Need You Now

“I can’t go. I already told my friends I would go to this concert with them,” Pete tells me.

My eyes widen in hurt shock. “What? Pete I’m your boyfriend and my dad just died! Are you serious?”

“Sorry,” he shrugs casually. “You weren’t really close with your dad so it’s not a big deal Ryan.”

I feel like I might throw up if I stand here any longer. “Fuck you!” I say and storm away before he can respond with any more lame excuses.

I go home and struggle to hold myself together. I pull my best black suit out of my closet and put it on. I grab a black tie and face myself in the mirror to check that it’s on right. My hands are shaking. My hair is sticking out at odd angles so I run my fingers through it quickly to fix it. I look even more pale than usual. My eyes are puffy and red from crying. My lips are chapped. I feel like a total mess and I obviously look like one too.

I wait until the last minute to go to the funeral. I walk into the church and sit in the front. I sit silently listening to people cry and talk about how much they’ll miss my dad. Most of them are probably lying but it’s a nice sentiment. Before my mom died my dad was a really nice guy. He attended church and tried to do fun stuff with me often like building a train set and flying kites. Then my mom was in an accident. I barely remember the funeral. I was so young. Since that day he was never the same. He began drinking. He became depressive and angry.

I sit in the front pew alone and try not to break down. My chest hurts. My heart is well and truly broken. I’m so miserable that I just want to crawl into a dark hole and stay there forever. Instead I have to endure this day like a man and a good son.

I go to my house where everyone gathers. They all tell me how sorry they are for my loss. I guess it’s what you’re supposed to tell people when someone dies. They all brought food for me but I’m not hungry at all. Why do people bring food anyway? It’s weird.

I’m standing in the corner watching everyone talking. My dad’s things are still all around the house because I haven’t had the energy or strength to sit down and start putting it all into boxes. I’m all alone and Pete should be here. Pete should be holding my hand and comforting me. I need him and he’s not here. What the hell is wrong with him?

I haven’t eaten in two days but I suddenly feel like I’m going to throw up. My stomach gives a violent lurch and I hurry down the cluttered hallway to the bathroom. I slam the door shut and drop to my knees in front of the toilet. I vomit what little food is left in my stomach then my body is wracked by painful dry heaves. I flush the toilet and start sobbing. I can’t help it. My dad would tell me men don’t cry but he’s not here and I don’t care anymore if anyone hears.

“Ryan?” someone asks, knocking on the door.

“Go away!” I say miserably.

Eventually I manage to somewhat pull myself together, splashing cold water on my face from the sink and taking some deep breaths. I open the bathroom door and he’s still there standing in the hallway. I sniffle and look at him

“Where is everyone?” I ask.

“They left,” he answers.

“What are you doing here?”

“Ryan, your dad died. Of course I came home for this.”

“You didn’t have to. We haven’t even talked in months,” I tell him.

“I’m really sorry. I was busy with school. I should have called you more and there’s no excuse for it. You’re still my friend though. I never forgot you,” he says. “Let’s sit down and talk. I’ll bring you some food.”