It takes Piper less than an hour to think the awful, selfish thought: she isn't making Alex want to stay.
The realization cartwheels through her stomach, dripping panic, and it makes Piper want to jump to her feet and crawl on top of Alex on the couch, have a do over, give her whatever she needs.
Piper gets as far as lifting her head and twisting around to look at Alex; she's asleep on the couch, naked and pale and vulnerable, and unfettered need breaks open inside Piper's chest. Her fingers stretch on their own accord, desperate to touch her.
Alex's hair is splayed out on the couch cushion, and with painstakingly gentleness, Piper touches the pads of her fingers to edge of the strands, making sure not to do anything Alex will feel.
Piper isn't sure why she's like this, how she's like this, constantly pushing and pulling between selfish and selfless. She wants Alex to need her enough to stay, and surely that requires some sick secret hope that Alex stays broken.
But then Piper looks at her, and she's sure the force of Alex's hurt is going to break her own heart clean in two.
After awhile, Piper finds her cell phone on the floor and checks the time; it's nearly five am. They have to be at the funeral home at ten for the private viewing. Dread shoots through Piper as the day and everything it holds stretches out before her. She looks at Alex again, wishing they could both just sleep through this.
Piper pulls her shirt back on, finally, and then stands up, careful to stay quiet as she creeps across the apartment and into the bedroom. She can't quite bring herself to crawl into the bed without Alex, but she crosses the dark room to kneel beside the pile of their suitcases.
Alex's clothes are spilling out of the luggage; Piper picks through the bundle, randomly pulling out a black dress of Alex's that she loves. It makes her suddenly, absurdly miss Paris. Or London, or Bali, or Greece...anywhere but here.
Her inappropriate contentment during the movie earlier feels like it happened years ago, and now all Piper wants is to be thousands of miles away, lost in flashing lights and blaring music of some nightclub. She wants Alex in this dress, Alex laughing against her neck, Alex's hands roaming her body, Alex grinding her hips, both of them playing a game of chicken until someone loses and grabs the other by the wrist, pulling her to a bathroom to shut themselves into a stall.
Piper pulls a thin, lacey sleeve absently between two fingers and closes her eyes, thinking about the last time she saw Alex in this dress, reliving that night's bathroom stall excursion. She hates herself a little bit for thinking about this now, hours before Diane's funeral, but she needs to get tonight's version of Alex - shut down, empty, unfamiliar - out of her head.
Eventually she puts the dress back and circles the room again, ending up on the floor in the corner, on her knees next to Alex's stereo. She plugs a pair of Alex's old, huge Walkman headphones into the audio jack and presses play without checking what's in the cassette deck. The Clash bursts to life against her ears; they were never one of her favorites of Alex's bands, but as soon as the sound hits her, Piper feels almost dizzy with relief. She always pictures this apartment as full of music, and she's missed it. The Clash may as well be a security blanket.
As the song plays, Piper starts sifting through the rest of the tapes. Usually, she looks for Alex's handwriting, and can usually find a few with her own name written on the label in the familiar all caps scrawl. But now she looks for the tapes with the older, peeling labels, titles scrawled in faded pen: Diane's tapes.
She finds one labeled Alex - 1981, which would put Alex at maybe a year old. Piper quickly swaps out the tapes, suddenly desperate to hear whatever Diane was playing for Alex when she was a baby.
Wild Horses comes on, and it's instantly familiar: Alex loves this song. Piper turns up the volume and leans back against the wall, eyes closed.
She listens to the tape all the way through. A lot of the songs Piper knows; they're the slower, softer songs from some of Alex's favorite bands, The Rolling Stones and Zeppelin and The Who. Some songs she remembers Diane playing on the records in the living room, singing along to A Case Of You or Shelter from the Storm. Others surprise her: Alex has never been into The Beatles, as far as Piper knows, but "Blackbird", "Dear Prudence", and "Hey Jude" all make appearances.
Her eyes brim over with tears, and she cries silently through at least a third of the tape, but it feels cathartic, and necessary, the same way it felt opening up to her grandmother that afternoon.
But when the music eventually cuts off, plunging her back into the apartment's oppressive silence, all it's done is bring her an hour and a half closer to Diane's funeral. Piper shoves in another tape with Alex's name on it, her fingers pressing Play with urgent, hurried motion, banishing the silence again. She stretches out on the carpet, drifting in and out of shallow sleep.
