A big part of me.
I stared at Tria’s fingers all wound around mine. Her hands were soft and warm, and when I ran my finger over the edge of hers, it made me a little horny, which was so fucking wrong, given the circumstances. I didn’t know how to cope with that, either.
Honestly, the more time I spent in therapy, the more fucked up I felt.
The priest finished droning on about faith and heaven and whatever. We all stood up, mumbled a hymn at each other without any music to go with it aside from the priest’s falsetto, and then sat back down. A minute later, we stood again, then knelt, then sat, and then finally stood up. When I was just about to lose my mind, the priest finally told us to come on up and get a last look.
Well, that wasn’t quite what he said, but it was something like that.
The social worker crossed herself before walking away, and Tria walked up to stand before the open part of the casket. A silent tear fell down her cheek as she reached out and touched Krazy Katie’s cheek. She sniffed a little and walked away, leaving me alone.
I took a handful of shuffled steps until I was in the spot right in front of her. I looked down at my feet and wondered if they had to replace the carpet in this spot more often than in other places. How many people had stood here like this, saying goodbye?
I looked at her face, and my first reaction was that she just didn’t look like herself at all. She had on a bunch of makeup, which she never wore, and someone had combed her hair down so it lay flat on her head. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Tria and the social worker talking to the priest. No one was watching me.
I reach in and tousled her hair all over her head so it looked right.
“That’s better,” I muttered, kind of feeling like an idiot. I looked around again quickly, but everyone was still engaged in whatever they were talking about, so I turned back to Krazy Katie’s body.
I felt all cold and tingly as I stared down at her, unable to look away but hating the sight at the same time. It was just so…so wrong-looking. She wasn’t supposed to die like that. Krazy Katie was a constant. She was always there, always in the same place doing the same crazy, fucked-up shit. She belonged on that fire escape stacking cigarette butts and yelling asinine prophecies at people.
It’s how the world was supposed to be.
“You crazy bitch,” I whispered. “Why’d you go and do this?”
My voice cracked, and my throat clamped shut painfully. I had to make myself swallow just to breathe again.
Memories of freezing cold winter nights and blazing hot summer days, sitting on the fire escape, smoking and watching her do all kinds of weird shit flooded my head. I couldn’t help but smile at some of the images. If nothing else, Krazy Katie had kept me entertained.
“I could have used some of your words of wisdom, you know,” I told her. “I mean—when you were in the hospital. Tria…she was worried, and I didn’t know if the baby…if she’d be okay. She always thought you said shit that was brilliant and insightful. I told her you were just a nut, but…well, she believed you. You were right about the baby, anyway.”
Though she had been conscious in the hospital some of the time, she hadn’t spoken a word. Even when I tried to talk to her about the shit she’d do on the fire escape, she would only look at me like she wasn’t sure who I was and then start coughing up blood.
She actually looked better now than she had the last few days in hospice.
“They said you were forty-eight,” I said. “I had no fucking idea how old you were.”
I was about to turn twenty-nine, and I realized by the time I was her age, my daughter would be in college.
What if the same thing happened to me? I started smoking when I was seventeen and had smoked pretty constantly for the past ten years. I never really gave much thought to what it might be doing to me. I’d never even tried to quit.
Thinking about smoking made me realize I could be on my way to the same fate. If I died at forty-eight years old, I’d never see my daughter graduate from college, get married, or have her own kids. I wouldn’t even know my grandchildren.
Tria would have to do it all without me.
I gripped the pack of Marlboros in my pocket. I’d had three smokes between Michael’s house and the church—forcing Damon to pull over so I could have one and try to keep my shit together without stinking up the Rolls.
I glanced behind me again, but everyone was still occupied.
Slowly, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my pack of cigarettes and my lighter. Checking to see if anyone was watching first, I quickly slid both of them into the casket underneath Krazy Katie’s hand. Just knowing they were there actually made her look more like herself than she had a moment ago.
“I guess health doesn’t really matter for you anymore,” I whispered. “So you just enjoy those wherever you are, okay?”
“Liam?”
I jumped a little.
“Sorry,” Tria whispered. “It’s time to head to the cemetery.”
“Yeah,” I said. I cleared my throat a little. “Let’s go.”
I thought watching her being lowered into the ground would have been the worst part, but once the casket was closed, I felt like everything was already over even though the priest was still talking. Tria cried, and I kept my arm around her and stared stoically at the ground. Erin came up and asked me if I was all right, hugged Tria, and then headed off.
Damon opened the back door of the Rolls as we approached and informed us that he would be driving us to dinner.
“Dinner?” Tria looked at me, and I leaned back in the seat and sighed.
“My family believes that as soon as a funeral is over, everyone has to meet and have dinner together. It’s like Teague family law or something. Damon, I don’t think—”
“Mr. Teague,” Damon said in an uncharacteristically firm voice, “ordinarily I would adhere to your wishes, but in matters of—”
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered with a wave of my hand. “I give up already.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Where are we going?” Tria asked softly.
