I get the the funeral home even earlier than I usually do.
I use my set of keys to unlock the front gate and pull my car around the back of the main building where we keep the room of caskets for sale and the main office with two chapel rooms on either side.
I let myself into the building and head into the office, flipping on the lights as I go. I'd brought Gabby with me here once and she didn't even last five minutes before she decided she'd just wait in the car.
Something about the stillness and knowing what inevitably happens here freaked her out, but it's never been a bother to me.
She asked me once if I felt like there were still ghosts or souls lurking in the hallways, but I'd told her if they were, they were always nice ones.
The only time I'd ever been afraid here was the first day Aunt Bec and I came. I'd been terrified to come inside, but as soon as Shelia welcomed us in and started talking, I got comfortable.
She explained everything.
I'm the type of person who needs facts. I want to know exactly what happens and why so that I can react and understand accordingly. Shelia didn't balk or shy away from all of my endless questions and hypotheticals. She didn't find my questions about my parent's bodies and what they would be doing to them unnerving, and I'd appreciated that.
I was only nineteen and very much sheltered by my parents at the time. I understood it. They'd lost one daughter, they wanted to be extra careful with me. I'd never had to do much of anything without them or their help and this was my first time truly making decisions on my own.
Shelia made this place feel safe, not scary.
I go to my desk at the front and retrieve another set of keys to unlock the front doors and then I go back to my seat to wait.
I log into the computer and pull up this week's current schedule. We have the Westwood service and funeral later today and then the viewing for the Lancaster's tomorrow morning.
As far as schedules go, this week is currently looking slow. However, being in this business, you can't ever truly plan your weeks. People die every day, and their families have limited amounts of time to plan their final goodbyes.
It's pretty damn hard to make concrete plans working in the funeral business. Death is rarely something people plan in advance.
I put on my headset and listen to the five new voicemails on our phone. Like I'd just been thinking, I now need to call back three families to schedule consultations. Three families who have lost their loved ones and now need someone to help them with the next steps.
For the next two hours that's exactly what I do. I push away my own life issues and give each person I speak with my full attention.
My sister and her baby are alive, that's more than I can say for the people who are having to take calls from me now.
I know for sure we will now be adding two more funerals this week to the books, and possibly a third.
The third's father is still on life support. His daughter cried the entire phone call.
"It just feels so wrong." She'd said. "He's not even dead and I'm having to do this." She'd broken down, her pain so raw.
His doctor's believe he will be passing in the next couple of days if not sooner. She'd explained how she was just trying to get everything in order before it happens. Something I completely understand.
She needs to know the next steps are in place, and then she can focus on being with her father in what's left of his life.
For her sake, I hope she gets plenty more hours. For his, I hope it goes by quickly.
Fire and drowning are still my easy top two deaths, but I've learned from working here yet another one to fear.
A slow one.
One that you know is coming and just have to lay in a bed, not even able to run from it as you feel it creeping closer and closer while doctors and your family keeps begging you to just hold on.
Cancer is a cruel motherfucker.
I end the final phone call for now.
"I don't know how you do it."
I turn my head to see Marisa, our hair and makeup artist, standing by the office doors.
"I could say the same to you." I point out.
My job may deal with the emotional side of things, but I can't imagine doing what she does. I'm not freaked out by bodies anymore, but I still shutter at the thought of what she does.
I don't know how she does it, but I'm glad that she does. She takes their broken flesh and recreates the life that once lived within them. Her job is just as important as every one else here.
She gives the families their loved one back, if only for a little while. She studies the photos of the deceased to ensure that she does their hair and makeup in just the perfect way to make them look like themselves again.
It was shocking to me the first time I saw her do her work.
The woman's name was Judy. She'd died of heart disease and by the time the body was brought to us, she looked nothing like the person in the picture stuck to her file.
It's insane what death does to a human body. How everything sinks and sags. How the skin turns leathery and hard, darkening and cracking.
Without the soul inside to animate them, they just look like sad casings. Until Marisa does her thing.
By the time she was done, Judy looked beautiful again. It's true what they say sometimes, how they just look like they're sleeping.
All of the cruel signs of their traumas or hard lived lives are wiped away and they look at peace again, ready to hear the goodbyes of the ones who loved them most in this world.
My heart breaks to think I may have to find another place to work. I know how weird people think it is. How morbid and macabre they believe it is. I see the way people scrunch their faces in distaste when I tell them what I do.
But being apart of this is so essential, so important. We do so much good here. I don't want to have to move on and do something just for money.