Piper wakes up to silence and sunlight filtering through the blinds, and anxiety immediately starts gnawing her stomach into tiny pieces.
She doesn't want to go.
It's as simple and childish as that.
She can hear Alex in the bathroom, and Piper's nerves redouble. When she'd pulled away last night, Alex had come back to herself just long enough to give Piper this furious, disgusted look she can't get out of her head. Piper's sure she's severely pissed Alex off on the worst possible day for it.
But after a few minutes, Alex walks out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, her hair inky black and dripping water onto the floor. Piper looks up at her, expecting a cold front of anger, but there's nothing in Alex's face but deep rooted dread. Her eyes find Piper's and hold on, like she needs it.
"Hey."
Alex's voice sounds muffled, and Piper realizes the headphones are still clamped on her ears. She knocks them off, embarrassed. "Hey."
"Get any sleep?" That's it; no reference to the mess of clothes on one side of the room, or the tapes littering the floor on the other. There's no trace of last night in Alex's voice.
"Just a little."
"Yeah. Me, too." Alex stands there for a moment, an unmoored expression on her face. Finally she turns away, voice flattening. "You should get ready. We have to leave soon."
Piper puts on a black dress and waterproof mascara and curls her hair. When she walks back into the living room, Alex is at the computer again, scribbling on a notepad.
"Alex?"
Alex squints through the fog around her and registers Piper's presence. "I'm almost done."
"Okay."
Pure fear slices unexpectedly through Piper's chest, and she doesn't know why but she feels afraid of Alex; of what she might do, of what her face is going to look like, of her eulogy.
Piper hovers across the room until Alex finally rips a few pages from the notepad and stands up, pulling her mom's leather jacket over her black dress and zipping the folded papers into the pocket.
Her jaw is tight, but Alex's eyes hold a dozen storms. "Ready?"
Piper nods mutely, and Alex walks swiftly toward the front door. She grabs onto Alex's hand when she passes, lacing their fingers together. It feels like reaching across a chasm, grabbing for someone about to fall.
"Will you go in first?"
Those are the first words Alex has spoken since they got to the funeral home. The funeral director left them alone almost ten minutes ago, in a room full of flower arrangements and tissues boxes. There's a doorway without a door leading to a tiny private viewing room. Diane's body is in there, in her monstrously expensive coffin, and Piper keeps staring at the wall and trying not to think about what's on the other side of the pastel floral wallpaper.
Alex had sat right down on one of the tiny stiff sofas, making no move to enter the viewing room, so Piper had joined her without comment, relief pulsing for every second they aren't going in there.
But now Alex is asking her to go. Alone.
"What?"
"I...I need...I don't know..." Alex shakes her head, her lips twisting, like the words are fighting to remain unsaid. Piper squeezes her fingers, gentle and patient. Alex exhales a gust of wind, nails digging half moons into Piper's palms, until she finally clenches out, "I need you to go first. Tell me if she looks okay. Please just do that for me."
When Piper doesn't answer, Alex turns, pinning her with a desperate, open look, and there's nothing for Piper to do but nod. She kisses the back of Alex's hand before gently disengaging their grip.
Her leg muscles feel liquid beneath as she walks to the doorway, and Piper has to stop and lean against the frame, swallowing childlike outbursts: why isn't she allowed to be scared?
She knows the answer, of course: because it's Alex's mom. But the thing is, Piper wasn't even planning on looking. She'd planned on holding Alex's hand, on looking at her, never the casket, never the body.
When Alex had given the funeral director the photo of Diane, Piper had started overthinking, and now it's happening again: she can't forget about some undertaker bent over a table in the basement, trying to recreate Diane's usual makeup, brushing her hair. Even just imagining it feels too vivid, and as soon as Piper eases into the room, gets the slightest peripheral glimpse of a gleaming white casket and bottle auburn hair, the bile rises in the back of her throat, and she lowers her head so she can't see anything but carpet.
She could lie. She could keep her head down and walk out and say everything she's supposed to say: that Diane looks just like herself, and that she looks peaceful, except that of course both things can't be true. Diane wasn't peaceful, she was a force of nature, a hurricane doused in sunlight, and Piper does not want to see her like this, because she will never, ever forget it.
