Liked

Thirty-six. Two kids even Satan would disown. Squeezed into size 10 skinny pants while my hips beg for size 12. Attending a wake with a spread so large it puts all you can eat joints to shame and my size 10s to the test.

Even on the wrong side of thirty, this wouldn’t be the worst place in the world if I hadn’t killed the guy eternally sleeping under the closed mahogany casket.

Involuntary Vehicular Manslaughter.

Court’s words. Not mine.

Stupid woman posting on Facebook while driving a Range Rover would’ve been more accurate.

In my defense, people shouldn’t use social media to rehome puppies because they pee in the house. It warranted an immediate response.

Show some responsibility people!

“Thanks for coming,” a young twenty-something said. I think she put on her eyeliner while driving.

Bet she didn’t kill anyone while doing it, though.

Size 2. Kendra Scott earrings. Green Lily Pulitzer sundress. At a funeral? Tacky. One kid and that outfit will become a distant memory tucked deep in the huge guest bedroom closet of her sugar daddy’s McMansion.

But she has the body and no one even seems to care she’s not wearing black.

Of course, I’m jealous. I would kill for her body.

“Who knew my uncle was so popular. And you are?” She left a pink lipstick ring matching the off-year Rosé on her plastic glass waiting for me to answer.

The crazy bitch who ran over your uncle who wishes she could figure out how to change the past.

“Tessa Gilbert.” I offered a full hand, unmanicured nails and all. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks.” She pinched my index finger between her fingers and thumb like I was a shrimp. Creepy. As if I weren’t uncomfortable already.

Can we get some cocktail sauce over here?

A flock of Vera Wang designer knock-offs swept her up in a flurry of selfies and Instagram posts and I found myself alone in a perfectly crowded room while Dan, my husband, huddled in the corner with five other men checking their fantasy football teams.

Remind me not to die during football season.

Dan led a chorus of collective groans from the men. Judging by his eye roll and grinding teeth, either the Steelers or his make-believe team was losing. I prayed it wasn’t both. Today was hard enough and I didn’t need him pouting until bedtime.

Service ended thirty minutes earlier and already half the arrangements wilted.

Seemed everything died around me these days.

A blast of over-zealous air conditioning cleared out the area around the casket offering me a chance to say my goodbyes alone. Goosebumps sprouted on my arms and I regretted handing my jacket off to Dan when we arrived. Like my pants, it didn’t fit any longer, but it matched my outfit.

Funeral Chic

It didn’t exist in my wardrobe. Hell, this was the first I attended in my life, but I wasn’t about to buy something to wear it to a funeral. I’m sure it’s bad luck to wear it again.

I laid my hand on the oak casket. Smooth. Clean. Peeling?

Veneer.

“You deserved better,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. The rain. The wet road. Kids arguing. You know. Life.”

And death.

“Were you close?” The funeral director encroached my personal space. A bit heavy on the Old Spice, but I watched earlier as he glided from person to person, offering an ear and a kind word.

I yanked my hand off the casket, but my print remained. A ghostly handshake goodbye.

“I saw him jogging.” I inhaled deep, clearing the congestion in my sinuses. “Every day. Rain or shine. He never missed a day. At least, I don’t think he did.” I wiped a tear and most of my mascara from my eyes. “I didn’t even know his name until the day he died.”

“Paul—”

“I know it now!” I snapped. “Oh, my God.” My hand found his forearm. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know. I don’t…”

“It’s alright.” He patted the top of my hand.

His skin. So soft. Softer than mine.

“I’ve heard worse,” he said. “It’s an emotional time for everyone. It helps to talk. Can you tell me about the last time you saw him?”

Pinned against my front grill and a concrete barrier. You know, the barriers where they are doing road construction out past the Jiffy Wash and the new self-storage place. His head looked like a pumpkin after a Devil’s Night prank. I screamed at my kids to stay in the car. So much blood. I wanted to do CPR. I’ve taken classes. But his chest. How do you do chest compressions when the chest is already compressed? These folks are lucky they can’t see under this casket. It’s a nightmare. My nightmare.

“Jogging.” I inhaled deep. “Jogging. The day he died.”

“Well, take comfort in knowing he died doing something he loved.” The funeral director pulled his arm free. “We should all be so lucky.”

My Coach handbag vibrated against my thigh. I regretted skipping Pilates this month, too busy feeling sorry for myself and worried what women in my class were saying under their breath.

Gah! Stupid Facebook notifications. I always forget to silence them. Dan says it’s going to get us kicked out of the movies one day.

One-hundred Seventy-three?

I didn’t think the little number on top of the Earth icon could show triple-digits. The irony being all one-hundred seventy-three of those notifications were comments from people in my kids’ school district.

That hussy posted a picture of me at the casket. Could she have gotten a worse angle?

Dan slipped his hand onto the small of my back. His touched made me smile. I pulled it off my face when I realized this wasn’t the best place to be caught smiling. People were watching.

“Don’t look, ’hon.” He peered over my shoulder.

“Let’s see what the world has to say about Tessa Gilbert.” My thumb trembled above the iPhone’s screen.

“Looks, it’s Cedar Lake’s Most Wanted.”

Liked twenty-eight times.

“How come she’s not wearing orange?”

Liked sixteen times.

“Bet she’s only there because the court is making her.”

Liked nineteen times.

“Her fat ass should have been the one out there jogging.”

Liked one-hundred two times.

Are you kidding me? One-hundred and two people, one-hundred and two neighbors, think I’m fat.

{{{Vrrr}}}

One-hundred three.

{{{Vrrr}}}

One-hundred four.

{{{Vrrr}}}

{{{Vrrr}}}

{{{Vrrr}}}

“Remember how I said I just want to be liked?” I silenced my iPhone and shoved it deep in my purse. Dan nodded and pulled me in closer. “This isn’t what I meant.”

Everyone in the funeral parlor exchanged glances between their phones and me. The funeral director wiped down his arm where I had been touching him.

“Take me home, Dan.” I crumpled in his arms. He was my grill, my concrete wall, holding up what was left of me. “Please, take me home.”