Chapter Nine

Lily climbs onto the booth bench beside me, sitting up straight like a little lady while her eyes dart around the restaurant. At seven, she's usually past the coloring book stage or needing any sort of distraction. But I know this conversation might get heavy, so I hand her my phone and plug in my earbuds.

"Here, babe," I say. "Our food will take a while. Why don't you watch a cartoon?" I suggest, scrolling through the kids' section of Netflix.

Lily points. "That one!"

I grimace. "Uh—maybe not that one," I chuckle.

It just hit me that "An Inconvenient Truth" shouldn't be in the kids' section, and I also realized that I didn't actually scroll to the kids' section at all. The second offering, however, clears things up nicely.

"How about Paddington?" I offer. "It's about a cute bear, munchkin."

I'm not exactly sure what it's about, but it seems safe enough just judging by the animated cover banner. Lily settles back against the booth, engrossed in the starting credits of the movie. I turn to Mel, who's lost in her phone yet again.

"Well," she says, shifting her gaze to me. "It seems all of Hamilton and Boone County are under a tornado watch."

Rolling my eyes, I can take in the relief that it's not me contending with storms this time around. "That's the one thing that I don't miss about Indiana," I affirm. "Tornado season is a whole other level of stress."

Mel nods. "Hope Mom and the dogs are okay," she says, sounding worried.

My wrist flails. "Oh, I'm sure she's holed up in the basement with the Yorkies running circles around the couch while catching up on her DVR backlog," I reply, pressing my palms against my tired eyes. "I'm so exhausted, I could sleep for an entire epoch."

My sister reaches across the table for my wrist, a silent offering of comfort. "So—" she begins much softer. "Now that Lily's occupied, should we talk about the funeral arrangements?"

Another grimace. "Honestly, I have no idea where to start," I admit, running a hand through my hair. "There's just so much to do, and I have to be in New York tomorrow."

Mel squeezes my hand. "Just leave it to me, Boo," she suggests. "I can handle it."

While a childhood relic, the nickname offers some solace in the deep, lonely void right now. I haven't heard her call me that in years. Clearing my throat, I set my soda down on my salted coaster. Yes, salt is the key to a sticky-less coaster.

"Well, one doctor at Mount Sinai said that since Brogan was Jewish, we need to bury him within two days if we want an Orthodox funeral."

Mel's eyes widen with intensity. "Shit, that's quick."

I shrug. "It's their tradition, I guess," I say, taking another sip of Pepsi. "But I wasn't exactly thinking about funeral arrangements right after—you know?" Another slosh of sugary-sweet bliss rushes down my pipes. "And it would take over forty-eight hours for his family to fly in from Paris, anyway."

"That's assuming you want them involved in the funeral at all," Mel adds, her tone gentle but pointed.

She's absolutely goddamn right. If given the opportunity, I wouldn't let them within a five-mile radius of my house. However, a parent should never have to bury their child. This is a concept that tugs at my heart, now that I'm contending with the dangers and comforts that I'm now obligated to offer Lily perpetually.

"Exactly," I say. "But it's their son and I can't deny them the right to say goodbye."

Mel shrugs. "True."

Resting my chin in my hands, I allow the sincerity of this decision to press down on my soul for just a moment longer. A few minutes pass with awkward silence, intermingled with a symphony of glasses clinking around the restaurant and finger tapping on Melanie's phone screen.

I clear my throat again. "But that doesn't mean I have to bury him, you know?" I suggest. "I knew I would not follow their traditions, so I had them refrigerate his body until I could decide."

Another pause follows my statement. Burying my lover. The thought of seeing a modest casket with his lifeless corpse inside and nothing else to comfort the shell of his soul's former body seems too hard to witness. A cough falls from Lily's mouth, interrupting my silent contemplation.

"Here, babe," I offer, tapping the table with my fingertips. "Take another drink of your apple juice."

Meanwhile, my contemplation turns into the second half of our conversation. "You know Brogan," I offer, turning my palm. "Even if his parents would've allowed some fancy casket, he would've liked the best, I couldn't stand watching them—I couldn't possibly let Lily watch them lower her father six feet into the ground," I conclude for another drink of Pepsi, slamming it back down onto the table. "It's too much—shouldn't it be my fucking decision, anyway?"

Mel reaches out to hush me. "Quiet down, Max," she hisses. "You don't want Lily hearing that kind of language."

Annoyed, I roll my eyes to the side. "She's probably heard worse. Besides, she's too enamored by her movie to care."

Melanie takes my hand in hers. "If you want my opinion?—"

I nod. "I do, of course I do," I admit, eager for her guidance, because I don't have any fucking clue what I want to do with Brogan's body.

She smacks her lips together, assumingly from the tartness of her Arnold Palmer. "I think there should be some compromise," she affirms, setting the glass down. "A burial seems necessary, given their customs. But you don't have to host Shiva at your house."

My stomach churns again at the thought of Mother Baxter taking it upon herself to reorganize my fucking kitchen because the spoons aren't on the right side of the drawer, or because Brogan and I keep the toilet paper under our bathroom sinks instead of a storage closet. Thinking about his hoity-toity parents simply makes my blood boil. They never accepted me, they never stopped criticizing our relationship, either. But I know Brogan loved them, and I must respect that.

Melanie continues. "Maybe do Shiva at somebody else's home?"

I nod. "Yeah, you're right—that's the expectation," I agree to a point. "But I remember Brogan mentioning someone who split Shiva between two homes—regardless—if we do Shiva—I'm comfortable enough hosting it with you here with us."

She nods in kind. "And Lily has her safe places to go when she needs to decompress."

Our food interrupts my thoughts. Lily's head poises in excitement—or desperate hunger for I've neglected to feed her all goddamn day. Meanwhile, I let out another deep sigh and rub my forehead with frustration.

"You know what?" I blurt.

Melanie shrugs. "I have a feeling you're gonna tell me, anyway."

My fist clashes against the table with an air of determination on my visage. "The traditional timing for Shiva has passed, anyway. So, cremation it is—I just need to find a pretty urn for his ashes."