My So Called Life (Love Not Included Series Book 3) (8 page)

I
’M THREE PANCAKES IN
and I think if I take one more bite I’m going to vomit them right back onto my plate. Every time I take a bite, Pippa squeals with delight and then takes one herself. She doesn’t even look fazed by the amount of food she has consumed. I, on the other hand, feel the syrup creeping up my throat every time I open my mouth.

“I’m not sure how much more I can eat, Pippa,” I say in defeat.

“But you said we can finish it together,” she whines.

“I know but my stomach is full. I’m not sure I can eat anymore.”

“Okay,” she says simply, completely over it. If I knew it would be that easy, I would have waved my white flag after my third bite.

I’m totally at a loss on what to do with Pippa. Does she know her parents are dead? Was she told what happened? Is death something a four-year-old can understand? I’m cursing Ian for leaving me here with absolutely no instructions for this girl.

I decide to get her ready for the funeral home visit.

“Pippa?” I say. She’s stuffing already-cooked pancakes back into the frozen box.

“Yep?” She doesn’t even glance my way. Intent on her task, she drags her stool over to the refrigerator and places the box back in the freezer. How many times have those poor pancakes been cooked and refrozen?

I feel more nauseous than ever, but I’m not sure if it’s the food or what’s next.

“So, today,” I begin, “we have to dress up, okay?” I finish the last of that sentence to no one because Pippa cuts me off, screaming, “Dress up, yay!” and runs out of the kitchen.

“Well that was easy,” I mumble.

While I hear her making a ruckus in her room, I head back out to my car to grab my bags. When I make it back to Pippa’s room, I stare into complete devastation. “What in the world have you done to your room?” I ask in shock. There are clothes everywhere.

“Dress up, Kissy!”

I look at her half-dressed in what looks like a sparkly Cinderella play costume. With her little face reminding me of myself, I get this nostalgic tightness in my chest. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Of course, lack of sleep and complete confusion about what the hell I am doing here settles it. Tears stream from my eyes. I choke back a sob.

“Uh oh. Am I in twouble?” I hear her little voice ask.

“Oh no, honey. I’m sorry. I just . . .” I sniffle. I have absolutely no idea what to say to her.

“Please don’t cry, Kissy. I have a dress for you, too.”

Her statement brings me back to solid ground and I summon a wobbly smile. How can someone so innocent have something so terrible happen to her? Today will be one of the saddest days of her life and she is completely oblivious.

“Thank you, Pippa. I would love it if you can help me get dressed up.”

That, no shocker, earns me a signature squeal.

Two hours later, over the two out-of-tune voices belting out the soundtrack to
The Little Mermaid,
I hear the front door open and close. I faintly hear my name being called, but I’m in no position to answer. And that’s because I am singing ‘Part of Your World’ like it’s my job. I mean, let’s be honest. You are never too old to sing about wanting
more
thingamabobs.

I hear the footsteps nearing Pippa’s bedroom and just as I get to my favorite part, a deep sound cuts my chorus short and I look at the doorway.

“Looks like you two have been busy,” Ian says, choking off a laugh that tickles my insides.

“Doesn’t she look like a pwincess, Eeeen?” Pippa asks as she finishes putting lipstick mostly around my lips.

“Why, yes she does, sweetie. You have done an amazing job on her princess makeup.” He looks at me with that twinkle in his eye. Of course I stick my tongue out at him.

As he surveys the mess, I survey him. He is handsomely dressed in a black suit and a tie is neatly tucked inside his jacket pocket. His thick brown hair is slicked back above his perfectly structured face. I met Ian when he was almost seventeen. He’s as swoon-worthy now as he was to my fifteen-year-old self. Even more so.

“Kissy said we had to dress up today, so I helped her.” Pippa smiles at Ian with her bright little eyes gleaming with happiness.

“Yes, baby, but we should get ready to go to the funeral home,” he says. I watch him, knowing what he has to say next. “You know what we talked about yesterday, sweetie?” And Pippa nods. “Well, we need to say goodbye to your mommy and daddy. All their friends will be at the funeral home to help. So you need to dress in something very pretty.”

“But I don’t want to say bye to Mommy and Daddy. I don’t want to go to the funeral house. I want them to come home here,” she whines.

“I know, honey bear, but Mommy and Daddy are in heaven now. We have to show them that we love them very much, so we have to say goodbye.”

“Are they going to be waiting at the funeral house for me?”

My heart breaks at her question. How does one answer that? How does one make a four-year-old understand that her parents are never coming back? I see Ian struggle with what to say next. What can he say?

I kneel in front of Pippa the best I can without tearing the toddler dress I have my arms jammed into. I take her crown and straighten it on top of her little head. “Hey . . .” I speak, trying to smooth her crinkled face. “I know this is a little hard for you right now to understand, but we’re all going to do it together, okay?”

“You and Eeen too?” she asks me.

“Yes, honey. You, me and Ian.”

“Will you get to say bye to Mommy too?”

“Yes, baby, I will,” I choke out, trying to stay strong for this little girl.

She smiles at me in return. “Mommy is going to be vewy happy to talk to you, Kissy.” Her comment floors me. For someone so innocent she sure knows how to land a punch. “Mommy always said you were vewy busy and couldn’t talk. I can’t wait to see her and tell her you can talk now!”

“Oh, Pippa.” I’m unable to fight the sadness this time. I feel the tears starting to roll down my face again. Ian’s warm hand rests on my shoulder as he kneels next to me.