“Tamara’s,” I said. “Northside’s premier, hoity-toity restaurant. Right, Damon?”
“Correct, sir.”
“It’s where my family tends to end up for any kind of…special occasion, I guess. They catered Ryan’s wedding, too. Honestly, it’s a steak and seafood place for the most part. There isn’t going to be much on the menu for me.”
“I didn’t think about that,” Tria said.
“It’s okay,” I said quickly. “I don’t really have much of an appetite anyway.”
Tria wrapped her arm around mine, and we took turns staring blankly out the window until we arrived at Tamara’s. Damon opened the door and ushered us both into the restaurant. My family was already there: Michael and Chelsea, Ryan and Amanda, and of course, my parents.
Other than people whose paychecks were signed by Tamara herself, only those bearing the last name of Teague were present in the entire place. It was a little early for lunch, but there should have been a few others around, which meant my father had cleared the whole place out.
There was already a bottle of thirty-year-old scotch on the table.
At eleven in the morning?
I shook my head slowly and then turned toward Tria, holding her a little closer.
“I don’t want to do this,” I mumbled between my teeth.
“We don’t have to,” Tria said.
“Yeah,” I sighed, “we do. Teague tradition, and you don’t fuck with tradition.”
Two seats had been saved for us just to the right of my parents. Michael and Chelsea were across from them, and Ryan and Amanda on the left side of my father, to the right of Michael and Chelsea.
Parent, spouse, child, spouse, etc.
Tradition.
I hadn’t thought about any of it in years, not since the first Christmas I was away from my family and sober. I remembered sitting in my apartment and trying to
find Rudolph on television because everyone was supposed to watch that on Christmas Eve, weren’t they? It wasn’t on any of the cable channels, and I almost ended up having a relapse over it.
I sat down, and Dad poured me a glass of scotch without saying a word.
A server came around, took Tria’s drink order, and placed little baskets of bread around for everyone. No one reached for any of it though, and the little saucers of olive oil and balsamic vinegar remained untouched.
I reached out and brushed my fingers against the edge of the glass. Despite how early in the day it was, a drink sounded pretty damn good.
“Liam,” Douglass said quietly, “you should say a toast.”
More tradition.
It’s amazing how much of it I had forgotten, yet it all came back so quickly.
I cleared my throat and listened to my brain try to come up with something clever, but I had nothing, so I just said what I had been thinking anyway.
“You shouldn’t take people for granted,” I said softly. “I did…I have. I took Katie for granted. She was always there, and when I needed to just go say shit that I didn’t really want to say to anyone else…well, she was always there to listen. I thought she would always be there.”
I raised my glass toward the center of the table.
“I took her for granted,” I said again, and my glass clinked with Michael’s, Ryan’s, and my father’s. At the same time, my mother’s and Amanda’s wine glasses and Tria’s tumbler of lemonade all joined the glasses of scotch.
The whiskey burned my throat and warmed my chest. Tria found my hand under the table and squeezed it.
“I’ve taken people for granted,” my father said with a nod. “People who worked for me, people who did things for me. Maybe it’s human nature. I also took for granted one of the most important people in my life.”
He didn’t look at me but just kept staring at the swirling amber liquid in his glass.
“I took him for granted, and now I’ve missed a third of his life. I can never get that back, not ever.”
He held his glass out, and we all touched the edge of it.
“I’ve taken my son for granted,” Mom said. She was never one for beating around the bush. “I took him for granted when he was younger, and I wish I hadn’t. He was my life, and I threw it away for the sake of a principle I thought mattered. Now I know better.”
The sound of glass touching glass followed.
“I’ve taken my family for granted,” Michael said.
Chelsea went next, and then Ryan—the themes the same. Only Amanda had anything different to say.
“I took my position for granted,” Amanda muttered. Her gaze darted toward Tria, but I didn’t think Tria noticed. “I won’t any longer.”
Everyone looked at Tria, who shifted around in her seat.
“I’ve tried not to,” she said softly. “I think there was a time when I took Liam for granted…”
She looked up and me and smiled slightly.
“I won’t do that again, though.”
Glasses clinked again, but I barely tasted the scotch. If it wasn’t for the burn, I might not have even known what I was drinking.
There was little said afterwards about the funeral, death, or Krazy Katie. It wasn’t like anyone but Tria and I could actually talk about her anyway. I did notice several looks between Amanda and Tria, which made me wonder just what the heck was going on there. I had a bit of an idea—Tria had made it clear they knew each other from foster care and that Amanda had been pretty competitive even back then.
I also had a pretty good idea what Amanda meant by position as well. Tria carried the firstborn child of the firstborn child, the heir to Teague empire after me. As far as I knew, Amanda and Ryan weren’t planning any little ones just yet.
The chef prepared pasta and vegetables along with an assortment of fresh breads, and crème brûlée for dessert. I didn’t even notice everyone ate vegetarian until Tria pointed it out later.
“We’ll see you Sunday?” Michael said as he shook my father’s hand.
“Of course,” Douglass responded.
