Surviving Love (21 page)

***
 

My aunt has made all her arrangements before she passed. I’m assuming when she found out she was sick, she took care of it all because there is very little I need to pay for. I dress in the only black dress I own, which is more suitable for a dance club than a funeral. I snatch a black cardigan from my closet and pull it over my shoulders. I apply a little eye shadow, liner and lip gloss then tie my hair up on top of my head. I look as good as I possibly can when my insides feel like their dying. The winter air bites when I step from my apartment and walk to my car. I fall into the driver seat and head toward the funeral home.
 

Drake has been with me every step of the way, helping me deal with the aftermath of my aunt’s death. He’s been attentive as we’ve spent the past few nights together in my apartment. He will come over late, after Mia is put to bed, and then leaves before she’ll wake up. When I’ve asked him about work, he told me they gave him the week off for the funeral and he doesn’t need to be back until Tuesday. I am grateful he’s here to help me, but in the back of my mind, I’m scared that once this is all over, so are we.
 

He’s made it clear on more than one occasion that he can’t give me more and I’ve never pushed, even though I know he’s capable of give me so much more. But how do I convey that to him? What is the right thing to say when it’s someone’s heart at stake?
 

I pull into the funeral home parking lot and walk in the building. My stomach is pained, making it harder to move inside the door. The Evans family is standing in the lobby area, but I cannot see Drake. Everyone is here but him.
 

“Darcie, where’s Drake?” I ask. She points to his Chevelle. I can see him sitting behind the wheel, the tension is on his face and he looks like he’s battling with the demons he’s had since Presley died.
 

I turn to the door and open it, faintly hearing Darcie say, “I wouldn’t,” but I choose to ignore her and walk to Drake.
 

I open the passenger side door and fall into the seat. He doesn’t look at me. He simply glares at the funeral home, killing it with his eyes, and his hands are gripped around the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are white.
 

I move as close to him as I can and put my hand on his forearm. His skin is hot and slick with sweat. “Drake,” I whisper. “Tell me what’s wrong?”
 

“Just go inside, Zoe, please.” The tone of his voice is low and deep, mirroring the tone he used when I first heard him speak.
 

Boldly, I say, “I can’t, Drake.”
 

When he turns and faces me, his eyes are pits of tar as they ignite on fire, blazing me with every second. “I said, GO!” he screams at me and then loses all control, punching the steer wheel and scaring away all the anxiety in me of going to my aunt’s funeral.
 

“NO!” I shout, struggling to find my voice. I won’t let him hide in the car. He needs to be able to move on. When people fall apart, they somehow manage to get back to their feet, and it’s his turn. I will help him. “I can’t do this without you.” My voice becomes soft and pleading.
 

Drake turns to me, finally looking into my eyes. His breathing is rapid when he starts taking deep breaths in and out, calming himself enough to function. Finally, I can see the anger start to
melt away. His hands release from the steering wheel and fall onto his lap, but they are still balled into hard fists.
 

I slide my hand to his and cup his raging fist in my hands. “Please…I need you.”
 

Drake nods his head up and down then exits the car. I meet him on the sidewalk and we stand face to face, both scared to walk into the funeral home, though we’re scared for two very different reasons.
 

He doesn’t know I’ve researched what happened to Presley and his brother, but I won’t let him suffer anymore. He needs to know that, no matter what, I won’t let him fall. We have to keep each other upright.
 

“Just hold my hand, okay? Please don’t let go of my hand and I won’t let go of yours,” I plead. He looks at me quizzically. Now is not the time to divulge to him that I know his secret. That can wait for another day. Right now, this day will be easier for both of us if I stay silent and we hold onto each other.
 

Drake
 

The entire drive to the funeral home I am slowly building myself up, and by the time I get there, I am far too angry to be around anyone. I can feel the looming pain as I flashed back to the last time I walked through those doors. I can see her lying in the black casket, her hands folded across her lap, holding the picture of our daughter. I can feel her cold body when I collapsed on her and when I kiss her for the very last time. The thoughts have been in my head from that day forward, slowly torturing me every time I’ve closed my eyes.
 

I’m debating on leaving. I have the keys in the ignition and the engine running when the other door pops open, Zoe getting into the passenger seat. I refuse to look at her. The familiar rage-filled feelings are right there on the brink of exploding out of my body, and I can’t stand the feeling. She needs to leave. She doesn’t need to see my fucked-up-ness.
 

I beg her to go inside, to leave me with my pain, but this woman is defiant and chooses not to listen. She wants to know more, but I don’t want her to. I don’t ever want to speak to her about why I can’t have more. She will never know. Her presence and my anxiety are too much to bear without adding that in the mix.
 

Then I explode. Red fades into my line of sight and I begin to punch the steering wheel, taking out all of my anger on my car, but she doesn’t leave. Zoe only sits there, scared yet brave. She knows what I’m capable of; she’s seen me lose it before and she’s still here. I don’t want her here. I want her just to go and leave me to drown in my misery. I’ve been doing it for so long that it’s all I know how to do.
 

I hear her words, pleading with me to get out of the car. I can see how terrified she is when my eyes connect with hers. I ignore the fact that she’s probably frightened because I just freaked out with her in the car. Then again, she refused to leave and I can’t say no. She needs me and I need to be there for her.
 

“Just hold my hand, okay? Please don’t let go of my hand and I won’t let go of yours.” Zoe tightly grips my hand and I get an unsuspecting feeling that she’s talking about something completely unrelated to her aunt’s funeral. I shake off the eerie feeling as we walk hand in hand
to the funeral home.
 

As we step through the door, I help Zoe out of her coat and hang it on the coat rack. Her back is exposed as the sweater she’s wearing to cover her arms falls off when I removed her coat. The curve of her spine is long and sensual, like her neck. Her milky white skin is flawless. I’ve touched her body so many times, but I’ve never actually taken the time to study it.
 

