After closing, I immediately drove over to Baker's to smooth things over.

It was dark out, and I walked around Jerry's house to the basement bulkhead in the backyard, using my phone flashlight to avoid piles of dog shit. Baker had left the hatch open tonight, revealing the short stairway below and the wooden door at the bottom, and I nervously descended the steps into her tomb of a front porch.

I still couldn't believe she lived here. How did she enter her home every day and not feel like the victim in a horror film?

I rang the smart doorbell, and a moment later, the blond appeared wearing a black onesie and a moisturizing sheet mask—like Michael Myers himself.

"Jesus. Do you realize how terrifying you look right now?" I complained. "Who opens the door like that?"

She tilted her head, clearly surprised to see me. "Wasn't expecting company. What's up?"

"I just...I came to tell you that I'm really, really sorry about tonight. I never meant for you to lose your job because of me."

She scrunched up her face—her classic 'don't sweat it' expression. "You just gave me an excuse to leave that hellhole. I had to quit eventually. It's been a long time coming."

I nodded and fiddled with the strap of my purse. "I put my four weeks in tonight. It pissed Lindsay off so much, she sent me home early." It wasn't like she could fire me over it, though. With Baker gone, she needed me to help train our replacements, and given her shitty management skills, my notice was extremely generous.

"Four weeks?" A grin tugged at her lips. "How very Ramona of you."

"I need time to find another job," I insisted, fighting my own smile. "But I had to make a change. I couldn't stand it any longer."

"Well...I'm proud of you. I know big decisions like that don't come easy."

We locked eyes, studying each other for several seconds, and then my shoulders dropped. "I'm sorry for everything else, too."

She let out a breath and stepped aside to let me in. "I know. Me too."

Relief washed over me in one beautiful, brilliant wave, and I entered the basement a few hundred pounds lighter. I absolutely hated fighting with Baker. These rare stretches of stubborn, angry silence always felt so stupid and pointless. And there was never a real winner in a battle between us; it always resulted in a Pyrrhic victory.

Baker went to fetch me a face mask and a tub of salted caramel ice cream, and as soon as we made ourselves comfortable on her lime-green couch, I filled her in on Jay's passing. Then, after I'd reduced us both to tears, I dropped the Theo bombshell.

Her eyes grew wider and wider as I told the story, but other than that, she was quiet—contemplative. Finally, she sat back against the couch cushions and swore. "I mean, I guess I shouldn't be surprised that a man who bedded his arch nemesis would go for his cheating ex. But why did he try to forget his problems by sleeping with the ultimate problem? What an idiot!"

"I'm not surprised by any of it, really," I said, thinking of his little box, the part of him that always doubted his decision to purge his ex from his life. "I pushed him away, and I was the only thing keeping his mind off Alyssa. He never really took the time to heal, so when I vanished, he was right back where he started. Lost, upset, and desperate for a distraction."

"...Well, his distraction is a bitch."

I snorted and shoved her over.

She wasn't wrong, though. I might have understood Theo's reasoning if he'd slept with anyone else. But for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why he'd let Alyssa back in after what she did to him, after how she'd acted at the bar. Even for a night of emotionless sex.

Perhaps love really was just an insidious infection that kept people in horrible, toxic entanglements. And if that were the case, I was glad I'd walked away when I did; an emotion that powerful was better left untapped.

Plus, Alyssa's return aside, I'd learned my lesson in pursuing broken men. If a guy tells you his heart doesn't work anymore, that he's not ready for a relationship, and that he doesn't deserve you, you best believe him. 

"Sometimes the timing's just not right for people," Baker murmured.

I glanced down at my hands—hands that had once felt so at home entangled with Theo's—and frowned. "Yeah. And sometimes the people just aren't right."

Baker looked like she wanted to argue, but she decided against it. "Yeah. Screw people, am I right? Figuratively, of course."

I leaned against her, savoring every second we had left. "Figuratively."

Three days later, Baker and I arrived at Jay's funeral, and I scowled at the tall wooden doors before us.

I couldn't believe it when my mother revealed the location of his service. Knowing my family, I should have seen it coming, but church was the last place I'd have picked to honor my uncle. The dumps would have been a more appropriate choice than this. At least then we could crack a few jokes about his trashy taste in movies. 

"What are the chances I burst into flames as soon as I set foot in there?" Baker asked, only half joking. She wore a lacy black dress that reminded me more of a Halloween costume than classic mourning attire, but I expected nothing less from my best friend.

"The same likelihood that these churchgoers go to heaven."

"So...slim to none?"

