TIFFIN 3

1

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You're no different than who you were a week ago. You've had money before. It doesn't mean a thing. 

I tried to repeat this mantra in my head, but it was no use. I saw all the looks thrown my way as I took my seat on the garden bench.

Several elderly couples judged me as if I had been the culprit to murder the late Dorinda Tiffin and it hadn't been the damned cancer. 

Hero- my faithful, wonderful husband- had tried many times to calm my nerves.

As promised we'd purchased a new house, much to my dismay. It was stone, intricate, and much too large for my taste.

It was more of a pillared mansion, but Hero wouldn't take my excuses.

He'd paid in full. 

To top it all off, I was getting used to having money. He insisted on buying me fancy clothes and it made me feel guilty.

For the funeral, I'd bought an elegant black gown with a large sunhat. I had to admit that I looked charming and classy, but I had sour feelings about it all.

I was spending a dead woman's money.

Everything went to the back of my mind, however, when the ceremony had begun. Seeing Dorinda's body in a casket was... horrible.

I couldn't look at it.

It was a painful reminder of what I couldn't do for her. Maybe if I had looked past all the hate we had carried for each other, maybe I could have...

Oh, I didn't know. 

As the ceremony ended and we all gathered in the church to get food for the service, I was bombarded by ridicule from other women.

They'd acted like they needed food as they idled by the food trays, but I was too smart for that. 

"See that get-up?" One woman stated.  "She sure didn't dress like that a few months ago."

"I know," another woman whispered back, "Dorinda was right about her. I bet she asked for the money as soon as she passed."

I wanted to say something.

I wanted to tell them all to fuck off, but I refrained.

This day was in memory of a great woman. I couldn't spoil it. 

I took my plate of spinach wraps and hurried to an empty table.

Oh wow.

I felt just as I had in middle school.

Lame and invisible.

Unwanted. 

"Miss. Tiffin?"

I looked up to look into Hero's eyes.

He'd been calling me this endearment for a whole week. I was still getting used to it. 

"Yes, husband?" I replied weakly. 

"What's wrong?" He huffed. "Diedre isn't here, you know."

"That's not it, I-"

I stopped myself, realizing what he said.

She didn't come to her own daughter's funeral?

"What?" he went on. "Aren't you happy?"

I gasped. 

"I-I mean... I am relieved to not have to see her face, but it's not right for me to keep her from this. It would be wrong."

Hero shrugged. 

"Diedre never gives back to anyone. She isn't going to show up today. Not if she can't have what she wants." 

I recoiled, knowing what he meant. 

He forced me to my feet, wrapping his arms around me. 

"Seriously. Tell me what's bothering you. I'm trying not to get pissed."

I ducked my head to avoid any glances from strangers.

"Ever since we arrived, I've been judged for things I can't help. You should hear what these people are saying."

He laughed this off. 

"You're overthinking things again. None of these people matter. Let's just get through the afternoon- You need to eat something more filling."

I looked back at my untouched wrap. 

"That's all I want-"

"Eat." Hero said in a more pressing tone. "I have been studying you for a little over a year now. You don't eat like you did when we met. Pasta. That's what I'd like for you to eat."

I felt my eyes brim with tears. 

"It's hard for me, sweetheart. I don't know what's wrong with me. I body-check myself all the time. I want to be someone you're proud to show off."

He then grabbed ahold of my face, pressing my cheeks together. 

"I am proud of you. I think you're beautiful, you know that. Now please, eat something with me."

I let go of his hand, allowing a smile to slip. 

"Okay. Let's go."

Just as we made our way over to the serving table, I saw it before it hit me; A thick, sweet substance hit my face.

I stared across the way at a young girl, no older than sixteen.

She adorned a plaid dress, holding a plastic cup. It had been a dessert of some kind. 

She eyed Hero- not with hate- but admiration. She then turned to look at me in disgust. 

"That was a gift from my mother. You don't deserve to sit in her late friend's chair." 

At once, Hero stood in front of me like a personal shield. 

"Don't think I didn't notice how you looked at me," he hissed, making the girl shrink, "This is my wife you just assaulted. Either you leave us alone or I sue you!"

As she ran away, sobbing, I was filled with confusion. 

What made that come out of him? 

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