- DEX -
The next week goes by in a state that feels very much like the place between dreams and reality. It’s hazy. It’s a subdued version of reality. And Raya is my anchor.
Father’s will already had everything planned and laid out for his own funeral and visitation. The arrangents were already made and paid for in advance, so when the day finally cos, I’m left with the tasks of getting dressed, stealing myself for the flood of people who are going to be present, and showing up. I’m finding that even those responsibilities are considerably difficult.
While Raya gets ready in the bathroom, I stare at the black suit that’s laid out on the bed. Moira Rose has been given free reign on the house since the day I ca back from New York, and she isn’t in the bedroom at the mont. Otherwise, I would probably have done what I intended and put the suit on right away after taking it out of the garnt bag. Instead, the clothes that symbolize mourning and my father’s passing and all the formal bullshit that I’ve avoided most of my life rest in a state of suspension.
I’m going to wear it. Of course I’m going to wear it. The occasion calls for it. It’s my father’s funeral. But there’s sothing about the act of actually putting the suit on that indicates acceptance of the fact that he’s passed, and that has pausing. That has ntally frozen on the events of that morning when I listened to him tell that he saw my mother arranging a bouquet of flowers in his room.
Father was telling he was leaving, and I didn’t listen. I heard him, but I didn’t really listen to what he was trying to say. And now I wish I would have. That morning was a chance to discuss things with him that I will never have the chance to now. The opportunity was lost. He told he was proud of —well he told Lawson and I he was proud of us, which is still sothing that grates with irritation in the back of my mind—but there was so much more to say.
The impulse is still there—to run. A very large part of doesn’t want to do this today. There will be so many faces that I have to see, so many people I have to speak to, so many stories of the man that was known and respected by many. But at least Lawson won’t be among them.
Raya steps out of the bathroom and steals my attention. Imdiately, all of the thoughts about today that want to sink are cut free and drop to the bottom of whatever ocean accepts them, and only her light filters through, calling to the surface.
A heavy sigh escapes my lips, and I realize for the first ti how shallow I must have been breathing—only letting the smallest amount of air possible inflate my lungs. I was allowing myself to breathe, but only just.
The angel that gives breath and pulls from the murky, threatening depths of my mind is wearing a simple knee-length black dress that follows the curves of her body. It’s sohow perfectly modest and sexy at the sa ti. I want to bend her over the dresser and hike it up so I can feel those fleshy dips and curves, sink myself deep into the comfort of her shelter. Claim her all over again. Make her scream my na and tell she’s mine.
"Dex?" Raya calls softly, and I realize I’ve been lost in the fantasy for too long and she’s wondering if I’m okay.
"You look beautiful," I say, clearing my throat and turning my attention back to the suit on the bed.
She walks to my side, her warmth and comfort coming with her. How would I do today without her? I’m not sure I could. I may have run. The business would be fine without for awhile if I went back to losing myself in new places and landscapes and unfamiliar faces.
Anywhere but here. I would want to be anywhere but here. But now Raya has beco my ho.
"Want to leave?" I ask, the thought arriving suddenly before I have a chance to examine it more closely. "Just get out of here? We can fly anywhere in the world you want to go so long as it’s not here."
It’s a joke. I’m not serious, but part of wishes I was.
Raya smiles. "Sure. But we need to do today first."
Her tone is one that almost injures , because it’s so maternal. She’s entertaining the whims of a child but offering the unwavering conditions of a parent who has the wise and mature reasoning skills.
"Get dressed," she adds and then lifts to her tiptoes and kisses on the cheek. "I’ll wait for you downstairs."
- RAYA -
The ache for Dex and the pain I know he is feeling hits as soon as I walk out of his bedroom and leave him to change. I try to keep it from showing on my face when he’s around, because then whatever he’s dealing with internally shifts to his desire to want to comfort and reassure . And I’m not the one in need of comfort and reassurance.
Dex deserves a break from worrying about all the ti. When I realized that he’s always so intently reading the emotions revealed in my expressions, I started to control them. Now I only let the pain and worry for him surface when he’s not looking.