But she can practically feel Alex's need radiating from the next room, so thick in the air it's hard to breathe in it. So Piper clamps her hand to her mouth with as much force as she can, shuffles forward a few feet, and looks.
She catches the yelp behind her teeth, but her whole body lurches with its force.
Once she looks, she can't look away, and everything wrong is screaming at her. The curls are too tame, eye shadow too light, she's not wearing her rings or bracelets, but most of all she is so, so still.
"Piper?" Alex's voice curls up at the end, rising toward panic.
Piper closes her eyes, breathing sharply through her nose as she counts to five and then ten and then twenty before she can walk out of the room.
Alex shoots to her feet when Piper reappears. "So?" Her voice falters. "Does she look okay?"
Piper can't bring herself to lie.
"It's awful, Alex." Her voice cracks, and Alex looks stricken, but Piper can't keep words from tumbling out, shaking and shrill, "Like one of those wax museums, I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't say that...I hate open caskets, my parents made me see my grandfather's when I was little and I never forgot it and I never looked at one again, until this, I just don't like remembering anyone that way, I wish I hadn't seen her..." She stops herself, horrified at the out of control rambling. "I...I'm sorry...Alex..." She touches her arm, but Alex shrugs her off. Helpless, Piper tries, "You don't have to go in there - "
"Yes, I do," she bites out angrily. "Fuck, Piper...when was the last time we saw her?"
"I - Christmas? When she took us to the airport..."
"Exactly. That was six fucking months ago!" Alex's eyes are huge, almost demented with fury, every word out of her mouth is a stone hurled at the whole goddamn world. "I didn't know, Piper! I didn't know to pay...to pay attention." She sucks in a stuttered breath. "So, yes, I actually fucking do have to go in there, because I can't never see my mom again."
"Okay...okay..." Alex is shaking so hard Piper can see it, and her hands shoot out to grasp Alex's arms out of instinctive need to hold her still. "It's okay...you're right, you should do it, I'll go in with you."
"You said you hated it."
"I do." She slips her hand into Alex's. "But I'll go with you. If you want me to."
Her eyes filling up, Alex nods.
With her stomach folding in on itself, Piper leads her back into the viewing room, eyes fixed on a spot on the wall, very deliberately not looking.
Then Alex makes a noise, this deep, guttural moan that sounds like someone is forcibly ripping it from her chest. Piper whispers her name without meaning to, all broken jagged syllables, then wraps her arm around Alex, who practically falls into her side.
Alex is crying, in that silent, hard won way she does, like she's fighting a battle the tears are winning. Her lips are moving, forming and reforming the word mom, but she doesn't make a sound. When she reaches out, shaking fingers stroking Diane's hair, Piper twists away, holding onto Alex's arm and laying her cheek on Alex's shoulder, giving her privacy without going away.
Without warning Alex buckles, all her weight sagging onto Piper, who stumbles slightly before awkwardly easing them both onto the floor.
It seems like a stretch of several years tick by as Alex shakes in Piper's arms, Piper stroking her hair and trying not to think about the coffin looming above them.
"Now." Alex's voice sounds scraped thin, and Piper nearly jumps out of her skin at the first sound in fifteen minutes. She unfolds herself from Piper's arms, looking slightly dazed. "We have to go now. I mean it, otherwise I won't leave."
Alex is already getting to her feet, and Piper hurries to follow, feeling whiplashed from the sudden urgency after what seemed like endless, agonizing stillness. Alex looks over her shoulder at the casket, her face twisting into fresh devastation, but she doesn't stop walking until they're out of the viewing room.
She's muttering a litany of curses under her breath, it makes her seem unhinged, and she shrugs away from the touch when Piper's hand lands between her shoulder blades.
"Alex?"
"No more."
"What?"
"I can't do anything else, how the fuck am I supposed to..."
"Alex."
"The funeral right now, that's fucking insane - "
"Slow down..."
"Fuck this, I can't - "
"Alex. Look at me." Piper seizes the front of Diane's jacket and pulls Alex toward her, stopping her frenzied movement. "Two hours. Two hours and you'll be done. We will go home and hit walls and scream and break shit." When Alex shows no signs of moving away again, Piper slowly lets go of her jacket. Tentatively, she reaches up to cradle Alex's face. "Two hours, and no one's gonna ask anything else from you. Two hours and it's over."
