The majority of people passionately dread funerals.

Some of them because they can't wrap their heads around the fact that the person lying in the casket will never be anything more than an ever-fading memory, getting fainter and fainter by each year that passes.

Some of them because they feel guilty. For things they've done, or things they've never done and now they ever won't get to. The words they've said, or the words they haven't because they won't have the chance to say them again.

There's usually a lot of crying involved but strangely, I don't shed a single tear. To be honest, I'm not even paying that much attention to anything besides the freshly dug-up dirt lining the gaping hole in the ground where the casket is about to be placed. Not the people. Not the sounds. Not the casket itself.

I don't even get why my grandparents insisted on burying her here. She should be buried in Michigan. Where she was born. With my father. She was a whole person back then. Her LA-self never raised above the sear of a helpless addict.

The thought only makes the anger inside me grow stronger and I can't help but think how anger is the only emotion I've been able to feel fully lately. It won't subdue, and day after day, it only seems to get more and more prominent, making it damn near impossible to focus on anything else.

Looking up, I flick my eyes toward the crowd engulfing me. Both of my mom's parents, my grandma Olivia and grandpa Elijah, are here – apparently having flown in from Michigan over the weekend, standing somewhat opposite me on the other side of the line of people, half of the faces of which I'm not interested in placing and the other half basically a bunch of strangers.

Even from here, I can see Grandma's body shaking with silent sobs while she keeps a handkerchief pressed to her mouth with one hand, while the other is tightly clutching Grandpa's hand. And in that moment, I couldn't be more glad that I'm not doing this whole thing sober. I know I wouldn't be able to bear looking at them grieving after they just lost their only daughter any other way.

Outliving your child has to be traumatic.

Just like outliving anyone who you weren't ready to say goodbye to just yet is.

I feel Timothy shuffle a little beside me, his arm brushing against mine as he gently redirects it to rest on the small of my back. He doesn't say anything but I know it's his way of letting me know he's here, ready to be a shoulder to cry on if I need to.

I continue with searching the crowd with my eyes, looking for that one specific person. Brad. But that fucker is nowhere to be found. What a fucking surprise. Still, I'm a little taken aback. I expected he'd show up to pay his respects, at least, for using her ass and everything that came along with it, milking us dry, for nearly two years.

But I spot Sarah and Bishop instead, his face impassive and stony, while she looks like the definition of a puffy-eyed wreck. I look away before either of them catches me staring, although that might not be the best idea because my eyes end up on Collin's face.

Another wave of anger surges through me, making me clench my fists inside the pockets of my jacket even tighter as I whisper to Timothy. "What's he doing here?"

He follows my line of sight, staying silent as he takes Collin and Jade in. That's the other thing. I don't get why she's here either. I know she doesn't like me and after what went down at Timothy's house two days ago, seeing them both here, together, feels like a punch to the gut.

"I don't know." Timothy mutters under his breath, "He probably came to pay his respects."

"I don't need him to be paying any respects." I contradict, not really caring how stupidly petty I might sound.

"Come on, Aspen." Tim says, shaking me a little. "You don't mean that."

I do. I want to say. I so fucking do.

But the words never make it past my lips and the only thing I'm able to do is stare at Collin, who's mirroring me to the dot – my stance, my stare, even the fucking hands tucked inside his own jacket pockets – which somehow only adds to the anger fueling my body, for several seconds, until his gaze turns too painful and I look away.

I don't dare to lift my eyes off the ground for the rest of the burial service.

***

The 'I'm sorry for your loss'-es don't stop after the service is over and at this point, it's starting to feel like they never might. I just wish everyone took their 'sorry' and shoved it up their ass because I don't want their pity, and it's not like it changes anything about the situation. It only reminds me of the very thing I'm trying so desperately to forget.

Tim nudges me back to attention once Cassidy and Rose come up to me, Cassidy keeping her safe distance while Rose hugs me tightly to her tiny body, squeezing me so hard I start to think she's the one affected by this instead of me, as she whispers into my ear. "I'm so sorry, Aspen. I'm . . . I'm here for you, okay? If you need anything. I just wanted you to know that."