"Precisely."

Together, we entered the building and slowly made our way to the nave. There were a few dozen people here already, which surprised me. Jay only had a handful of close friends, and he'd distanced himself from extended family over the years. So who the hell were these people?

Did any of them come to see him when he was sick? Were any of them there to comfort him when Aunt Maya left? Or did they only show up now because their pastor was here?

Ian came up to greet us, his brown eyes red and puffy, his posture beaten and exhausted, and the grief struck me between the ribs once again. He looked identical to a younger, slimmer, and stronger Jay—a handsome clone with a full head of hair.

"How are you doing?" I whispered as we embraced.

"I'm alright. Excited for this part to be over, though."

"Same."

We pulled apart, and I tilted my head at the open casket in the chancel. "Whose bright idea was that?"

"Lita's. I told her it wasn't what Jay wanted, but it was like talking to a wall. The whole family sided with her, so I just gave up after a while." He rolled his eyes. "Let's just say I remember why I had no trouble moving to the other side of the world."

I let out a grunt of sympathy. Sometimes, it was just better to wave a white flag and save yourself a headache. Jay would have understood.

As Ian filled me in on my mother's unpleasant itinerary for the day, a young brunette woman appeared behind Baker, waiting her turn to speak. I almost didn't recognize her with her dark eye makeup and stark black outfit, but her feminine beauty gave her away. 

"...Charlie?"

She smiled bashfully, clearly not wanting to intrude. "Hi, Moe." She handed me a yellow gift bag. "From the Landings. It's not much, but it did wonders for my grieving journey. Thought it might help."

I peeked inside the bag to find a range of acrylic paints, high-quality paintbrushes, a few mini canvases, and a condolence card. Her thoughtfulness stung—mostly because I'd stunted our blooming friendship by breaking things off with Theo. I'd anticipated so many more interactions with the freshman, and now, this would likely be our last conversation.

"Thank you," I said. "This is beyond sweet."

She nodded, but her expression grew awkward. "Theo would have been here...he just didn't want to make things worse."

"I understand." He definitely would have paid his respects if things hadn't ended so badly between us, and I was grateful to him for sitting this one out. I was emotional enough as is.

Ian, aware that Theo and I hadn't been on speaking terms for weeks, waved to our younger guest. "No worries. It's nice to see you again, Charlie."

Her smile was warm—and perplexing as shit. "You too."

Lost, I looked between them. "You guys know each other?"

I'd brought Theo to Jay's during the hospice program, so he'd met Ian several times. But I had no idea how his sister could possibly recognize my cousin.

Charlie winced and shot me an apologetic look. "In April, my brother visited Jay every few days to keep him company and watch sports. Sometimes I would join him."

I stared at her, bewildered. He did what now?

Ian furrowed his brow. "I thought you knew, Mona."

I shook my head and glanced back at Charlie. "I don't think I was supposed to."

She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, visibly embarrassed. "We didn't want to make you uncomfortable. And Theo didn't want you to think he was trying to get to you through your uncle, you know? It was all for Jay."

My gaze fell to the carpet. She and Theo had visited my uncle without me? For a whole month?

Why didn't Jay say anything? What was that old man scheming?

"Theo was actually there the last night Jay was fully conscious," Ian revealed, and Baker choked on her iced coffee beside me. "He was the last person to have a conversation with my dad. I was hoping to see him today and ask him what they talked about."

I swallowed the sticky emotions clogging my throat. "Probably car engines."

The group let out a chorus of sad chuckles, and yet we all knew what—and whom—Jay's final topic revolved around.

Charlie appeared to have a lot more to say on the subject, but she recognized this wasn't the right time or place, so she offered me a quick hug and wandered off to find a seat.

Baker cast me a worried glance after Ian excused himself. "...You good, babe?"

"No." Far from it. "But my expectations were pretty low for today."

"Fair enough."

As we made our way around the church, I greeted my family members and did my best to avoid any arguments over the funeral arrangements—or Baker's "occult" attire, as my mother put it. But the longer I stayed inside that building, the more irritated I grew.

The ceremony itself was hyper-religious and crammed with unnecessary scripture. It resembled a church service more than a funeral, and I hated every minute of it. The pastor's eulogy made Jay out to be a pious, God-loving man who could do no wrong. And when the third speaker tiptoed around his cancer, his divorce, and his favorite pastimes, I snapped.

I marched up to the stage in my simple black dress and pumps, securing my place in the lineup, and my mother frowned at me from the front row, shooing me away as if I were a gatecrasher. "You're not scheduled to speak yet, Ramona."

