Page 92 of Spell Ya Later

“Wait—what’s wrong?” Her bitchy mask slips for a moment. “Is he okay?”

Yeah, he’s fine. He just hates me. All good. “I’m not sure he’ll ever forgive me.”

“Oh,” she giggles. “Is that all?”

I huff in reply, wrapping my arms around myself protectively.

She smiles—a real, genuine Laura smile—and steps closer. “He’ll forgive you, Hazel. You forget, but I was there when you two first locked eyes on each other. He was in love with you the moment he saw you. He may be hurt—hell, his pride may be wounded. But he’ll come back. Plus, he’s a guy. If he takestoo long, go over to his place in sexy lingerie and he won’t even remember why he’s upset.”

I chuckle despite the ache. “I think it may be beyond lingerie.”

“Well, then you’re on your own.” She strides into the kitchen with a whip of her hair.

Chapter 35

Cucumber Sandwiches

Aweight presses on all of us—Grandma, Laura, and I—as we sit together in the living room two days after I move in. We’re silent and have been for the past thirty minutes. It’s the first time we’ve all been together since the night Mom...

Since Mom.

And it’s obvious. The little cucumber sandwiches I made go untouched on the antique coffee table. The tea has long since gone cold. Laura and I sit on opposite ends of the large couch. Despite our distance, we’re both underneath the same hand-woven cream blanket while Grandma sits on the regal armchair next to us. Rosie snores in her lap like the grumpy old princess she is. I wring my hands, eyes bouncing between my sister, my grandmother, the blanket, and the wall.

We need to talk. We have to decide how the hell to move forward. Make sense of what happened, but it’s still so fresh.

The grief is too raw for anyone to want to begin.

“Should we be planning Mom’s funeral?” Sometimes, I swear my brain and my mouth aren’t attached. I can always count on my blabbering to happen at the most inopportune moments. But it’s something I wanted to know.

Laura jerks as if she’s been slapped, Grandma’s hand flies to her heart as she trembles.

“No.” Laura speaks confidently, despite how my words obviously affected her.

I regard her. She’s so young, and she’s lost both of her parents in catastrophic ways. “No?” I try to be kind, to clarify what she wants.

“No,” she repeats. “It’s not time.”

I resettle on the couch, trying not to fidget. “I know you aren’t ready yet. I don’t want to do this either, but...”

I trail off as my eyes meet Grandma’s. She has unshed tears building. She hasn’t been the same since Mom.

“This isn’t some overwhelming grief moment!” Laura exclaims, her own tears betraying her. “While I realize you two still see me as a child, I’m not one. It isn’t time.”

Grandma sits straighter at that, scrutinizing Laura’s face. “How do you know?”

“What do you mean ‘how does she know?’” I practically stumble over the words. How can it not be time? What are they even talking about?

“I know.” Laura takes a deep breath, false confidence pouring off her. “Because I do.”

Maybe I’m pushing her too hard. Maybe I’m just thinking about myself again and she needs more time before we face the finality of Mom being gone.

I try to smile at her. “We can put off discussing it for another week or two.”

She rolls her eyes and stands. “Thanks, sis.”

Laura’s chest heaves for two beats—three beats— then she turns on her heel and leaves.

The front door slams behind her.