Alex starts nodding and doesn't stop. Then, in a small voice, she says, "But my mom will be in the ground."
They stand outside the funeral home's chapel room to accept condolences as people arrive for the service. Piper's palming circles in Alex's back, and she leans close to assure her, "This part's pretty mind numbing, but it's a break from the harder stuff."
"Thanks, Pipes, I don't need a walk through," Alex mutters, more tired than annoyed.
The door to the funeral home opens and a man and woman walk in, trailed by two teenage boys focused on handheld video games. Piper's never seen them before, and she's about to shoot Alex a questioning look, when the woman looks up, and Piper's breath catches in the back of her throat.
She looks like Diane, sharpened. Diane with less makeup and less light.
"Honey." The woman, obviously Diane's infamous older sister, gives Alex a cool peck on the cheek and hugs her with only shoulder blades. "I've just been dreading this. Boys..." She snaps her fingers at her sons. "Say hi to your cousin."
They mumble incoherent greetings, while Alex's uncle formally shakes her hand. "Good to see you again, Alex. Very sorry about your mom...she was just great."
Piper can practically see Alex fighting back an eyeroll, so she extends her hand to Alex's aunt. "I'm Piper."
"Oh." Her face pinches the slightest bit; she's reminding Piper less of Diane every second. "Right, you're The Friend."
Piper and Alex exchange a flash of a glance, identical suppressed smirks flaring in their eyes. It's the best moment they've had all day.
"Clara Downy," Alex's aunt continues stiffly, shaking Piper's hand. "Di's big sister."
Piper's heard plenty about Clara from Diane, and she can't bring herself to say the sorry for your loss line. She feels more claim to the loss than Clara has.
She shakes Clara's husbands hand, too, but ignores the teenage boys, who are nudging each other and glancing back and forth between Piper and Alex.
"Boys, c'mon..." Clara shepherds her family into forming a line next to Alex and Piper. This time Alex does roll her eyes.
There's still some time before the attendees will start arriving, and Clara fills the silence chattering on about how awful it was, getting that phone call, heroically driving to the hospital to claim the body. Alex stares straight ahead, a muscle jumping in her jaw, eyes blazing, but she doesn't cut Clara off. Piper keeps a hand on Alex's back, appeasing, trying to stroke away the tension.
Clara only stops talking when her sons erupt into exaggerated groans, both of them staring at a single tiny screen.
"Dude."
"Shit!"
"Hey," Clara snaps. "Both of you, put that away. For God's sake, we're at your aunt's funeral."
"Oh, who cares?" Alex says flippantly, turning to her aunt with a benign smile. "It's not like they knew her. If we were at your funeral, I wouldn't be that upset."
Piper's eyes widen, horror shooting through her even as she quells the inappropriate desire to laugh.
Clara, however, isn't laughing. She stares open mouthed at Alex for a moment, eyes bulging and offended. Then, terrifyingly, her lips twist into a smile that doesn't hit any other part of her face. "Well, that's a shame. I would think you might have a little more gratitude when that time comes...being that I'm the only reason your mother didn't have to raise you in the backseat of a car. Or, more likely, end up abandoning you outside a police station -"
Alex's arm twitches and jerks back, palm splayed, but Piper grabs her elbow, gently but firmly keeping her still.
"Fuck you," Alex growls. "You do one decent thing...the bare minimum...the fucking..." She's too angry to make herself understood, and Piper gently squeezes her arm.
"Alex," she murmurs. "It's okay. C'mere..." She tugs at Alex, forcing her to turn away from her aunt and face Piper.
The rage leeches from Alex's eyes, and she gets that old familiar look on her face, half defensive and half desperate, needing Piper to understand. "She...my mom wouldn't have - "
"I know," she soothes quickly. "Alex, you know I know." Over Alex's shoulder, Piper meets Clara's gaze. Heat fills her head, and she narrows her eyes into a hateful glare before refocusing on Alex. "Forget about it."
Then, from behind them, someone says Alex's name, long and drawn out, voice bending with sympathy.