But money is important.
I hate just how important it really is. Without it, what can you really do? I know they say it can't buy happiness. But it sure as hell can buy electricity and food and transportation and medicine and water and all of the other things we need to be alive. If you didn't have any of that, would you really be happy?
I don't even know how much diapers cost. Or formula. What about car seats and strollers and whatever else a baby needs?
The weight of my situation creeps back underneath my skin. I itch to move. I bounce my leg beneath the desk, liking how the sound of my foot tapping off of the ground over and over drowns out some of my thoughts.
"Shelia in yet?" I ask Marisa.
"She's downstairs." She tells me, watching me. "You ok?"
I nod, waving a hand flippantly. "Gucci." I give her a fake smile.
"I'm gonna grab a coffee before I get started." She says, walking towards the back office. "Want one?"
I shake my head.
I might be able to drink five mountain dews a day, but coffee and I don't get along. I've got enough nervous energy all on my own without adding a case of jitters on top of it.
I wait a couple more minutes to build up my courage before I slide out from behind my desk.
I walk through the lobby and out of the front doors and down the sidewalk that leads to the second building.
I go inside, waving hello to the grounds keepers who are mingling in the lobby as I go by.
I cut around the front room and down a hallway before taking a door to the stairs that leads into the basement.
The smell of the harsh chemicals burn my nose the further down the stairs I go, and I sigh in relief when I catch Shelia before she heads into the embalming room.
"Good morning." She calls when she sees me. She's standing in front of one of the rooms, a chart in her hands.
"Hey." I say nervously, stalling on the final stair. "I was hoping I'd catch you." I tell her. "I need to ask for some time off."
At this she looks up from her chart, her sharp red eyebrows furrowed together. "Time off?" she repeats, surprised. "You never ask for time off."
I nod. In all of the years I've been here, Ella's next few parties and trips and of course her wedding are the only days off I've requested. And I'd put in the date for the wedding two days after she'd gotten engaged.
"When?" She asks me when I don't say anything.
"This week actually." I say sheepishly.
"Oh, wow, that's um..."
"I know it's short notice." I say quickly. "Something came up." I tell her, diving headlong into the cliff notes version of what's going on.
"Of course." She almost drops her chart she says it so enthusiastically. "I can't believe you even came in today, Hayden. Go, take care of what you need to."
My heart swells.
I don't know why I'd been so anxious to ask. I knew she would be understanding.
"I just hate leaving with-."
"Stop." She cuts me off. "This is important. Plus you have plenty of paid leave left. Don't worry about anything here. We have it handled. You just text me and let me know when to expect you back."
"A week tops." I promise. "I'll get everything figured out and hopefully be back before that."
"Hayden, this is big, don't minimize the undertaking." She levels me with a stare. "Don't rush. Take your time to figure everything out. We will be here when you get back. This business isn't going anywhere."
I smile at her.
"The most secure job in the world." I say, mimicking her favorite line to throw out at work meetings or conventions.
"Exactly." She beams. "Now I've got Mrs. Westwood waiting for me in here, but you go on. Get on a plane. Text me when you get there so I know you made it."
I smile at her. "Yes, ma'am."
I turn on my heels and rush back up the stairs.
Leaving midday like this feels so wrong but I push down my feelings of guilt as I get back into my car and head back to my apartment.
Luckily, my paycheck hit three days ago so I have a little bit of money to find the absolute cheapest flight to Texas.
I fling open my bedroom door with determination, but once I've dug my suitcase out of my closet, I hit another stand still.
I don't even know what the weather is like in Texas in December.
I sit down to google on my phone, checking out the current temperatures and the next week's expected forecast before I get back to work on packing.
I basically need some of everything.
It can be almost warm during the daytime, but gets pretty cold once the sun goes down.
I throw t-shirts and hoodies into the suitcase as well as shorts and jeans. A random dress in case I have to go to a court hearing or something, and a random assortment of shoes I hope will work.
I get out another bag from under my sink in the bathroom and then swipe my arm across the countertop to collect all of my toiletries and makeup and hair stuff into the bag before I toss it too into the suitcase.
By the time I'm done I have to sit on the case to get it closed, but I think I'm done.
Anything I've forgotten I can pick up when I get there.
I don't know when the exact moment was that I really committed to the idea that I'm actually going to do this, but here I am.
I have bags packed and I purchase a ticket to Texas on my cellphone.
I'm actually doing this.
I'm going to find Alice.