Brenda wanted a normal school year. Instead her mom died.
Salma needed space from her sister and terrible ex. Or else she'd lose her mind.
Delilah didn't think she'd have any more problems after moving far from her hometown. That was until she becam...
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❝But he who dares not grasp the thorn Should never crave the rose.❞
—Anne Brontë
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💔 BRENDA 💔
As I drove to the mortuary, all I could think about was my mother's hospital room. E177. It was a bit ironic the longer I thought about it. Seven had been her favorite number, and here it was—not once—but twice in the last place she had been.
I pushed aside my thoughts and got back to concentrating on the road. It was a painfully silent drive to Richardson, but I was more than grateful for that. I was left alone with the task of driving to our destination and not getting lost in my thoughts like I had been for the past few days. I finally had been given time to put my energy in something that didn't involve being angry at the world, which was relieving. Sadly, most couldn't say the same.
My father for example. He didn't want to come along with us for one reason and one reason only: he was grieving to the point of depression. Sure, I was sad and Wendi—my little sister—always had a napkin dabbing at her tears, but the way mother's death hit our father was worse than anything that could have happened to our family.
Dad was never an emotional man, but he snuck away with his thoughts more than the rest of us. And getting trapped in one's mind at a time like this was quite an awful thing. The nostalgia memories still reeked in your mind, fresh with sweet memories to taunt you of good times. It haunts you with words that will never be said to the one you love.
If anyone would've seen his face that first night without her—seen how much hope had drained out of his eyes when doctors told us about how they tried to reach out to my mother, trying to bring her back to us—then, just maybe, people would've understood why he felt the way he did. The chances of a miracle happening was a slim chance, and he knew it. We all did.
This day would've been worse if I didn't have my best friend Scott Owens at my side. He agreed to join Wendi and I to the funeral home.
We woke up early this morning and I picked him up around noon. Wendi didn't seem to mind having him around.
For eleven years, Scott and I had been next door neighbors. Our friendship had blossomed out of hatred. It took some time, but after a few funny incidences, we decided that we were better off as friends than enemies.
"What kind of flower should we get, Brenda?" Wendi asked in a monotone voice once we were inside Robinsky & Novak Family Funeral home. I didn't blame her for her flat tone; she wanted to be here just as much as I did. This place bled sadness within its walls. The chalky black room and haunting man who owned the mortuary was just as scary.
Scott moved in from behind me and rested his arm on my shoulder. "Well what did your mother like?"
"She liked large white daisies," I recalled. As a child, our summer's used to be filled with white daisies dotted inside our braids, nicely matching the sun dresses we wore. Mom always liked that kind of look on us, she'd call us the Flower Power girls, and both Wendi and I would giggle at the name, not knowing what she meant, but still laughing anyway.
