Tyler just snorted and said it was good to see me too while he looked around the room with judgment. My mother’s eyes traveled over the moving boxes, and her face showed the quick disapproval she always had for any kind of mess. She set her purse on the counter and claimed she was heartsick that they couldn’t be at the funeral.
“No,” I said, using a flat tone that should have been a warning to any sensible person.
I walked to the kitchen table, picked up my phone, and held the screen out so they could see the Hawaii photo and the text message. I asked her what context could possibly make my husband and child’s funeral sound like a dreary, cheap errand. My mother recovered quickly and told me that I was being theatrical, which was her usual way of dismissing my feelings.
Tyler flopped down on my couch, the same one where Terrence used to sit while Mia painted his fingernails during movies. He spread his arms out and told me that we needed to talk business, which made me stare at him in total disbelief. My father took the armchair while my mother sat beside Tyler, looking like they were preparing for a board meeting.