Her shoulder was always there and ready to be cried on. Her door was always open and that was only on the days when she wasn’t already in front of mine with coffee and breakfast by the time I woke up in the mornings. Since I couldn’t face large plates of food, she’d made sure to bring bites we could have on the go, and at night, she always had a chilled bottle of wine ready in both of our fridges.
She’d laughed with me, reminisced with me, and cried with me. When I’d had no strength of my own, she’d wrapped me up in hers until I had enough to face the world again.
In that blurry awful patch of darkness before the funeral, Beth had taken charge where my administration skills had failed me and had dutifully stuck close to my side before, during, and after the service.
I’d always known she was my ride-or-die girlfriend, but she’d proven to be so much more than that. She was also my sit-and-cry girlfriend, the one who was strong enough to face my grief with me without flinching. And my wonder-why girlfriend and the one who reminded me that one day, I’d be able to feel happiness again. Every girl needed a friend like her and I thanked my guardian angel for making sure I had her.
As I locked my office door on my way out for lunch, I heard a voice saying my name. “Ms. Landrum, have you got a minute?”
I turned around to find Claire standing behind me. I’d seen her once or twice in the last month, but that had only been in passing. She hadn’t come for another session, but I’d been keeping an eye out for her.
The transformation she’d undergone since our session was visible. Her previously stringy hair now shone like spun gold, clean and braided in an intricate plait that hung over one shoulder. There was a sparkle in her eyes and only a hint of lip gloss on her mouth.
The clothes she wore were similar to the outfit she’d had on before, but she filled them out better. Like she was back to being the size she had been when they’d been bought.
Despite the painful memories seeing her brought back of what had happened after our last session, I smiled at her. “Hey, Claire. Of course I’ve got a minute. What’s up?”
“I just wanted to thank you,” she said, even her voice sounding better now. Stronger. “I’ve been attending that after-school program and you were right. I love it there.”
“Yeah? I’m glad. I can see the difference in you. You’re looking great, kiddo.”
“Thanks,” she said shyly. “They’ve been showing me how to apply just a little bit of natural makeup and how to do my hair.”
“That’s not what I meant about you looking great, but I did notice they’ve helped you in that department as well.”
“Yes. Brandy, my group leader, says girls my age are beautiful enough without makeup or fancy hairdos, but she also says if we want to, to keep it natural.”
“I totally agree. Have you made some friends?”
She nodded enthusiastically and gripped the strap of her backpack to adjust it. “Yes. I’m actually meeting them for lunch, but I wanted to come by to see you first.”
“I’m happy that you did. Come back if there’s anything I can help you with, okay?”
“Okay.” She smiled and walked backward, giving me a wave before turning around and getting swept up by the crowds once again.
Beth’s food truck was parked only about a block away from the school, and as soon as she saw me, she flipped a sign that said out to lunch. She closed up the hatch and locked her door, then came over to give me a big hug.
Her familiar vanilla scent enveloped me as I buried my head in her soft brunette curls. I breathed in deeply, trying not to feel like a creep while at the same time needing the comfort enough to not really care.
Beth’s shoulders shook as she chuckled before releasing me. “I’m happy to see you too, friend, but I’ve got to tell you right now that I don’t swing that way.”
Stepping out of her embrace, I laughed and shook my head. “Seriously? How are you only telling me this now?”
Her soft blue eyes shone with amusement. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew I was into those ugly but oh-so-functional bits that guys have.”
I winked, but I couldn’t quite hold on to the levity of the moment. “It’s your loss. They make plastic stuff that’s just as functional, you know? And a lot more reliably effective.”
“True that.” She nodded at a bench across the street. “Want to take a seat? I’ll grab us some food and meet you there in a minute.”
“Sure.”
She dashed back into her truck and I made my way to the bench.
It was made of concrete that was cool when I sat down. It occurred to me to be grateful that it was in the shade of a giant tree because I hadn’t bothered to test the temperature before sitting down.
“You’re lucky you don’t have a scorched ass right now,” Beth said, echoing my thoughts as she came over carrying two paper plates with hotdogs on them. “Chicago style for you and traditional Texan for me. Let me know if you get over the insanity of eating it that way and are ready for the real deal.”
“How is it the real deal if it doesn’t even have a bun?” I asked, mindlessly rehashing the same argument we’d had many times before. “Mine is iconic. It’s got yellow mustard, chopped onions, a pickle spear, tomato wedges, sport peppers, and relish with celery salt all on a poppy seed bun. Yours is a deep-fried sausage.”
She gasped, pressing her hand to her chest in fake outrage. “How dare you? It’s so much more than just a deep-fried sausage. It’s America’s favorite snack.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” I patted her thigh and took a big bite of my lunch.
Beth didn’t do the same, the humor fading from her expression as she watched me. “How are you holding up?”
I appreciated that she never asked me how I was doing. It wasn’t like anyone was really ever fine such a short period of time after losing someone important to them. “I’m okay, I think. I’m getting along, but it hasn’t been easy. You know how much she meant to me.”
Beth hummed her agreement. “Have you made any decisions yet?”
“About the money?”
She nodded. “The lawyer called me again. Apparently, you’re still dodging her calls.”
“Sorry about that.” Since Beth had been with me all the time at the beginning, the lawyer my mother had hired to handle her estate had taken her number as well.
Because yes, my mother, who had single-handedly raised me and paid for everything for me except for the tuition I’d gotten scholarships for, had also somehow managed to amass a noteworthy estate.
It was pure insanity, but I guessed she’d been trying to get caught up on saving for her retirement over the last few years that I’d been working and studying on a scholarship. It killed me to know that she would never get to enjoy the benefits of having worked and saved so hard.
Unbeknownst to me, she’d also recently put her house, the home I’d grown up in, on the market. Apparently, she’d wanted to scale down and had signed the contracts with a buyer just a few days before her death.
The sale had gone through, adding a hefty amount to her savings. I hadn’t touched the money and my revulsion toward it extended to speaking to the lawyer. I didn’t want to discuss what my mother had left behind with anyone because it was hers. Not mine.