Until You Feel At Home

Chapter Ten

He was going to clear his throat to warn her he was there, but he didn't want to interrupt. Instead, he tried to hear what she was saying. He couldn't make out much from her mumbles. He heard her say 'my mom' and 'go home.' She sniffled and he felt his heart sink to his stomach. Why did he feel the urge to hug her? He barely knew her. She choked out a cry and he was done, she needed to be hugged. Before he could enter, he heard a shuffle over his shoulder.

He turned and almost jumped at the sight of his mother. She craned her neck to get a look and rolled her eyes. "Oh, cry me a goddamn river." He looked to make sure Claire didn't catch the interruption and shut the door as quietly as he could.

Turning back to his mom, it took everything in him not to outright ask what the hell her problem was. "She's grieving, mom."

She scoffed. "Grieving what? She's already made it clear to the whole town he wasn't a father to her."

Brandon shrugged. "He was a friend, then."

"Oh please." She rolled her eyes again. "What kind of kid makes friends with a grown man."

He thought to defend her some more, but just shook his head and turned away from his mom, letting her change the subject. "That's a nice suit. Is it new?" she asked.

"The jacket is."

"Hmm." She said, stepping back and evaluating. "You could have used some new pants too. They're a little short." He just nodded in response. "So is her dress, if you ask me." She jerked her head towards the doors, with Claire on the other side.

"You've only seen her for half a second, from a room away." He said.

"And all I could see were her legs."

He took a deep breath and felt his face getting red hot with anger. "Mom, do me a favor, and greet people as they come in. I have to meet with the funeral director before things get started."

"All right." She leaned up to give him a kiss on the cheek. "You did a good job putting all this together."

Of course he should have told her that he did absolutely nothing. It was all Claire. But she would have found a way to turn it into a dig against the innocent girl, crying alone on the other side of the double doors. He remembered he had to thank her. He gave his mom a kind smile before going back into the viewing room. This time, he made sure to make a noisy entrance.

When she turned toward him, all he could see was her red eyes and puffy cheeks. She gave him an embarrassed smile. "You caught me." She said, with a snotty sound to her voice. He laughed, and made a bee line for her.

"C'mere." He whispered, and pulled her in for a hug. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and felt every movement of her hands slipping under his jacket, around his middle. She squeezed him tightly and he had to take a deep breath to keep from tearing up, himself. Her hair smelled like flowers and sweet peaches and the scent made him feel a lightness he hadn't felt in years. The weight flooded back in when he recalled his father, reduced to ash, right next to him in a blue and white floral vase. He tried to memorize every note of the shampoo-scent as he whispered to her, "You did a great job, Claire. Everything looks amazing."

"Oh thanks." She said as she pulled away, wiping her eyes with a tissue that was about to turn to dust. "My friends back home put together the collages. They got all the pictures off Facebook."

"That was really nice of them."

"Yeah they're good people." She nodded. "The funeral director said he's going to open these doors and start letting people in whenever we're ready."

Brandon looked back to the double doors and had no faith in their ability to hold people back. "I'd like to tell you to take as much time as you need but my mom is ready to storm this place like the Capital." Claire covered her face in her hands and laughed. He couldn't fight off the grin splitting his cheeks. His job was done, he'd made her smile.

"Okay." She said, "I'll give him the go ahead."

"I'll wait here."

She began to walk toward the offices in the back of the funeral home but paused to look over her shoulder. "You should talk to him, too. He's a good listener."

Brandon scoffed and looked at the urn. "I bet."

Claire disappeared behind yet another door, and the silence was deafening. He toed at the rug underneath his old shoes, tracing the shapes in the patterns of the carpet. He glanced at the urn in his peripheral here and there, like he expected it to move.

"Hi, Pierce." He muttered. He bit his lip and shook his head. "Dad." He turned to face the urn and placed his hands on either side, holding it like a crystal ball. "I don't really miss you. I didn't before and I don't know why anything would change now." He turned it around, studying the pattern and the way it felt on the beds of his fingers. "But there is a door closing, with you gone. We'll never make amends. You'll never tell me why you didn't fight harder." He heard the hub-bub of voices in the lobby. "You did force me to meet Claire. And as soon as she's done here, she's back to Boston. You gave me one more thing to lose." He had the strongest urge, just then, to push the urn over. And perhaps, if he was alone, and no one would ever know, he would've. "We are nothing alike, you know?" He felt tears prick in his eyes and swallowed a ball of tension building in his throat. "I know better than to dig myself holes I can't climb out of." He thought of Claire, in her black fit and flare dress and loafers, mascara smudged all over her eyelids, hair left down so she could use it as a curtain to hide her sadness. "I won't dig this hole, Dad. I won't do it." He dropped his hands, and his chest ached at the absence. It was reminiscent of the absence he felt in the car, when his mom pulled away from Pierce in the parking lot, and Brandon thought he'd never forgive her. He grabbed the urn one more time, and planted a kiss on the top. "Goodbye, Dad."