in his arms, bursting into tears the moment he caught me in his strong embrace. I heard the rumble of his voice murmuring something as I pressed my cheek against his chest and hung onto him. His hand moved up and down my back in soothing passes. I hiccupped and finally lifted my head, sniffling when I saw his concerned dark eyes.
“I’m kind of a mess. I meant to call you and…” I lifted a hand, flailing it in the air.
“You don’t have to explain. Your dad died. Shay texted me late last night, so I got on a plane. There are no rules about this when somebody dies. It’s more important for you to be there for your mom than to worry about calling me.”
The relief that washed through me was so profound my knees almost gave out. At that moment, the funeral director reappeared with a large box in his hands. Unflappable as he had already demonstrated himself to be, he glanced back and forth between us. “Shall I give you two a moment?”
“If you don’t mind,” I replied
He bowed his head and turned away, closing the door behind him. The ridiculousness of my reunion with my boyfriend at a funeral parlor in the director’s office struck me, and I started giggling. Those giggles turned into laughter, and I was crying by the time I could catch my breath. Alex stepped away and fetched a box of tissues conveniently located right on the corner of the desk. I imagined there were tissues practically everywhere in this building.
“Are you okay?”
As I felt the low rumble of his voice reverberate through my body, I could finally take a deep breath. The tightness and coldness in my chest that I’d been carrying for what felt like weeks now as my father slowly slid away eased.
“I am. You didn’t have to—”
Alex’s look stopped me. “There are no have to’s. I wanted to be here. Now, how can I help?”
Because apparently, I’d turned into a watering pot, I burst into tears again.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Alex
“Are you sure?” Delilah asked.
I looked over at her. We were at her apartment, sitting on her couch. We’d done a few other errands and then gotten takeout pizza after the meeting at the funeral home. Delilah’s calves were resting across my lap as she leaned into the corner of the couch. She looked tired, her eyes a little red from crying, and what seemed to be a permanent furrow between her brows, at least this afternoon.
“Of course I’m sure. I didn’t fly all the way out here just to turn around and leave. I’ll stay as long as you’d like.”
“As long as I’d like? Well, in that case…” she began with a smile. It was a tired smile, but nonetheless, I was glad to see she could tease.
I lightly squeezed one of her feet. It was warm through the cotton of her socks. She let out a sigh as she leaned her head back. “That feels good.”
I started massaging her feet, alternating between them. After we’d gotten to her place this evening, she’d turned the television on to a home and garden show. That seemed to be her preferred background noise.