Page 46 of Unconventionally, Elle

Now

I?nstead of Christmas dinner, we were at a funeral.

I arrived early with Barrett so he could pay his respects without the eyes of strangers bearing down on him.

We walked into the historic church and slowly made our way to the open coffin, where Emma stood looking over her father.

The room exuded grandeur and spaciousness with its high ceilings and circling balconies.

An oversized chandelier sparkled over the aisle, and Mrs. Henry sat still as a statue, alone in the front pew.

Even though her black veil hid her narrow face, I noticed her shoulders shudder with every sniffle.

Barrett looked handsome yet solemn in his black suit. I'd donned a new black dress with an elaborate fascinator. My red lips gave my face contrast in a room full of pale grief.

This was the last place either of us wanted to be.

I'd never been to an open-casket viewing before, so I was already very uncomfortable.

Both my grandparents wished to have a closed casket.

My heart rate rose the closer we got to Mr. Henry and Emma.

Barrett squeezed my hand tighter. I wasn't sure how many funerals he'd been to.

I didn't ask. But I saw the tension in his shoulders and his jaw set with concentration.

How did someone say goodbye to a parent with whom they'd shared a complicated and often tumultuous relationship?

Emma turned around as we stepped close to the coffin. My throat immediately tightened. I didn't like this. I couldn't stand here. I had to get away.

Mr. Henry's eyes were closed, his lips pressed into a firm line. I'd done my research. I knew why his mouth stayed closed. My stomach squeezed and began to cramp. Oh no. I was going to be sick. Oh my God, I can't do this.

I squeezed Barrett's hand and gave him a quick, panicked glance. He furrowed his brow and whispered in my ear, "It's okay, go have a seat. I'll be right there."

I felt my throat release a little when I dropped his hand and turned away from the dead body.

Within the hour, hundreds of people showed up to pay their respects.

The Henrys stood at the front and received the blessings of strangers, friends, and employees.

Emma kept her head down, and the few times she lifted her eyes, I saw her splotchy red cheeks.

Barrett's face was unreadable. Serious and professional, he shook hands with the assembly line of people and kept glancing at his mother to check on her.

He'd mentioned earlier that morning that he was worried if this funeral would be too much for her to handle.

She'd been aloof and in a frail state ever since the hospital.

All the arrangements had been made, sure, but personally, I thought that Mrs. Henry was a shell of a woman trying to put on a smile for the masses. I pitied her.

When the service began, I was seated in the front row with the family. I looked behind me to take in the audience. Every pew was packed, and it was standing room only in the back.

"I never imagined so many people would come on Christmas Eve," I whispered to Emma, who was seated on my left. Barrett was on my right with his hand on my thigh, mindlessly drawing circles with his forefinger. Mrs. Henry was flanked by Barrett and Olivia.

"It's a Henry funeral," Emma whispered back and gave a slight shrug.

"Hey, did you notice Margaret is here?" I murmured as the flowers were laid across the top of the coffin.

Emma looked back at her, pretended to search for someone else, and then turned back around.

"Way to not make it obvious," I said with a small grin.

"Oh shit," she muttered.

"Shit?" I asked.

"Yeah, I mean, of course she's here, but since she and my brother split up, they haven't been in the same room together," she whispered behind her program.

My face blanched. I didn't realize they hadn't seen each other since the breakup, and now she was here when he was feeling vulnerable and upset.

"No, don't worry. They were awful together. She was manipulative, and in case you haven't noticed, Barrett's a people pleaser. She owned him." Emma rolled her eyes and cleared her throat quietly.

"Oh no, it's not that. I'm just worried how Barrett will react when he sees her," I admitted.

"I can't imagine she'd start anything at the funeral. She knows better." Emma glanced back again, this time looking right at Margaret, who met her stare with a blank expression.

I never went out of my way to talk with Margaret at the office, especially after the dinner from hell with Barrett's parents, when they couldn't stop singing her praises.

However, I felt slightly uncomfortable knowing she was seated a few rows behind me and could possibly cause Barrett more distress.

