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Drink With Me

Okay, we will be back to the happier chapters after this one, I promise. I feel like these sad ones have gone on FOREVER. I hope you haven't been too mad at me for them, hehe. This one's slightly based off of personal experience. I hope you enjoy (as much as you can haha). Don't forget to leave a little comment/vote. Thank you all xxxx
-ab

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March 27, 2026

Harper

It's terrifying, waking up in the morning and knowing that I have to attend my father's funeral today. I'm careful to not wake Patrick up as I climb out of bed and start to get ready for the day. I take a quick shower, then slip into a simple, black dress with an open back. After that, I start to do my makeup.

"Good morning, sweetie," I hear Patrick's raspy morning voice say after a few minutes. He places his hand on the small of my back, where my dress is open. "You look gorgeous."

"Thanks," I say, giving him a sad little smile.

"Are you ready for today?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," I shrug. I put the finishing touches on my makeup, applying a bit of waterproof mascara and powdering, a habit which I've picked up from being in theatre, just for safety.

"Let me just get dressed and brush my hair," Patrick laughs. I'm all ready, and he hasn't even started yet. It doesn't take him very long to prepare himself, though, and before I know it, I'm slipping my feet into my light pink ballet flats and wrapping my coat around myself, covering my bare arms.

"Good to go?" He asks.

"Yep."

"Do you have your sheet music?" Patrick asks me. I hold up the folder that I'm carrying in the hand which isn't holding Patrick's.

Mum asked me a few weeks ago if I would sing at Dad's funeral. It took me quite a while to decide on a good song to sing. I thought of 'Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again' from Phantom of the Opera, but Dad wasn't too keen on that idea, when I ran it by him. He said that he wanted a song with more sentimental meaning, perhaps from a show he had seen, or even better, one that I had been in.

It was Dad that came up with the idea, in the end. It wasn't something that I would have thought of, but it's something that he wanted to do. He said that nothing would make him happier than to have me sing something from Les Miserables, so I'm going to be singing 'Drink With Me.'

I'm not sure how I'm going to hold up, as that song has always made me cry- since the first time I saw the show on the West End when I was just a young teenager. I was so mesmerized that day. Not much has changed since then.

Once we arrive at the funeral home, I notice that Mum is already there. She's not crying yet, which is good.

"Harper," she says, pulling me aside, "the musician wants to know if we can run your song really quickly in the side room."

"That's fine," I nod. "I'll go meet him."

It's an easy run, as I've come quite prepared. He's very complimentary of my voice, and is quite impressed when I bring up that I was in Les Miserables on the West End. He seems to have practiced his music as well, so it fits together quite nicely.

"Good. That's great. Just do it again like that during the service."

"I'll try my best," I sigh.

"I know, it's hard..."

"I've got to do it, though. For Dad."

"Don't feel bad if you aren't able to."

"No, I'll be fine," I assure the pianist. "I promise."

A silence falls between us for a moment, before I announce that I'm going to go join my family.

Back in the main room, where people are starting to gather, Patrick is lingering by the wall in the corner. I walk over to him. "Not about the socializing?"

"I just don't really know any of these people."

"It's fine, I don't know half of them either."

Patrick laughs. "How did your music go?"

"It was good. He's a very talented pianist."

"I'm glad."

I stay next to Patrick and mostly talk to him for the next few minutes, though a few relatives and friends of my parents do come up and say hi to me.

When it's time for the service to begin, Patrick and I take our seats, near the front of the group of chairs.

He intertwines his fingers with mine, and gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. I've been dreading this moment for so long.

Then, my mum stands up in front of the group, grabs the microphone, and begins to speak, after a hush falls over the group of people.

"Hi, everybody. Thank you so much for coming today to celebrate the life of my beloved husband, Cooper Kennedy."

Most of what happens during the funeral is a blur to me. All that I know is that I spend most of the time blinking back tears as I watch my relatives and close family friends talk about what my dad meant to them, as his casket lingers in the back.

I'm set to sing near the end of the funeral. I know that, if I start to cry, then I won't be able to stop for when I'm supposed to sing. That's why I bite my lip and squeeze Patrick's hand, and rub my eyes every few minutes. I can't allow the tears to spill out of my eyes.

When the time arrives, and I'm called up to sing, I'm relieved that I'll still be able to do so.

The piano starts, and I come in, right on cue. I've known these words by heart for ten years. I can't mess them up, no matter where my mind is. That's good, because I'm not quite focusing on the music right now. I'm focusing on the little boy crying in the fifth row. I'm focusing on my mum, so upset that she can't even seem to cry. She's just sitting there, emotionless.

And I'm focusing on the casket that's beside me.

Dad is in there. That's a weird thing to think, but he is.

It's almost comforting. Like he's listening to me, even though I know that there's no way he can be.

It comes as a relief when my song is over, and I don't quite know how to act when I'm done. Nobody claps, so I'm unsure of whether to bow or not. After a moment of debating, I just collect my sheet music and awkwardly walk back to my seat.

"That was amazing," Patrick whispers to me. My mum turns around and grabs my hand, giving it a little squeeze, thus conveying that she feels the same way.

And before I know it, the funeral service is over.

I've survived.

The rest of the day is going to be easy. Just a luncheon and reminiscing.

Easy. Right?