Chapter 5 - The Front Row
The memorial hall was refined, peaceful, and expensive in the quiet way Everett would have hated and my mother immediately admired. White flowers surrounded his portrait. Candles lined the stage. Guests signed a memory book near the entrance. Soft piano music filled the room.
My family arrived late enough to be noticed and early enough to claim grief.
Jasmine wore black with pearls and dabbed at dry eyes. My father kept one arm around her, performing solemn dignity. Penelope wore burgundy instead of black and looked annoyed that the lighting was too soft for good photos.
She hugged me with one arm.
“I know this has been hard for you,” she whispered. “But we really need to talk about what Everett promised.”
I stepped back.
“Not today.”
Her expression sharpened. “Selena, don’t be selfish. The venue still has a balance.”
“My husband died.”
“And my birthday was ruined.”
I looked at her.
For years, I had mistaken familiarity for family. But family is not the people who know your history. Family is the people who show up when your world falls apart.
Penelope glanced toward the stage. “Is Mark handling the estate?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Mom said we should speak to him before everyone leaves.”
“Mom says a lot of things.”
My mother appeared beside us and squeezed my wrist hard enough to hurt.
“Do not embarrass us today,” she whispered.
I looked down at her hand.
Then back at her face.
“Funny,” I said. “That was my only plan.”
Her eyes narrowed.
Before she could answer, Mark stepped onto the stage and called the room to silence.
May you like
I walked up beside him.
The envelope waited in his hands.