After the funeral service concluded, I stayed seated while Barrett circulated, shaking hands and accepting condolences on behalf of the family. Mr. Henry wished to be cremated and his ashes spread in Boston Harbor, so there wasn't going to be a funeral procession.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a flash of red hair pass through the aisle.

I looked up and saw Margaret heading straight to Barrett.

I watched as he became aware of her stalking toward him.

Someone was talking to him, but he ignored the conversation and had his narrowed eyes set on Margaret's prowl.

I was stuck in the pew; my body wouldn't move.

What was she going to do? I watched the inevitable scene unfold, a spectator just like everyone else.

Barrett excused himself from the conversation, never taking his eyes from Margaret. She stood close to him, too close, and sneered at him with her arms folded across her chest. I felt like I was watching a bomb tick down to zero as the tension rolled off their bodies.

They weren't arguing, but then I noticed she said something that caused Barrett to jerk backward.

His eyes went wide, and his handsome face drained of all remaining color.

I noticed him look down, and Margaret handed him a ripped piece of paper.

Then she whipped around, gave a quick smile and nod to Olivia and Mrs. Henry, and left Barrett standing ashen and motionless except for shallow breaths.

As she walked by me, her eyes met mine, but they weren't angry. They weren't malevolent. They were full of pity, and I didn't understand why.

I made my way to Barrett, zigzagging through fellow mourners. He was reading the note in his hand and didn't look up as I approached.

"Elle. Hey," he said, voice distant.

"Barrett, are you okay?" I reached up and stroked his forearm. "I saw Margaret talking to you and I wanted to get over here, but--"

He cut me off before I could finish explaining why he'd had to take her on alone.

"Yeah, I, um"--he brushed his hand through his styled espresso-brown hair--"it's just a lot to figure out, that's all.

" He offered me a feeble smile and slipped the note into his coat pocket.

He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it gently.

"Let's go home--oh, wait. Really quick, I promise, I need to go see my mom. "

I nodded and let his hand drop again so he could find Mrs. Henry.

I'd had enough of dead bodies, overcrowded rooms, and ex-girlfriends. My anxiety was in rare form, I was overstimulated, and I needed to get a breath of fresh air. I reached for my purse and made my way to the exit.

I walked to the right of the building. Snow was still shimmering on the ground, and I followed a brick path toward some iron benches.

I stopped short when I noticed Margaret's red hair.

She was sitting on one of the benches, her back turned.

I heard her speaking but didn't see anyone nearby.

I assumed she was on the phone. I didn't move.

I didn't want to bring her attention to my presence.

"No, Mom, I'm okay. Yes, I told him. No, he didn't say anything. I gave him the paper." Her voice was clear and crisp. I couldn't ignore it if I wanted to.

Told him what?

"He knows. Yes. He knows. I don't know. Okay, love you too.

Okay, bye." She sighed, and a cloud of warmth clashed with the frosty temperature outside.

She slipped her phone into her purse, and before I could make my legs move, she stood up and turned in my direction.

She saw me right away. Surprise rushed across her face, her lifted eyebrows and open mouth confirming that she'd had no idea I was steps away while she talked to her mother.

The shock on her face matched the horror on mine.

"What did you hear?" she demanded, her lips lifted into a fierce snarl.

Dumbfounded, I didn't say anything. I stared at her with my mouth moving and no words coming out.

"It's his, you know," she seethed. "He'll take me back. I know it. He won't leave me alone knowing it's his."

My brain was malfunctioning. I couldn't find the words. I couldn't even think straight. She wasn't saying what I think she was saying. Right? "What?"

"You heard me. You heard the whole conversation, didn't you? It's his baby, and he won't have a choice after his mother and Olivia get ahold of him." Her voice was shaking. Was she really angry? She seemed... scared.

I felt the warm tears roll down my cheeks and turn to stiff ice. I felt every crack of my heart as it broke with every word Margaret uttered. "No," I whispered, my eyes pleading. "No, no."

"Yes," she said and put her hand on her now visible rounded stomach, protective and proud. "Just because you say no doesn't make it go away." She grabbed her purse, held her stomach, and stared at me. "I never hated you, Elle."

I was trapped in her stare.

"But he was never yours."

Then she walked away.