And it's like I'm watching myself from somewhere above my actual body, seeing myself barely nod against the side of her head, muttering a strained, "Okay," because that's the only word that I'm capable of pushing out.

Her touch doesn't linger for long but she squeezes me once again before pulling away and pressing her lips together, searching my face. I'm not sure what she's trying to find there – maybe, she's just trying to understand why I haven't shed a single tear during this entire dreadful thing – but a sliver of panic starts to creep in as her big chocolate eyes search mine, and I pray she can't see how high I currently am, because I don't need her judgment. I'm already managing judging myself well enough but at the same time, I can't really find it in me to care enough to change something about it.

It's a strange feeling, being so at odds with myself. But somehow, it helps with the usual feeling of feeling like it's me against the whole world. In this state, failure doesn't seem so terrible. I've already failed myself, so maybe, even if she saw beneath the surface – really saw and understood what's going on with me – failing her with the choices I've made for myself wouldn't even matter.

She doesn't say anything for a while, though her eyes keep flicking suspiciously between me and Timothy. But when she opens her mouth to finally speak, and I'm thinking she's definitely going to call me out on my shit because there's no way she hasn't put two and two together, Grandma's voice cuts her off. "Sweetheart," she nearly whooshes out as she makes her way over – Grandpa, Sarah and Bishop following right behind her. "You alright?"

The question is so fucked-up that in any other situation, under any other circumstances, I'd have laughed because honestly? We're at a funeral. And she looks anything but alright herself.

But I'm numb to everything around me, emotionally and mentally unavailable, thank God, so I manage to give her a weak nod. "Yeah. I'm good."

Then it's Grandpa's turn to speak. "We were thinking about going somewhere nice. To eat. Paula would've liked that."

And it's not the sound of her name that causes my stomach to churn. Or the thought of food in general right now. It's the fact that every word that seems to come out of their mouth feels like an utter, delusional nonsense.

But Grandpa goes on, his deeply wrinkled face stony and unaffected. "Olivia hasn't eaten anything all day, and I know food is probably the last thing we all want to think about but we need to eat something. And doing it the traditional Michigan-way would be . . . nice, so I thought why not go for some Paczkis? We could all use something sweet and sugary today to lift our spirits a little, and Bishop here suggested –" he turns his head around toward Bishop, "What was it called again?"

Bishop shifts uncomfortably, clearing his throat as he looks back at him, "Uh, Piroshki Bakery Bros Coffee, sir. They serve all kinds of different cuisines there."

"Ah, yes," Grandpa turns back to me, repeating, "Piroshki Bakery Bros Coffee. That might do the trick."

I don't know what kind of trick he's talking about but I don't really care to find out, either. All I can focus on is the notion 'Bishop suggested' as Grandpa babbles on, "We should get going. This is not a . . . nice place to be."

"We?" I ask, as if I didn't hear him properly -- as if his use of 'nice' in basically every other sentence doesn't annoy the shit out of me because really, what's nice about this whole situation? -- my eyes cutting toward Bishop while I wait for Grandpa's answer.

But he only nods in my periphery vision, "Yes. There's still one seat left in Bishop's car. We need to be a family more than ever now."

"Family?" I raise my eyebrows slightly, still not looking away from Bishop. I know what Grandpa's trying to say but something about the use of the word doesn't sit right with me. And then, before I can bite my tongue the ugliness eating me from within seeps out to the surface, "Bishop's not family."

I know I might sound like an immense asshole right about now but no matter what side I'm looking at it from, I can't comprehend why Bishop's going with us, other than the fact that Sarah apparently dragged him into this to be their chauffer since that's most likely cheaper (and more convenient) than ranting a car to be able to move around LA. But he isn't part of our family and after what went down between us, I really don't want to spend more time around him than absolutely necessary. Because no matter how indifferent I've been attempting to come off in this, it's not so easy to wipe out our friendship and how much he used to mean to me for the past three years.

