Tangled In Strings

Chapter Twenty-Eight

His eyes, darkly shaded, flicker to where the priest is. "Do you want me to go up instead?"

I realize then that everyone is silent, waiting on me. I shake my head, and begin to stand up. I'm not sure why Giovanni rises too, almost as if he we're about to walk me the couple of feet of grass it takes to make it to the casket. Thankfully, he sits when I nod to the priest, removing the note from my black cardigan.

On this note contains nothing about who Norman really was to me, other than the legend who gave me his company, who mentored me and nurtured me to success. He told me not to tell anyone. He asked it as a favor, because he didn't want people to know what he had done, that he had made the choice to give up his daughter.

That was a hard conversation. A hard, very short conversation.

I agreed immediately.

On this note, there's a long speech about destiny and coincidences. There are little parts to make people smile and parts to make people realize how wonderful he could be. There's no bad, no negativity, no need to mention forgiveness.

That's over. That left with Norman.

It's mentioned how much I loved him, how much he meant to me.

And the second I stand next to his casket, I realize I can say none of it.

My mouth won't open. Still, I unfold the note, glancing nervously at Giovanni, who's tense, his hands clenched in his lap. Speeches don't usually make me nervous. I've made plenty in my life, nearly one a month.

However this speech—this speech is fucking terrifying.

I hold the paper, tight enough that people won't see how badly my hands are shaking.

"Norman was—"

I make the mistake of looking up. I meet the eyes of Connor, of Ed and his girlfriend, of Giovanni's mother and sister in the back row and I lose my nerve, my eyes darting back to the paper to read off the first line. My heels sink into the grass as I titter in place, shaking my head in frustration as I struggle to open my mouth.

"Norman was—"

My eyes close, and I try to breathe in, wanting to calm myself. Wanting to just say a few fucking words. Except now my throat is closing. Not because of tears, I'm not crying.

I just can't do this.

"Norman was a...a—"

I exhale, tearing my eyes off the words on the paper when I feel someone's touch. I have no idea how long I've been standing still, stuttering, but it must have been a while. My eyes land upon Giovanni's, and I'm sure I look as lost as I feel. Naturally, his gaze of caution as he removes the paper from my weak grip drapes me in protection, in relief. I'm so grateful to him in this moment. In front of all these people, he wraps his arm around my body, and begins to recite my speech for the crowd of onlookers.

He takes his time, so my words garner the reactions I expected to receive, and speaks with as much emotion I would have exuded. His hand is gently moving up and down my spine as he continues, and I move into him, closing my eyes against his chest.

And I just breathe.

I inhale, and I let it go. I repeat the process over and over, surrendering my obligation to him. At the end, his hand is at the back of my head, and is stroking my hair gently. My fingers uncurl from his jacket when I step back, glad it's all over.

There's dead silence as we walk over to our seats. The priest begins to finish the proceeding, reciting passages from the bible. I'm just sitting when Monica grabs my hand, with a small smile. I look from my hand to her face, dazed with confusion. A few seconds pass and we remain like that, just staring at each other.