36 hurt

                                    

                                          
Indie
TWO DAYS LATER, I don’t know whether to show up at the funeral. Technically, Jem didn’t invite me. But the flower shop was commissioned for the carnation arrangements. I doubt the choice of shop was deliberate on his part— we’re the main contact for the cemetery.
And one of us, either Mae or me, have to travel with the delivery truck to make sure the flowers get to the location in one piece. 
Mae knows whose funeral it is. I haven’t been sleeping, and I know I must look horrible, but she probably just pins it all on the situation. She has no clue that Jem ended things with me two nights ago, so she expects me to be at the funeral anyway.
Over the counter, she gives me a concerned look. “You sure you don’t want me to come?” 
I shake my head. “I’ll be fine.”
I don’t know how to tell her the full story. 
I’m still in shock over it all myself. And a part of me doesn’t want to believe that it’s true. A part of me doesn’t want her to know. Because I know that she’ll immediately rebuke Jem, and I’m not ready to hear anything bad about him. Not right now.
I bid her a temporary farewell, heading out the shop and toward the delivery van.
Dark clouds roll over in the sky as we drive to the venue. I stare down at my outfit as I play with my hands nervously — I’m wearing a black rain jacket, black tights and Docs. 
The van driver pulls into the cemetery, and I jump out to check everything’s alright, then spend some time placing the bouquets on their pews. 
When everything’s done, a slight drizzle of rain starts, and it’s our cue to leave, but I can’t bring myself to. 
I still remember the time Jem took me to visit his mom, and even though I’m not even a fraction close to her as Jem, I still feel the urge to stay, even if it’s just for a short while.
“You can leave without me,” I tell the driver. “I’ll get a cab back.”
He offers me a confused look, but nods anyway, climbing back into the van before reversing out of the cemetery.
It’s a while before the funeral procession starts and they bring out the casket. They’re followed by a line of people, including Jem’s dad and Jo, holding black umbrellas to shield themselves from the soft shatter of rain.
And he’s here. 
Jem. 
I’m standing under the shelter of a tree in the furthest corner from everyone, just to get a glimpse of how he’s doing. If he’s okay. 
His broad shoulders stretch against his suit as he stands next to his sisters, the ink on the backs of his hands peeking through the cuffs of his suit jacket. He’s carrying Gianna in his hands as Kendall holds a giant black umbrella over both Jem and her.
He looks worse than how he looked when he came to me last night. His skin is pale and ashen, dark circles under his eyes. 
My chest throbs at the sight. Even like this, he’s handsome. Like a sad Michelangelo painting. I fight the urge to walk over and stand by his side. My fingers are itching to clasp his hand. It’s what I should do, but I can’t. 
He made it clear that this was what he wanted. 
I don’t understand why he’s doing this — why he’s pushing me away, like I’m only meant to experience the shiny parts of his life and am meant to be sheltered and protected from the other parts.