Chapter 2 – The Funeral
Thanks for the reviews! I had planned on this being a one-shot, but had requests to continue, so I have some ideas for a few more chapters.
As always, I do not own New Girl, sigh.
Sophie stood looking at the ground with her hands at her sides, pulling her thumbs across her fingers over and over. She did her best to hold back a quiet sob, but Nick still heard. He leaned over and put his arm around his daughter, squeezing her shoulder lightly.
In Nick's arms, Walt did little to hide the huge tears that rolled down his face. Occasionally, he would drag the sleeve of his dark shirt across his runny nose. Nick wished he was one of those dads who always carried and handkerchief. He was pretty sure his dad always had one. That, and a flask of whiskey. Right now Nick could use both.
Jess stood at the front of the gravesite, her modest, black dress coming just below her knees. She took a breath and gave her children a sad smile. "Today is a sad day for the Miller family, because today we lost one of our own."
Sophie choked on another sob, and Nick did his best not to roll his eyes as he comforted his children.
Jess continued, "Bubbles was a great goldfish. He was always there when we came downstairs in the morning, with a fishy smile that brightened our day." Nick looked at Jess, and tried not to smile. Only she could make it sound as though a stinky goldfish was one of the family.
At first, Nick had resisted the idea of a goldfish funeral. Let me just flush it down the toilet, Jess. The look of shock she gave him made Nick realize he was doomed. Now here he stood, in the late spring heat, in his best suit, while Jess gave a touching eulogy of the finer qualities of Bubbles.
Nick thought about the fair where he had won the fish for his kids. It had been a rough night at the bar the evening before. His distributors were upping their prices – again, his latest jerry-rigged fix on the air conditioner did not seem to last more than a few days, and a new bartender broke three bottles in an attempt to imitate the movie Cocktail. What kind of an idiot does that? Nick had shouted at the kid.
The morning of the fair, he had been in no mood for overpriced food, death-trap rides and sketchy carnival workers, and he told Jess so. But she had smiled that sweet-Jess smile, wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed him lightly on the lips. "What you need is a day not to think about anything. Just enjoy your family."
Not think. Just enjoy. Nick had been working on that since the first day he met Jess. It always seemed easier when she was next to him. He sighed, relaxing into her arms and giving her a proper kiss. "Okay, Jess, but when Walt gets hyped up on funnel cake, I'm blaming you."
Fairs were definitely on the bottom of Nick's list of things-he-wanted-to-do, ever. But he did get a kick out of watching the kids scream with delight on the kiddie rides – the ones he deemed safe enough for them. It was when they passed a booth with giant teddy bears hanging on the walls where the trouble started.
"Oooooh, daddy, can I get a teddy bear?" Sophie asked.
Jess looked up at the bear. "You have to win the bear, Sophie, and that game looks like a big-people game. Why don't we go and get our faces painted instead?" Walt let out a whoop and declared he wanted a big snake on his face. Sophie looked disappointed, but turned to follow her mom.
Nick had no idea why he did it, but he grabbed Sophie's hand and marched over to the booth. "What do I gotta do to win the bear?" Nick demanded of the kid behind the counter, who looked closer in age to Sophie than himself. He forked over a couple of dollars and picked up a battered softball, ready to hurl it at a very study looking stack of bottles.
Jess and Walt walked over to the counter. "Whatcha doing, daddy?" Walt asked.
Nick launched a ball at the bottles, and it flew wide. "Trying to knock down the bottles, kiddo." He whipped another ball that hit the table on which the bottles were perched, and they wobbled slightly. He squeezed the last ball and let it fly. It tipped one of the bottles, but they remained in place. His head snapped to the kid. "What kind of game you runnin' here?" he barked. "That hit the bottle!"
Jess rolled her eyes at Nick. "Okay, daddy, that's enough. Kids, let's all give daddy a big hand for trying to knock down the bottles!"
Walt and Sophie clapped loudly, but Nick was already throwing down another couple of dollars. "Let's go!" he yelled at the kid, who timidly placed three more balls in front of him.
Jess stepped in front of Nick. "Three more, Nick, and then we go get faces painted," she said firmly, with a look of determination he knew well.
