“His last request was that you be the one to clean out his trailer. He wants you to spend time there, make it your own.” I make a face, squishing my lips up toward my nose.
“Why would I want to do that?”
“I don’t know but it is his last request.”
“Is there anything else?”
“Yes, his remains. He was cremated and wishes you to spread his ashes, but I am afraid he didn’t say where. His Will said you’d know if you do as he wished.”
“Uh huh. So, my nonexistent father wants me to oblige him in his death when he couldn’t be bothered to see me, not ever. He couldn’t even pick up a phone for me. Great.” I snatch the envelope from his desk and thank Mr. Finnigan for his time.
I don’t know what to think but right now I shove my father to the back of my mind and accept the urn containing his ashes. What am I to do with his ashes? Do I sit him on a shelf and pretend it’s a vase?
I don’t know.
When I get to my car I let out a shaky breath and tears burn in my eyes. I don’t know why I’m sad. How can I mourn a man I never knew? Anger ripples through me at his demands. Why me? Didn’t he have anyone else? Another family? A wife?
r /> As I sit in my car, I think about calling my mom to tell her the news, not that she would care. We haven’t spoken since I moved out at the age of sixteen.
It sounds pathetic that I don’t have anyone to tell other than Justin.
My mother warned me not to make him my world. Said it would bite me on the ass someday when I packed up my things and moved in with him. I don’t have it in me to hear I told you so. Not from her. Not today. My relationship is failing, and my father is dead. I don’t want to be an adult right now. I want to push all the bullshit aside and feel Justin’s arms around me. I need for us to be okay even if it is a lie. Just for tonight I need him to pretend he still loves me.
Wiping my eyes, I pull it together and put my father’s ashes in the passenger seat, strapping the urn that holds his remains in like a damn passenger.
I will deal with him later.
After picking up the takeout I head home. The whole drive to our apartment complex I feel as if there is a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Maybe it’s the scent of food filling the car.
I crack my window.
I need air.
I don’t feel so hot.
It’s probably the fact that my father’s ashes are riding shotgun.
When I pull into the parking lot I argue with myself about what to do with the urn.
I stare at the silver encasing. “What am I to do with you, huh?” I unhook the seat belt and place it in my shoulder bag. Then I grab Justin’s pasta from the backseat.
As I am climbing the stairs to the second-floor landing, I can hear laughter and murmurs. I hope to be enjoying my evening much like the couple making the noise. I don’t want to think about the dead man I am carrying around in my tote bag.
When I get to the landing for my floor, I don’t know what hits the ground first—my jaw or the takeout.
My breath catches in my throat and my voice shrinks into an inaudible squeal.
Justin is lip locked with some skank from his office but hearing the food splattering on my shoes and my squeak they turn to face me. Shock colors his face. His dark brown eyes look like two big chocolate cookies as he stares at me.
“Hattie, I thought you were working?”
“Surprise…,” I mumble, torn between running or confronting him. Bile lurches in the pit of my stomach, fighting its way up my throat.
“We should talk,” he states plainly.
“I can’t do this right now, Justin. Not today,” I croak.
“Hattie, we both know we’ve been over for a long time now.”