I ignored her.

When my grandfather finished speaking, I raced to the pulpit before someone tried to stop me. Then I faced the audience, refusing to look upon the open casket and the traitorous body that failed my uncle.

The crowd watched me with shiny eyes, most of them shedding tears for a man they barely knew and failed to understand, and I wanted to scream. Everything about this ceremony was wrong, and if Jay were here to witness it, he'd immediately ditch the event and light up a cigarette.

"Uncle Jay hated funerals," I said into the microphone, my voice laden with disgust as I stuffed my speech notes back in my purse. I knew these events were intended for the living, not the dead, but my family blatantly disregarding Jay's preferences was unacceptable, and I wasn't about to let that slide. "He also wanted to be cremated, so I seriously hope that coffin's just for show and nothing else."

Hell, I'd dig up his grave myself if I had to.

My grandmother's face pinched at my comments, and Ian and Baker looked like they were about to witness the most epic performance of the century. But I didn't care what anyone thought of my speech today. Someone had to give Jay an entertaining send-off, one that would have him cackling from beyond. And if I couldn't offer him the celebration of life he deserved, at least I could set his funeral aflame.

"Jay didn't believe in God, and yet here you are, talking about how God wanted him home. How God saved him from cancer and spared him from suffering." I released a mirthless chuckle. "You know he once told me he'd rather stick around and haunt religious zealots than spend eternity with you people? He hated your rhetoric and your unrelenting hypocrisy. He hated the way you behaved." The crowd's shock quickly morphed into dismay, and I tacked on a petty, "So please. Stop painting him the colors you wanted him to be. It's insulting."

The pastor looked like he was about to faint, and my mother turned ashen, shaking her head with her lips pursed tight. But the woman didn't even visit her own brother before he died, too stubborn and prideful to accept Jay's choices. She had absolutely no right to pass judgement.

"I loved Jay more than anything," I went on. "And you know what? The happiest I'd ever seen him was when he had a joint in one hand, a cocktail in the other, and a bunch of gambling tokens in his hat." Jay's closest friends grinned at that, snickering at one another because they knew it was true. "He loved being himself. He loved causing chaos and telling dirty jokes. He loved everything you describe as sinful. He always has."

A few concerned guests, including my father, approached the stage to cut me off early, but I wasn't done yet. Avoiding their huddle, I snatched the mic from its clutch and paced the stage, forcing them to cause a scene if they wished to intervene. But my parents were wound too tight to drag me off stage in front of their peers—they'd never deign to my level.

Or rise to it, depending on who you ask. 

"Most of all," I continued, "Jay didn't give a flying fuck what any of you thought about him." My family gasped at my profanity, and I knew Jay would have barked a startled laugh at my gall. "He just wanted to watch basketball, eat junk food, and enjoy his time on earth. It was never about the eternal reward for him. He didn't fear hell. He just lived his life the way he wanted. With no regrets." I smiled at my uncomfortable, twitchy audience. "And that's the legacy I'll celebrate. That's the memory of him I'll carry with me."

My mother covered her face with her hand, and my father seethed at my unruliness from the edge of the stage. But I couldn't care less if I'd offended them. This whole thing was fucking ridiculous—the church, the melancholic music, Jay's embalmed corpse. All of it.

I turned my attention to Jay's pride and joy of a son, who sat there next to Baker, trying his best not to laugh. "Ian, I'm so glad you were able to be with him these past few weeks. He treasured that more than he was capable of expressing." For just a moment, the anger left my throat, allowing genuine love and affection to take its place. "I hope you know you were the reason he was so happy with his life. Because no matter where his choices might have led him, he got you out of it."

The young man smiled at me through his tears, appreciating the only perspective that really mattered at this damn event anyway. Then I scanned the crowd, the disappointed faces, the reproving frowns, and I huffed, channeling Jay's crudest diction.

"The rest of you can shove it."

I slammed the mic down on the pulpit and walked away, my heart beating against my sternum like a war drum, my body twitching with cortisol.

As I vacated the church, Baker followed after me with a giddy smile on her face, and the cage walls finally fell open, crashing down around me with a glorious bang—freeing me from the world I'd been conditioned to love. Releasing me from this snare.

I was done pleasing others in exchange for peace. Done holding my tongue and averting my gaze. Done living for others.

These wings of mine were small and emaciated, but I was ready to ditch my safety net.  I was ready to crash and burn and build myself up again, better than ever. And wherever Jay was—and whatever form he'd adopted—I knew he was cheering me on as loudly and obnoxiously as possible.