I can feel all of their eyes – Rose and Cassidy as well because they're still standing here, watching this play out -- on me, silently judging me and maybe I do deserve it but fuck, why can't Bishop just leave this alone? Leave me alone? Ignore me from distance and focus on Sarah like he's been doing for weeks? Haven't I already hurt him enough to make him want to stay away from me for his own sake?

"You're so selfish, Aspen." Much to my surprise, it's Sarah who speaks up next, throwing daggers at me with her puffy red-rimmed eyes. "Why can't you just bite the bullet and make it easier for everyone? Why do you always have to be so difficult?"

Funny, I think. That she's the one saying this.

I'd have laughed straight at her face if I wasn't boiling with rage.

And it's then that it occurs to me. That Grandpa and Grandma have no idea how strained mine and Sarah's relationship is, and has been ever since we moved to LA. That much I can conclude from their shocked expressions as they look back and forth between us, clearly at loss for words.

"I'm being difficult?" I breathe out, the muscle in my jaw pulsing as I take a step toward her. "I've been taking care of her this entire fucking time, biting the bullet no matter what happened, while you were running around, not giving a fuck about anyone but yourself, Sarah! Stop acting like you're the better daughter now because we both know you haven't done shit for her when she needed you –"

"Hey, hey," Timothy says at the same time as Bishop cuts in with, "That's enough, Aspen."

I draw back.

And then look at Grandpa and for some reason, as if the last portion of my speech didn't really happen, say, "Okay. But if Sarah can have a guest outside of this family, so can I. Tim?"

My back's turned to him so I don't see his expression, but I say it loud enough for him to hear. I wait a beat and when no one says anything, even though I kind of wish they were contradicting me so I could blast this off into a pointless self-defensive fight just for the sake of finally getting all the anger and frustration I've been feeling lately – when I let myself feel anything, instead of numbly suppressing it – out of my system, I press on. "So, it's settled. We'll just follow you guys over there with his car."

But Sarah's not on board with that idea, apparently, because in a matter of a second, her defense snaps back in place like a barking dog aggressively returning for its denied treat. "He's not coming with us."

Ha. "Why not?" I cross my arms in front of my chest. Maybe really acting like a brat on purpose. But she's been acting like one for so long before, it's time she got a taste of her own medicine. "It's only fair. You have someone and I do too. I don't see any difference."

"There's a huge difference." She counters. "You and Bishop have known each other for years. He's like. . . your family."

What the fuck is up with everyone saying that? I wish they would just stop. Because it makes the ache in my chest worsen. And it's annoying having it constantly thrown in my face.

I'm not about to let her win this argument though. "Time is a social construct and doesn't really matter, for your information. Grandpa pitched the idea and I can take whoever I want with me because that's what you're doing. You'd be a hypocrite to have a problem with that."

At that, she clamps her mouth shut and I swear if there could be actual steamy breath coming out of her nose, it would be now. This moment right here. Her eyes narrow into tinier slits for a beat, before opening up again. She quickly glances behind her, scanning the people still remaining there or passing by as the service slowly clears out completely.

I don't know what, or who she's looking for but the second her head snaps back around and she tilts it slightly to one side, her long blond hair falling over her black formal blazer-clad shoulders, the sinking feeling in my stomach hits me once again. "Okay," she huffs out, "I'm taking Collin with me then as well."

The world actually seems to glitch for a second. I can't even process her words because of how random and absurd the fact she'd even propose something like this is. "What?"

"You heard me. If you're taking Tim, then I'm taking Collin, too." She amends. "Go ahead, take whoever else you want. Why not have more guests, when it's no longer just family? You can take Cassidy and Rose and we'll call it equal. You'll even have a one-up."

I glance toward my grandparents, not understanding why they're just silently watching this. Shouldn't they like, want to cut in? Or I don't know. Maybe it's the shock they're still in, the shock they've been in ever since finding out about their only daughter being dead. Maybe, they really don't understand what's going on because before we moved out here, across the country, Sarah and me –we had an amazing relationship. We were each other's best friend and that's the only way they remember us because we used to put on an act for their sake those few times we went to visit them over the last three years. Mom actually always cleaned up for those last few times, too. She even refrained from smoking in front of them, so to them, she never really had the very destructive vices that put her where she's right now. They didn't know her that way. And I can't help but feel both glad and also betrayed in some way that our mother could lie to them so well.

