Chapter 4 - Flowers

People I've never seen before arrive at his funeral organized by Vera. She sobs incessantly for herself and her son. I don't know how I'd respond if my children, Colby and Addison, passed away. But I'm living what's the closest thing right this second.

The kids are in school at the moment, both admitting they did not want to attend. I did not

make it mandatory for them. At eleven and thirteen, it was going to take them a long time to come to the conclusion that life goes on. I guess avoiding their father's funeral comforted them from the reality, which, I could not force them out to face.

Robert's body lays in the closed casket. I can't help but stare at the floor the whole time, feeling uncomfortable. Even at thirty-three years of age I cannot handle coping with death. I sob and sob quietly, receiving immediate pats on my shoulder from the family and close friends.

I begin to wonder why he had me as the secondary emergency contact and his parents the first. Why did I learn that at the hospital and not

from him? I push the thoughts away, as this is not the time to get selfish at a day of recognition of the end of my husband's life.

I know I will never recover from this. I am suicidal; a state of being that has been unfamiliar to me since the age of fourteen, when I had begun using drugs to conceal the overbearing feelings of wanting to drop dead every day. I was never an addict. I just smoked marijuana daily and fucked around with needles; something Robert had taught me to do instead of insufflate and smoke my drugs. Something tells me I'm going straight back to heroin.

—

The funeral ends at 3p.m.

I ride home in my Lexus, my blue eyes glassy in the rear view mirror. I have a bad habit of looking at myself as I drive; my psychiatrist often questions if I'm a narcissist because of this. I've always been told I had fuck-me eyes. But when I perceive them, I see sheer agony this time.

In the backseat is an abundance of funeral flowers I don't want in my house. I will never look at Italian roses the same. I must sell them online to someone who will appreciate them.

I don't see anything wrong with selling items that give you bad vibes. My children both grimaced at the sight of them pervading the inside of the car, asking me if I had already gotten remarried. Tears filled my eyes at how stupid they could be.

I create an ad for the dozen bouquets of flowers asking for a rock bottom price of $500. They have to be worth at least $1500. The florists in Northern Orange County, especially Huntington Beach did not budge on bargaining with their prices. I know that from when we got married. Sixty thousand dollars for an entire set of premium flowers.

All of that preparation and excitement for nothing.

It isn't until hours later that the order comes in. My phone bings at 12a.m. as a notification from the shopping app wakes me. I roll over on my side. It bings again, waking me fully. I groan in my bed, then tears fill my eyes. It is my first time waking up a widow.

I open my phone to a notification saying the bouquet has been purchased and a message.

Sender: Richard Brooke

Recipient: Sasha S. Schumann

To avoid shipping costs for the both of us, I'd like

to pick up the order in person from Kate's florist shop. I figured because we both live in Huntington Beach we could forget about the trouble of delivering them via parcel.

I roll my eyes as I type my response, wondering how old someone has to be to contact another person at an inappropriate, non-office hour. Especially in the same time zone.

Sender: Sasha S. Schumann

Recipient: Richard Brooke

Hello, Richard. Thank you for purchasing the overburden in my front hall. You can pick them up at my house, actually. We don't need to meet at a store and risk our sale being reported as unregulated by the law. You know how some store owners can be.

I write in response. I include my address at the very end, along with my cell phone number. The faster I can get rid of these flowers, the better. Bless Richard, whoever he was. May I never judge someone who buys secondhand memorial flowers again.