“Liam?” Chelsea walked over and took one of my hands in both of hers. “Will you and Tria join us for Sunday dinner?”
Tria gripped my hand, and I looked into her eyes. I could see what was there—a plea to accept what was offered. She wanted to go. She wanted to see Chelsea and Michael, and she wanted all of us to try to make nice together.
I wasn’t convinced it was going to work nor that it would be worth the effort, but I nodded and accepted the invitation anyway. One thing I was sure of—for the moment at least—was that I didn’t want to just assume. I didn’t want to take anything for granted.
Krazy Katie was gone, but there were still plenty of other things and people who were still here I had neglected over time. I wasn’t even sure where to start, but I definitely wasn’t going to let the past get in the way of the future any more.
I had to think about Tria and what she needed.
When we finally left late in the afternoon, Tria just about had to carry me to the car. It was probably best that Damon and Ryan were helping. They slid me into the back seat, and Tria wrapped the seat belt around my waist.
As I settled back against the seat, I felt heated tears creep from the corners of my eyes. I wasn’t expecting them and didn’t know what I was supposed to do about them. The knowledge that Krazy Katie was no longer sitting on that fire escape ached in my chest, but there was more to it than that, and I wasn’t sure how to cope with the mix of feelings swirling through me.
Krazy Katie had a shit life—a life that was going nowhere. What else would the future have held for her? It’s not like she was going to be the baby’s godmother.
“When my grandfather died, I had my first glass of scotch,” I slurred.
“Did you?” Tria responded with mirth in her voice. “How old were you then?”
“Ten,” I said. “The scotch was three times as old as I was.”
Tria laughed.
“I was only allowed one finger…”—I held my index finger in the air, just in case Tria had forgotten what one looked like—“and when we got home, I couldn’t get out of the car because my legs didn’t work right.”
My head fell to the side and landed happily on Tria’s shoulder. It was soft and warm, so I closed my eyes.
“Can we name the Baby Katie?” I heard myself say.
Tria’s hand crept into mine, and our fingers linked together. Damon’ eyes gleamed back at me from the rearview mirror.
“I was just thinking the same thing,” Tria said.
She pulled my hand up to her lips and kissed my knuckles.
I was never one to be sentimental, but the name felt right.
Chapter 17—Make the Choice
Life goes on, as they say.
It was amazing how much a steady routine made the time fly. I worked pretty much eight to five, came home to our little rental house, kissed my pregnant wife on the cheek, and then flopped down on the couch for twelve seconds before Tria started either giving me a list of things to do or began to play twenty questions.
I didn’t really mind.
All I could really feel on most days was relief. Ever since Tria’s doctor said the baby was far enough along that she would have a really good chance of surviving if born, I had been a lot more relaxed. Erin had noticed as well and had been pushing me harder lately.
She wanted another session with my mom, which I hadn’t had since Krazy Katie’s funeral. Though in a scotch-impacted state, I had agreed to Sunday dinner. So far, I had managed to find an excuse every weekend, not that I needed an excuse—weekends actually seemed busier than the weekdays, probably because Tria had become a baby-prepping maniac.
“Do you think the crib will be better on that wall?” Tria asked as I stepped out of the shower, rubbing a towel over my head. “It’s farther from the door, but it’s adjacent to our room, and we should be able to hear her better.”
“We’ll have a monitor,” I reminded her. “Chelsea already bought it, and it looks like one of those things you could use to monitor the space station. There’s even video. We’ll be able to hear her either way.”
With Tria just about ready to start the fall semester again, she was starting to drive me crazy with the nesting preparations. Chelsea wasn’t any help, either—she kept filling Tria’s head with all kinds of things she was going to need when the baby comes.
I mean, seriously? Once I had mostly gotten over the panic of Tria being pregnant—something that happened almost magically the day she went past six months—the reality of it all hit me.
We were having a baby.
We were going to be parents.
What the fuck did that really mean?
For Tria, it meant having everything in the exact right place before the baby was born, and the rearrangement of the tiny socks in the tiny dresser drawers was of the utmost importance. I thought the whole prep thing was ridiculous. She was going to eat, sleep and shit. What did you need besides diapers, a crib, and Tria’s boobs?
Tria’s boobs…it was going to be damn hard to share them. They had become nicely plump lately, though I had to be really careful when I touched them, or I’d get smacked. But they were so soft…and big…and round…
“But she’ll be closer if she’s over there!” Tria’s voice became markedly louder as she stabbed at the air with her finger. “If we have to get up in the middle of the night—and you know we will, at least, I will—I suppose you can just lie there!”
The look coming out of her eyes was nothing less than pure evil. I was actually considering hiding in Frankenstein’s Fanny Pack.
“What the fuck did I do?” I asked, like a total moron.
“You aren’t helping at all!” Tria cried as she ran out of the room.
Jesus H. Christ in a hockey rink riding a Zamboni.
I followed her, tiptoeing into the living room and wondering if I was entering the lion’s den. Tria was on the couch with her head in her hands, sobbing loudly. As soon as I sat down beside her, she flung herself into my arms.