He hasn’t been eating. I went through a long period of mourning after Nana died, so I understand how ridiculous and unnecessary sothing like eating and maintaining your own health can seem. But I’ve never had to watch soone who I love mourn. I’ve never been on the outside looking in. I’ve never been so desperate to make sure that they take care of themselves.
Every night Dex makes dinner in the kitchen, usually lost in his thoughts as he works over the pots and pans and the flas that heat them. The most delicious, savory scents fill the room while ingredients co together like magic at his hands. But then he plates the als and just watches eat, barely touching his own food.
Last night he let feed him. I twirled the pasta around my fork and offered him bite after bite, appreciating the way he trusted to do it. If the way he was looking at was any indication, he only ate as much as he did because there was a sensual elent to my offering the food and him accepting.
And I rewarded him for it. I let him carry to his room and make love to like the world was ending—like there would never be another chance. There’s no obvious downside that I can see from using mind-blowing, earth-shattering sex as a reward to get Dex to eat.
Seeing Dex stare absently at his suit, though, has the ache for him clawing at my insides. I wish there was sothing more that I could do other than ensure that he eats and sleeps and gets out of bed in the morning. But there’s no fast way to this kind of healing.
At least Dex has stopped having nightmares. When he first returned from New York, there were several nights he woke up by pulling so tightly against him, wrapped in his arms as he tried to disguise the tears that would silently fall into my hair.
He never told what the nightmares were, but he always seed terrified that I would disappear or end up hurt. His hands would search , acting as if they were only caressing but with the clear intent to reassure himself that I was free of injury.
"I’m okay. It was just a nightmare," I would whisper softly, letting my fingers skim the surface of his skin and trace reassuring patterns on that boundary separating us until he would eventually fall back into sleep.
My phone pings about a text notification, and I glance down at it. Rory is coming to the funeral today. So is dad. He’s not bringing Patty, because we still haven’t had a chance to et her yet. I’m wondering if the woman is even real at this point. But I understand to an extent why we haven’t t her. It’s been one unfortunate event after another, and no one wants to et under those circumstances. I certainly don’t want to have to worry about pretending to be happy today for her sake.
’Headed your way,’ Rory’s text reads.
’Okay.’
Since Westin officially moved out last weekend, Rory has been dealing with her own kind of grief. I wish I was there for her more than I am. I would stay with her or invite her to stay here, but obviously it’s not a good ti.
Rory is going to follow us to the funeral today in her car. She preferred to do that over going with dad. Obviously she is still having so issues with him about how he behaved or didn’t behave after my accident, but I haven’t specifically asked her about it. I just don’t have the energy, because I know it will lead to an argunt.
Dex cos down the stairs a short ti later, and I swear my heart stalls at the sight of how handso he is. No one should look that good going to a funeral, but with him, it’s effortless. God, I hope I don’t have to deal with any ex-girlfriends today.
"Ready?" He asks with a small, crooked smile—one that is ant to reassure , I know. Otherwise he wouldn’t be smiling.
"Ready."
"Can I ask you for sothing today?" He walks to my side and grabs my hand, tangling our fingers together.
"Of course. Anything."
"Can we find a place alone to hide from everyone?" He lifts my hand to his lips. "I want to hike up that dress and find heaven. Everyone thinks it’s sowhere you go after you die, but I know the truth."
My eyes widen, and he chuckles.
"Sure," I say, finding my voice. "Sure. We can do that."
"Alright. I have a code word for you then," he says, eyes sparkling with mischief amidst the growing smolder.
I want to question whether he should be thinking of this right now, but if it’s going to help him get through today, I guess that’s a good thing.
"A code word?"
He nods. "When I say it, that ans you need to follow ."
At so point as he’s been talking, my cheeks have grown unbearably warm.
"Okay, what’s the code word?"
He bites one of my knuckles playfully, and the sharp pain shoots straight through my center.
"Avocado."
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