Unfolding my short but sweet eulogy, I clear my throat. I’ve titled it HOMAGE TO AN ASSHOLE—though I’ll leave that part out. The title isn’t original and it’s hardly inventive, but it was the best I could do, and it made me feel better about the task at hand.
“Thank you all for coming today. My father would’ve been exceedingly pleased with such a big turnout. In fact, I’m sure wherever he is right now, he’s making damn sure everyone knows how big of a deal his funeral is,” I say into the mic as I get a few soft chuckles. “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Calder Welles the Second, or C.J., as my father oftentimes referred to me as. His wife, Lisette, asked if I’d write a little something to read to you today. Calder Welles Senior was born July 6th, 1950 to Ray and Essie Welles in Bedford, New York. But if he were here, running the show today, I think he’d be telling me to skip to the good stuff. He always liked to entertain, and the man could command a crowd like no one else. Anyway, I think it would be fair to describe my father as a larger than life kind of man. He didn’t just live life to the fullest, he busted through the seams. Sometimes those seams would tear neatly, other times he’d make a mess, but it didn’t matter. He was a man who always knew what he wanted and was never afraid to go for it—at any cost. Someone very dear to me recently told me that in life, we have to choose our regrets. My father was an astute decisionmaker. He never waffled, always knew exactly if he was going to zig or zag. I just know wherever he is, he’s at peace with the regrets he chose in this lifetime, be they good or bad. And should we all be so lucky to have that very same peace when our time here is done. Thank you.”
I leave the auditorium stage and exit to the left, tucking my half-folded, half-crumpled speech in my interior suitcoat pocket. There are five more speakers after this. Five. Lisette clearly has never planned a funeral before.
Heading outside to get some fresh air, I check my phone and enjoy a few moments of solitude.
Two days ago, I practically knocked down Aerin’s door and all but professed my undying love and devotion to her—like an idiot—only to be shot down. I saw the tears in her eyes. I know she didn’t mean what she said. I know she was coming from a place of fear. All I can do is give her space.
And hell, maybe I need space too.
“You look like you could use one of these.” A raspy voice comes out of nowhere, followed by the shuffle of shoes against blacktop. A long, skinny arm extends a Virginia Slim in my direction.
“Aunt Barb,” I say to my mother’s sister. I haven’t seen her in years. Almost a decade, I think. I offer a silent “no thanks” in the form of a quick wave.
“I hate funerals,” she says, taking the cigarette back and dragging in a lungful of nicotine. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s black as tar on the inside from her decades-long pack-a-day habit. “So depressing. I don’t know how you can call it a celebration of life when everyone’s crying and wearing black.”
I shrug. “It is what it is.”
Aunt Barb finishes her cigarette before tossing it onto the pavement and grinding it with her heel. “I should probably head in. They’ve got that handsome news anchor from Dateline about to give a speech. Can’t miss it.”
She heads in, but I stay a little while longer for reasons I can’t quite be sure of. After a while, I return inside and find a place along the wall in the back. The audience is laughing at something the man at the podium said when a finger taps my right shoulder.
Aerin.
My stomach drops.
I wasn’t expecting to see her today. Given our last interaction, I’d have figured she’d be on a plane back to LA by now.
She wriggles in beside me, rising on her toes to whisper into my ear.
“How are you holding up?” she asks.
“Fine.”
“You sure?” she mouths.
Sliding my hand in hers, I lead her outside the double doors.
“Are you really doing this?” I ask. “Are you really going to stand there and act like you didn’t just obliterate my goddamn heart two days ago?”
“I’m allowed to ask how you’re doing, Calder.”
“Yes, but you’re not allowed to pretend like you give a damn,” I say.
“I don’t want to do this. Not here. Not like this.” Her gaze darts toward the double door before returning to mine. A second later, she rises on her toes, rests her hand on my shoulder, and deposits a single kiss on my cheek. “Goodbye, Calder.”