He shrugged. "Yeah, sure." He waited for her to move, but she remained in place. "Nick," she said in a low voice. "This is not a cactus, it is not a tomato plant, and it is not a door that says Pull."
"I hate doors," murmured Nick. He looked at his wife. "No worries, Jess. I got this," he smiled tightly. She rolled her large, blue eyes at him and moved aside.
Nick looked at Jess now, standing at the front of tiny gravesite she dug for a goldfish. It had not been three more tries, or six or nine. Nick hadn't even noticed when she led the kids away for face painting. Somehow those dang bottles became all the stuff Nick felt like he could not conquer. Finally, finally he managed to somehow knock the top bottle off the stack. The kid timidly handed him a plastic bag of water with an anemic-looking goldfish inside.
When he tracked down his family, happily munching on funnel cake and recounting the funny man at the ferris wheel whom they all now seemed to know as "Hank," Nick shoved the bag with the sad, little goldfish at his daughter.
Sophie's eyes became huge. "Is this for us, daddy?" she practically whispered over a mouth full of funnel cake. Nick shrugged and nodded. She jumped up and wrapped powdered sugar-covered hands around her father. "Oh, daddy! He's beautiful! He's the most beautiful thing I have ever seen!"
Jess was beaming at him. It was one of those smiles that twisted his insides, even after years of being married. "What should we call him?" she asked the kids.
Walt had his face pushed up against the plastic, staring unblinking at the fish. "He is Bubbles," Walt said simply and sat back.
Going home later that day, Jess slipped her hand into Nick's. "Thank you for today," she said. "I can't believe you got us a pet!"
He smiled and laughed lightly. "I think I plunked down about $40 on a goldfish that will probably croak in a couple of days."
Jess pulled his hand to her lips and kissed it. "That just proves that you, sir, are a born romantic." Nick rolled his eyes at her, but the smile spread wide across his face.
"Losing Bubbles is hard for our family because he brought us so much joy," Jess said, as Nick refocused on the funeral at hand. That little bugger had managed to live about six months, far surpassing Nick's lifespan guess of a day or two. And now, here he stood, at a fish funeral, comforting his teary children.
"Daddy, say something about Bubbles," Sophie pulled at his hand.
"Um, baby, this is not my thing," he started to explain. But one look in Sophie's eyes and Nick cleared his throat. He set Walt down and folded his hands together, trying to look somber. He thought back to his father's funeral, grasping for something to say. Nick figured saying how cool it was that he was mean to cabbies would not apply here. "Well," he said slowly, then looked into Jess' eyes. His breath caught in his throat. She was so beautiful, even at a fake funeral. "When you love someone, it's tough to imagine ever letting that someone go. Unless, of course, someone is willing to dress up as Elvis and sing for you."
Jess gave him a knowing smile. "What, daddy?" Sophie asked.
"Nothing, sweetheart," Nick said quickly. "The point is, we'll all miss Bubbles, but the main thing to remember is to enjoy the people you care about while they are here before, you know, we all float upside down in the fish bowl…um…of life."
Sophie patted her father's hand. "That was nice, daddy," she said.
Walt sniffled. "Can we get a turtle now?"
Nick looked at his son. "A turtle? Huh. Why not?"
Walt wiped his nosed on his sleeve. "I want a big one I can ride. The kind they have on the Balopabos Islands."
Jess reached down to Walt with a soft handkerchief in her hand. As she gently wiped his face, Nick smiled. "Maybe something a little smaller at first, okay big guy?" Nick said. Walt nodded.
Sophie lifted her head and squared her shoulders. "Okay, everyone. Uncle Schmitty has left us some canapés and mango chutney for the wake," she said, and headed for the house.
"You sound like a dork when you say it like that, 'chut-a-knee,'" yelled Walt as he dashed after her.
"Do not use the word 'dork,' Walt. It's not nice," said Jess. She turned to follow the children and Nick grabbed her arm. "A very nice funeral, Mrs. Miller."
She gave him a quick kiss, and took his hand in hers. Nick sighed as she pulled him toward the house. Now he had to figure out what the hell a canapé was. It was all part and parcel of being married to Jessica Day Miller, and Nick would not have traded it for the world.