Grandpa clears his throat, the sound snapping me back to reality. "Alright," he looks down at the big old leather watch on his wrist as he slides down the sleeve of his suit. "It's just after four. So I suggest Aspen and the young gentleman and the ladies go with his car and we remaining go with Bishop's car, if that's what everyone wants to do and agrees with. "

For some reason, I can't get the words out. I want to tell Sarah I don't want either Cassidy, nor Rose, or Collin to go. Or maybe they don't want to go. I mean, she never asked them to come, she left it to me, making me decide while she made her decision.

"Sure. Let's go." Sarah's quick to cuts off my opportunity. "I'll just quickly grab Collin." And then she sets off without waiting and starts walking in his direction.

Despite how much I want to look better than acknowledging her stupid, petty behavior, I can't prevent my traitorous eyes from following her form, until she stops in front of Collin. Who's already standing not that far away from the little semi-circle we've formed, his hands still inside the pockets of his jacket just like the last time I dared to look at him, half an hour ago.

Wait, why is he already standing there, waiting? Did they. . .

Did they plan this already beforehand? Why would they? Because Collin wanted to talk. No. They wouldn't, they couldn't have known I'd stand my ground and demand to take Timothy with me. I'm being ridiculous.

But Collin sort of looks like he anticipated this. And I can't shake that little nagging feeling snaking its way through my brain, giving me the utmost paranoidly senseless ideas.

If anyone else has a problem with this predicament, they don't dare to speak up. Perhaps, it's the guilt keeping their mouths shut, perhaps it's the embarrassment. People are bound to feel either of those things when a relative of someone close to them passes away, and will rather choose to bite their tongue than denying whatever nonsense idea just came up. I'm guessing that's why Cassidy and Rose follow Timothy and me toward his car after we separate ways with the rest of our former cemetery circle.

It's as if I was the ice and everyone was trying to be at their most cautious, least rude behavior in order to avoid cracking me further in this delicate situation. Not that I asked them to. And not that I'm not okay with them coming – I mean, I don't really even care at this point whether they're there or not – but this doesn't concern them and I'm sure there are better ways to spend your Tuesday afternoon than going for a sweet after-funeral treat on the other side of town after attending said funeral. So why haven't they backed out of this? Why not make some polite excuse ensuring a safe escape?

Guilt. It's the fucking guilt, I'm sure. It has to be, right?

I'd get mad at it, at the fact they're suddenly treating me with kid gloves just because I'm in a vulnerable position right now, but I have to spare my energy for when it's going to be really needed. Which, might be very, very soon.

With this composition, the whole Piroshki bakery mockery is bound to be a disaster – that much I know for a fact. But as I slide into the passenger seat of Timothy's BMW and slam the door shut behind me, hearing the echo of the rear door doing the same as Cassidy and Rose scramble in, I briefly think, Maybe I don't actually mind it this time. It's been disaster after disaster, in some form or the other, for some time now and my world has already come crashing down. It can't possibly get any worse than this. 

+++

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A/N: hey, guys! how have you been doing? i know it's been a while since i updated this story but i wanted to finish it first before giving you more regular updates (and because i was busy shooting a short -- MY FIRST -- movie in York, UK through July i didn't really have much time to write), which happened today, so here we go. i've been thinking about submitting this story for Wattys 2022 but i'm not sure about it yet? does anyone have any experience with that? i'd really appreciate if someone  gave me their opinion/experiences perhaps? 

let me know what you think of this chapter maybe? i always love reading your feedback and responding to it. 

as always, thank you SO SO SO SO much for reading and still being here <3 i truly love you all. honestly. and THAT'S WHY I'M GIVING YOU A DOUBLE UPDATE TODAY!!! GO AHEAD AND CLICK FOR NEXT CHAPTER!! 

love, 
zela.