“I’ll be fine until tomorrow,” she says. “I’m sorry I bothered you in the middle of the night.”
“It is tomorrow,” I say. “And it’s no bother at all. I’m glad I’m the first person you called. If I leave Nashville now, I can be there by ten in the morning. I’ll help you with everything. I went through this when my mom passed.”
“Thank you, Rhodes. I…” She hesitates, her voice panicked and cracked. “I’m so lost.”
“I know. But I’ll hold your hand through everything. We’ll get through it together. In the meantime, call Sistine or Patsy if you need anything before I get there.”
“I will. I may wait until the sun comes up, at least.”
“Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Thank you,” she says. “Bye, Rhodes.”
“Bye, Micah.”
Without so much as yawning, I roll out of bed, take a quick shower to wake myself, throw my things in my bag, and check out as quickly as I can. When I get to my SUV, I tell the GPS to take me to Magnolia Row, and I’m on the road before the sun rises.
* * *
After a quick stop in Birmingham to pick up some extra clothes, I make my way to south Alabama. When I pull up to Micah’s house, there are several cars in the driveway. I park and walk to the patio door, where I can see Sistine and Patsy talking in the living room. They wave me in as soon as I get there.
“She’s on the phone with her mother,” Sistine whispers, pointing to Micah, who is sitting at the dining room table, back to us, with her hand over her face and her phone to her ear.
We stand in silence and wait, trying to make out what she’s saying. Finally, she puts the phone down and rubs her face.
I step into the dining room and put my hand on her shoulder. When she turns to look at me, a flood of relief comes over her and she stands to hug me. I squeeze her as tight as I can, and she leans on me while she quietly cries into my shirt.
“I’m sorry you had to drive all this way,” she says.
“It’s okay,” I say. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
I release my hug and kiss her on the forehead. She looks up to me with swollen eyes.
“My mother is coming,” she says, her voice low and full of dread.
“And cue the drama,” says Sistine, who is standing in the doorway.
“That’s alright, girl,” says Patsy. “You got a tribe behind you.”
Micah nods and leans into my shoulder. Patsy’s right. Even without blood relatives, she still has people who love and care about her. She has the family she chose, the ones who continue to choose her.
* * *
That day, we go through the motions of meeting with the funeral director and the pastor from the church. It turns out Ms. Barbara planned and paid for everything long before she died, right down to the flowers and hymns she wanted. All Micah has to do is get a copy of the contract to make sure she doesn’t want to add anything.
The house is incredibly busy. Everyone in town wants to stop by with casseroles and flowers. I probably meet half of Magnolia Row in the span of eight hours, and each time someone asks if I’m Micah’s boyfriend, I laugh awkwardly and say we’re getting to know each other. Honestly, I’m not sure what else to say. We haven’t exactly defined anything, and now is not the time for me to force the issue.
I offer to stay at the local hotel to give Micah space, but she insists I not leave her, so I don’t. I put my things in the guest room, but for the next two nights I sleep with her in her bed, though the physical contact never goes beyond kissing. She’s not ready to go further.
The morning of the funeral arrives and Micah hasn’t slept at all. The rising sun casts a soft orange hue on the curtains as we’re laying in bed, talking. The house is as quiet as a church, so I’m startled and sit straight up when I hear the side door open and keys clang on the kitchen counter.
“Oh God,” Micah says, her eyes closed. “She’s here.”
I know she means her mother without even asking. She gets up and tiptoes out the door. She’s still in her floral pajama pants and a hoodie from Victoria’s Secret. I follow, wearing my comfy pants and an Auburn University College of Architecture t-shirt.
Piles of bags dot the living room floor, and I can tell from Micah’s expression she’s already annoyed. The side door is open, and her mother is dragging in more stuff to dump in the living room amongst the dozens of plants and flowers Micah has received in the past few days.
If I didn’t already know who she was, I never would peg her as Micah’s mom. She’s short where Micah is tall. She’s very skinny, lacking all the curves Micah has, and has chin-length, straight dark hair. The shape of their noses and eyes are the same, but that’s where the similarities end. Her chaotic energy makes me anxious, and I can tell Micah too is frazzled.
