Homewrecker

14 - 𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓸𝓷

I already knew that Amy and David were driving me to the funeral, but I hadn't expected to find all of the Solidays—adorned in black clothing, pinching at their tinted nylons or straightening the knots in their also black ties—in the kitchen when I came downstairs. Even Taylor-Elise was there, although not dressed in formal black attire, and pinning back strands of Natalie's hair in a braid crown, bobby pins in between her teeth.

Amy was going over the sleeves of David's blazer with a lint roller, beige dog hairs from Miles sticking to the paper. "Hey, Bronwyn," she said, turning back to his sleeve before quickly looking back over her shoulder, taking me in and burrowing her brow. "Is that what you're wearing today?"

I looked down at the outfit I assembled together from the clothing Amy had given me in department store bags earlier in the week, even wearing the shoes she bought me since it felt strange and almost wrong to wear the same sneakers I wore during the tornado. Like I was rubbing it in that I lived, that I ran faster than the tornado in my battered and dirtied Wal-Mart sneakers, and she, obviously, didn't.

I had put on a pair of distressed jeans that probably cost more than my phone, three times over, and a basic dark t-shirt that felt a lot nicer than any of the basic t-shirts I owned before. When I went through the bags, still neatly against the lilac wall like when she brought them to me, I only found one dress. It was a muted mint color, with a tie over the waist, and sleeveless. The fabric was soft against my fingertips and it bent almost like fluid when I picked it up, but it felt too nice for a funeral. For my mother's funeral. Like again, I was rubbing it in how I was so much better off now without her. Now I had a lake house and a dog and a wardrobe of beautiful, expensive clothing.

"Well, all of my other clothes were destroyed in a tornado so. . ." I shrugged.

She stared at my clothes for a moment longer, then turned to Andi. "Do you think she could wear one of your dresses, honey?"

I noticed a muscle twitching in Andi's jaw as I went to quickly shake my head. "She doesn't—"

Andi, who was standing in front of the kitchen island and holding what looked to be a dark blue smoothie in a mason jar with a steel straw against the glass, tilted her head and took me in. "I don't think they'll fit her right. They'd look too short on her."

"This is fine, really—"

"I could change?" Kimberly piped up from behind me, shrugging off her crossbody purse. "We're about the same size, and I've got another dress. It's not black but it's not too loud for a funeral."

I made a face. "That's okay."

Amy let out a sigh, turning back to David's blazer and smoothing the lint roller over his bent elbow as he took a sip from his coffee mug. "I should've prepared better. I should've bought something appropriate for you to wear. I don't know what I was thinking."

She was rolling over his elbow so aggressively, David nearly spilled his coffee over his chin. "She's still dressed nicely," he remarked, then he looked over at me, hesitation filling his gaze for a moment before he mustered a small smile. "I think you look very nice, Bronwyn."

I just stared at him. Then, after a second, he looked away and took another sip of his coffee.

"I . . . I have a dress. She could wear it."

I had almost forgotten that Taylor-Elise was even here until she tentatively spoke up from across the kitchen, standing in front of the breakfast nook with Natalie still sitting in the booth with her back to her, a can of hairspray wedged under her arm and the bobby pins no longer in between her teeth. She blinked, hurriedly glancing over at Andi—who had busied herself in looking down at her phone, the screen's glow reflecting against her mason jar as she sipped from her smoothie—and then she looked at me. I was starting to shake my head, poised to give another refusal, when she continued, "It's black, appropriate for a funeral. And washed."