Zoe looks over her shoulder at me and gives me a faint, blushing smile as she slides her sweater up on her shoulders. The black dress is hugging her curves, and without the sweater, it looks like a dress a girl would wear for a night out, not a funeral. She looks beautiful nonetheless. Her long legs are covered in black, sheer nylons. Every part of her body looks flawless. I can’t take my eyes off her, and I really don’t want to. I would rather be here, lost in her body than face the reality of Mrs. Fields’s death.
 

When I walk deeper into the funeral home, I see Mrs. Fields’s casket at the front of the room and all those feelings come flooding back like a huge, giant wave. It crashes into my body and nearly knocks me off my feet. The casket looks the same as well as the flowers. The lighting in the room and the smell of the cinnamon air fresheners are all the same, taking me back to the last time I saw Presley.
 

I’m frozen. I can’t move into the room. I can’t walk up to the front and look inside that fucking box. I can’t move. I don’t want to move. I feel sick and suffocated and the air in my lungs is escaping too quickly out of my mouth. My muscles became as taut and ridged as they were moments ago when I was sitting in my car. I just can’t do this.
 

I squeeze Zoe’s hand and lean in to tell her, attempting to tell her I’m leaving. She has a look of great sadness and it tears at my heart because I’m making this about me and my stupid fears. What else am I supposed to do? This is a fear I cannot face—I don’t want to face—yet I’m being confronted with it.
 

Zoe pulls me to her side and leans in. She rests her head on my shoulder and just stands beside me. We remain stock still in the back of the room while everyone else is sitting and waiting for the service to start. Zoe doesn’t ask me questions, she just remains by my side and I remain by hers. We are both grieving for her aunt, but saying goodbye to her is not my problem. I’ve made my peace with her death the night she died.
 

It’s Presley and the fact I cannot make peace with anything when it involves her. She was everything to me. I don’t know where I should go in life without her.
 

The officiator starts the service while Zoe and I stay in the back, standing against the wall, listening. Every once in a while she will lift a tissue and dab tears off her cheek, and I will swallow the giant lump in my throat.
 

Shortly after the service starts, three woman walk through the door, disrupting everything as they stumble in. When Zoe’s body hardens at my side, I turn to look over at her, seeing she looks surprised, angry and scared. I know immediately these are the women who have been so cruel to her, banishing Zoe from their lives. Two of them are older, in their forties I’d guess, and the other one looks to be our age.
 

When they walk deeper into the room, all their eyes connect with Zoe’s. The tension is palpable.
 

Zoe
 

I don’t say anything to Drake when we get into the funeral home. Even though he’s never told me about his girlfriend’s murder, I know this is the source of all his anger and hesitation today. I want to help him get better, to have acceptance.
 

If I’ve learned one thing from my aunt, it’s to face your problems head on. She’s said it to me for as long as I can remember, but it hasn’t been until recently that the advice has finally sunk in. The only way to move forward in life is to accept your past, work through it and walk forward.
 

I know I have to stand up to my mother. I have to tell her how I really felt when she chose to believe Fred’s lie instead of me.
 

I could have told myself that all day until the side door opens and in walks my mother, Rebecca and Sophia. My heart rate skyrockets as it beats wildly in my chest. I’m forced now to deal with my past as I say goodbye to the one person from my family who has given a shit about me. Our eyes meet and they say nothing. They find a place to sit and listen to the man talk about my aunt.
 

***
 

Drake refuses to go to the cemetery. He never tells me why, but I soon realize Presley’s grave is right next to the plot my aunt shares with her deceased husband. It makes me wonder how many times he has come out here, or if he comes at all.
 

I walk back to my car once the cemetery service is over. The snow is numbing my feet by the time I get back into my car. I quickly fire it to life and crank on the heater. When I look back, Darcie and Delilah are standing by Presley’s grave. They appear to be crying with their men standing strongly behind them. Reggie and Jake have their girls wrapped tightly in their arms then Delilah lays a bundle of colorful flowers in front of her grave.
 

None of them talk about her when I’m around, but I would like to know more. I want to know about her and what has happened to her. I really do like these people and being around them. I want to understand what makes them click together as a family.
 

Watching how Reggie and Jake comfort Darcie and Delilah makes me yearn to have that with a man. I want someone who will be in my corner when the weight of the world gets to be too much. I want unconventional Thanksgiving dinners, wild nights at the bar, and I want so much to have a family again. I miss it. I miss my family, but I know we will never be what we once were.
 

What I want more than anything is to have all of that with Drake. I want to be that woman in his life, and I want to help him care for his daughter. I know I could never replace her mother; I just want to be the woman who she looks up to as a mother figure. I want to be a family.
 

Before I can stop it, the sobs break free from inside my chest. I fold myself forward and then lean into the cold steering wheel. I cry for the family I’ve lost and the family I’d love to have. Can I have all of that with Drake? Am I strong enough to be that for him?
 

A loud knock on the glass shakes me out of my internal rant, and when I roll down the window, Sophia is standing next to my car.
 

“We all need to talk to you.” Her face is turned up in a wicked smile. The same smile she dawned when she told my mother and hers about my past with men. The same smile she had when I was forced to leave my family home, and was left to figure out the world on my own.
 

“I will meet you at her apartment. Do you know how to get there?” I ask, masking my anger just enough to get the words out.
 

As Sophia nods and leaves, I roll up the window and pull out my cell phone. I want to text him. I could use him right now. I need that rock to lean into, but he’s already been through enough today. There’s no sense in piling my troubles on his already weighted down shoulders. I tuck the phone back in my purse and dread the entire conversation I’m about to have.