I nstead of tears rolling down my cheeks, sweat breached my brow, smudging my make-up. The church where my mother’s funeral service was being held was hot as Satan’s balls. And I was caught between assuring flower arrangements were placed perfectly and comforting my little sister, Skye, through her melt down.
She wailed enough for the both of us. My tears weren’t needed.
“Nova, can I help you with anything?” my best friend, Misa, asked as she approached me in all black.
“No, I’m good. Go check on Skye. Make sure she doesn’t hyperventilate,” I instructed, while nudging her toward my despondent sister.
“What about you? Are you sure you’re okay?” she pried.
“I’m fine. We’re missing some flowers. I have to go outside and check with the delivery guy.” I attempted to walk away.
But she followed me. Everyone was being extra careful with me because none of them had seen me break down in tears. I just didn’t feel it. Grief hits people at different times, I guess.
With Misa on my heels, I stomped outside into the warm sun. My mother, Antoinette, was lucky to be laid to rest on a warm and lovely day.
“Excuse me, sir, we’re missing a white rose reef arrangement,” I spoke when I approached the man dressed in a blue jumpsuit. He was climbing back into the floral delivery van.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, that’s all we have in the back. They didn’t load any white rose reefs.”
“That’s unacceptable. I ordered and paid for it. I want it here,” I thrashed. His brow furrowed, as he looked me up and down.
“That’s an odd color for a funeral,” he commented at my powder blue linen dress while digging for his cell phone in his pocket.
I didn’t bother responding to his observation. Powder blue was perfect for a funeral. It was light and airy. And that was what I needed to be today. I needed to hold it together.
“Nova, what’s going on?” Misa asked from behind me.
“I told you to check on my sister. Please, Misa. I’m fine!” I stressed to her. Defeated, she nodded and turned away back into the church.
When I returned to the deliveryman, he had slipped his phone back in his pocket. My stomach tightened in anticipation for what he had to say.
“I apologize for the inconvenience, Mrs. Shelton. I spoke with my boss and he’s going to give you a full refund for the…”
“That is unacceptable! I paid you people to do a fucking job and you shortchanged me! This is my mother’s fuckin’ funeral!” I flipped out, surprising myself.
Before the man could part his lips to respond to me, I heard my soon to be ex-husband shout my name.
“Nova! Calm down, baby!” he shouted grabbing my arm and pulling me away from the delivery guy. He nodded to the man, cueing him to leave while he walked me to the corner, away from the crowd that had begun to form to see what the commotion was about.
My entire family and all my friends saw me go berserk on the deliveryman. Regret washed over me as I thought about how I blew my cool. All I wanted to do was to get through this funeral without showing much emotion.
But it was all too much.
“Baby, what is going on? Are you okay?” he asked, stroking my cheek.
The touch of his fingers to my perfectly beat face made my skin crawl. I had half a mind to bite him.
“Get your fucking hands off of me,” I snarled between gritted teeth.
“I know that you’re grieving. I know that you’re upset and that’s okay. I need you to let it out. Let it all out. You know that I’m here for you,” he attempted to convince me. But I knew it was all lies and bullshit.
“Tyriq, get the fuck out of my face. Why are you even here?”
“Nova, I love you! I loved Ms. Toni. She was like a mother to me. Why are you being like this? What has gotten into you? You were fine when I saw you this morning.”
“It’s funny how quickly someone can change. Isn’t it?” I asked cryptically before turning to walk away.
Yeah, I was fine when he last saw me earlier this morning. But that was before I found out the truth about him. A truth that I had to sort through along with the burial of my mother.
As I walked away from my husband, I weaved in and out of the sea of folks dressed in black. I was the only one that dared to wear a light color, aside from some of the children.
My blue dress stood out as I climbed the stairs to the church. I could feel the dozens of eyes burning into my backside as I approached the church’s door. When I walked back in, my eyes landed on Skye, who was sprawled out on the closed part of the casket. She was banging her fists on the hard cover while yelling, “Please don’t leave me.”
I sighed, while watching the pathetic sight. You see, this was why I couldn’t mourn. This heffa was doing more than enough.
She hollered to the top of her lungs as a couple of our cousins rushed to her side, attempting to pull her away. The veins in her balled fists throbbed while her tears poured.
She was a sad weakling, just like our mother.