“Hey, honey, why don’t we pick out a pretty dress to wear,” he says.

“Okay. But can I keep on my crown? Mommy always lets me wear my crown.”

“Yes, baby. You can keep the crown.”

“I didn’t mean to make Kissy cry again,” she says to Ian, who looks over at me, concerned. I just shake my head.

“Okay, baby, why don’t you look for a dress? I’m going to help Chrissy get ready, too.”

“Okay.” And with that, she is off into her closet.

Ian helps me stand and leads me out into the hall. I rest my back against the wall and weep softly into my hands. I’m a horrible person. I totally failed my sister, and now it’s too late to say I’m sorry.

I feel Ian’s warmth as he wraps his fingers around mine and pulls my face free of my crying shield. Through my clouded eyes, I watch him take me in. That look again.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I sniffle, breaking the silence.

“Like what?” Of course, he asks knowing darn well what I’m talking about.

“Like you want to eat me for lunch,” I reply, trying to break the somber mood.

“Chrissy, I haven’t seen you in years. It’s hard not to take you in.”

“What do you mean, take me in? What’s wrong with me?” I ask, trying to wipe at the makeup I’m sure is leaking down my cheeks. I probably look like a member of KISS caught in rainstorm about now.

He steps closer and gently wipes off the lingering tears trailing down my cheek. “That’s always been the problem with you, Chrissy. There’s never been anything wrong with you. You’ve always been perfect.”

R
ETURNING HOME AND BEING
this close to Ian again has my emotions in turmoil. He was my first kiss. My first love. He was my everything at a time when I had nothing and every time I look at him a new memory flashes through my needy brain. Or my vagina region. I’m here to mourn the loss of my sister and between crying like a buffoon, I’m debating ripping Ian’s clothes off and letting him relive our high school days. It also reminds me of the passion missing from what I have or should I say
had
with Brent. The improper desires raging inside me for Ian guilt me for not making the official call to Brent. In my heart and mind I know it’s over, but it seems you have to spell it out to make it a done deal. Remembering this, I put a mental checklist to call Brent first chance and formally cut ties.

Right after I made a fool out of myself and he cut deeper into my wounded soul with his crazy but romantic words, I quickly excused myself to get ready. I attempted two doors, one being the closet, before he stepped in and assisted me to the bathroom where I could shower. Afterwards, Pippa and I gathered some photos and coloring pages she wanted to bring, while Ian fitted the car seat into his truck.

It was officially time to say goodbye.

Without putting too much thought into it, I allow Ian to comfort me while I sign all the necessary documents at the funeral home. The reality of what is happening hits me harder than I thought it would and Ian holds me as I break down before the visitation.

In the midst of all my grieving, I forgot that he also lost a family member in all this. His brave posture makes me lean into him more, melting into his strong embrace. I know it’s selfish. I shouldn’t lead him on. But just for a little bit, I’m going to pretend there is no other life waiting outside this little bubble.

Before the visitation began, Ian brought me over to meet John’s grandparents. Henry was not exaggerating at the condition of John’s grandpa. He insisted that I was his high school girlfriend, Grace, and attempted on more than one occasion to drag me away. Thankfully, Ian was close to me every time. John’s grandmother, Georgia, was
exactly
as she was described. And that was feisty. When I politely tried to shake her hand, she refused. And by refused I mean she smacked my hand straight outta her line of vision. As everyone looked perplexed at the hostility, I just assumed it was another case of the old crazies. But the muttering under her breath about an executioner led me to believe she wasn’t my biggest fan.

“Kissy! Kissy!” I hear Pippa’s perky voice calling for my attention. I turn to see her holding up what looks like a stack of chocolate chip cookies. “Look, Kissy! Cookies!”

“Wow, sweetie, that’s great. Be careful though. You don’t want to eat too many and get a belly ache.” I take a tissue from my bag and try to clean off the excess chocolate around her mouth. Judging from the cookie smudges she’s sporting, she may already have a dozen cookies in her little belly.

“But gwamma says I can have as many as I want,” she argues.

I hate to disagree with that old hag, but I’ve been in Pippa’s shoes. While eating a dozen cookies sounds good in the heat of the sugar rush, the stomach and possible bathroom repercussions definitely aren’t worth it.

Just as I am about to suggest we put the rest down, I hear the snarling of my new best friend from beside me.

“Now, lookie here, you slaughterer!” she barks, waving her cane dangerously in my direction. “You don’t come in here thinking you can tell everyone what to do.” She gets too close for comfort, and I’m pretty sure she’s going to poke me in the eye or whack me straight across the head. “Telling my grandbaby what she can and can’t have. You are no one to this family!”

Her raised voice is beginning to draw stares from the other mourners. I hear whispering.

Ian comes up next to me, trying to shield me from her cane along with her nasty words. “Georgia, how are you doing today?”

I’m reminded that she’s just lost her grandson. “I wasn’t trying to interfere,” I explain to her patiently. “I was just suggesting to Pippa not to eat so many cookies.”

“Ha! Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. You’ve done nothing but destroy everything. You stay out of our business, you hear me!” She takes another swing at me with her cane. And another. And another . . .

I am not proud of what I do next, but by all that’s holy, this crazy lady needs to put her goddamn cane down. In the midst of swing number twenty-seven, my reflexes kick in and I catch the cane mid-swipe. Without thinking better of it, I grab and pull.

In my head the scenario ended with her simply letting go. In reality, she of course goes with her cane. And instead of me relieving her of her weapon, she comes at me, along with the cane.