Brandon
Brandon knew the time would come when he would need to open the closet and get use out of his "Special Occasion Clothes" but he hoped it wouldn't be any time soon. Yet here he was, yanking on the sleeves of his black suit jacket trying to make them longer. He had worn the jacket in his high school graduation, surely he couldn't have grown that much? He muttered expletives at his reflection as he adjusted the jacket as much as he could, but nothing made it look like he hadn't thrifted it from a children's store. With a glance at his watch he bolted for the door, stopping only to let Simon know he'd be home after the service.
He hopped in the truck and sped down the driveway. Normally he wouldn't bother buckling his seat belt when he was in such a rush, but a voice in the back of his head reminded him why he had a funeral today, and he clicked the buckle into place. He drove in complete silence, glancing back to the clock on his dashboard every few seconds. If he was late his mother, and probably Claire, would give him absolute hell. He pulled into a spot outside a menswear store and rushed inside.
"Hello Sir, how can I help you?" A young man asked from behind the checkout counter.
Brandon held up his arms and showed the boy his wrists. "I need something longer. Black."
"Wonderful." He stepped out from behind the counter. "I can certainly help you, my name is Matthew." He straightened his own jacket. "We could have something custom tailored to you if-"
"I need it now, actually." Brandon said, still catching his breath from running in the store. "What do you have in-store?"
Matthew bared his teeth and looked over the racks. "Let me see what I can find you." He reached his hand out expectantly. "Can I see the jacket you're wearing?" He shrugged it off and handed it over. "And your name, sir?"
"Brandon." Matthew nodded and disappeared into a back room.
Brandon flipped through hangers on the racks and found nothing that suited him. He took a look at some ties, knowing he wouldn't be buying one. He overheard Matthew chatting with someone in the back and tried to avoid their conversation, but they made no efforts to hide it. He rolled his eyes when he saw a woman poke her head out to get a look at him.
She whispered to Matthew, "Is he crazy? The funeral starts in 20 minutes." Wonderful, he thought to himself. The whole town would know he bought his jacket the morning of.
He heard Matthew scoff. "We better get him out of here fast then." He came out from the back room with two new jackets and a smirk on his face. "Here you are, sir, give these a try." Brandon slid the first one on, glanced in the mirror, and was happy enough.
"I'll take it." Brandon carried it to the register himself, and handed Matthew his card before he even knew the total. "Do you have scissors? For the tags."
—
He drove straight to the funeral home from the store and was relieved to see Claire's car alone in the parking lot. He made it with 15 minutes to spare. He had been in the funeral home before, he knew what it looked like inside, but it was a whole new experience this time around. Collages of photos of his dad were displayed in the foyer, along with a slideshow on a tv and a playlist of his favorite songs. He couldn't imagine anyone had done all this work aside from Claire. It didn't occur to him to do anything personal for his father, but now that he saw how well he was being commemorated, he had to thank her.
To the left of the lobby was a kitchenette with coffee and donuts donated by Rob's diner- there was no Claire there. Next to the kitchenette was a sitting room. There were some floral arrangements on display from friends and family that couldn't make it. He took a moment to read who they were from. One from Claire's mother, one from a couple named Jodi and Eric, but no sign of the girl he was looking for. The viewing room had the double doors closed. He braved opening one, and sure enough she was inside. The lights were dimmed like the room wasn't open for guests just yet. She needed privacy, it seemed, to talk to Pierce. Well... Pierce's urn.
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."