They turn around just as Beth McGinnis pulls Alex into a crushing hug, complete with swaying. "Lex. Baby. Jesus Christ. What a shit, huh? Goddamn aneurysm." Eventually, Beth lets her go and turns to Piper, hugging her, too. "Piper, sweetie, it's been forever..." When she gets close to Piper's ear, she whispers, "Thank God you're here with her."
Beth's been Diane's best friend since before Piper knew the Vauses. She's nearly ten years older than Diane, with a booming voice and a fountain of black curls, now slightly greying at the roots, and she'd gotten Diane multiple jobs wherever she was working. Diane getting her hired at Friendly's, back when Piper and Alex were in sixth grade, was the first time she'd been able to return the favor.
Now, Beth leaves a hand on each of their arms, blatantly ignoring Clara's family. She gives Alex a deep, searching look. "I've been calling you, Lex."
Piper feels Alex stiffen beside her. "I know, sorry."
When Alex doesn't offer an explanation, Beth prompts softly, "I thought you might have questions..." She darts a snide glance in Clara's direction. "Or just want to hear what happened from someone besides her."
"That's okay. Thanks." Alex says shortly.
Beth makes a sympathetic face, and touches Alex lightly on the cheek. "I'm so, so sorry, honey." Alex's face tightens the slightest bit, but she only nods in response. Beth hugs Alex again. "All the girls are coming. We'll talk after, alright?" Then, she pats Piper on the arm and gives her a small smile, still addressing Alex. "And let this one look after you, yeah?"
She goes into the chapel without acknowledging Clara. Alex watches her go, and when she turns back, Piper's stomach sinks; Alex is shutting down again, going somewhere Piper can't find her.
More people start to arrive then; some distant family Alex barely seems to know, old neighbors or friends who haven't seen Diane in decades, but most of all a deluge of women with hunched shoulders and chapped hands from years of cashier and restaurant work: one time coworkers of Diane's, members of her poker circle and margarita nights, many of whom Alex has never even met, though they hug her like they've known her for years, and then turn to Piper and treat her the same way, not even having to ask who she is.
At some point, amid their condolences to Alex and rapturous praise for Diane, they all smile or wink and say some version of the same thing.
"Di told us so much about you two..."
"...and your relationship..."
"...how long you've been together..."
"...we're all jealous."
Piper forces a smile every time, but Alex's face gets progressively stonier, and by the fourth or fifth time, she shrugs Piper's hand off her back and stops looking over at her.
When the flow into the chapel slows, Piper's stomach is knotting up; the funeral starts soon, and she's more afraid of Alex's eulogy than she wants to be.
She turns to Alex to suggest they go inside, when Alex's eyes widen in surprise, looking at someone coming in over Piper's shoulder.
"What?" Piper turns around to see her parents and Cal approaching.
"Didn't know they were coming," Alex mutters just before the Chapmans glide over.
"Alex..." Piper's mom comes at Alex with her arms out, and Alex looks borderline alarmed in the second before Carol hugs her. Piper stares; she's pretty sure her mother's never hugged Alex before.
She feels a rush of something almost like shame, thinking of all the times Diane hugged her.
"Thanks for coming, Mrs. Chapman," Alex is saying robotically; that's another thing Piper's mom never did - tell Alex to use her first name.
"We're so sorry, dear."
"Thank you."
It plays out like the most boring, standard script imaginable, and then Alex repeats the exchange with Piper's father. Cal rolls his eyes apologetically at her, and Alex gives him a fraction of a smile.
Piper's parents don't seem to know how to treat her; they haven't seen her around Alex since she told them the truth, years ago. Carol gives her a dry kiss on the cheek, while her dad hugs her and whispers they they've been hoping to see her more while she's in town.
They introduce themselves to Clara's family, giving the standard apologies, and Alex turns away from them, laughing softly and humorlessly to herself, like she can't believe this combination of people. Piper raises her voice and says firmly, "Mom, Dad? It's starting soon, you should get seats."
Before they answer, Alex turns to look at Clara. "You should find a seat, too. Not with us. Not the family pew."
The air gets sucked out of the room at that; Piper can't help but glance at her parents, checking their reaction. They exchange a glance, eyebrows high, judgment radiating.
Clara launches into a protest - "she was my sister" - but she barely gets going before Alex grabs Piper by the hand and pulls her into the chapel room, down the aisle to the front, the two of them sliding into the family pew alone.
Within five minutes of the funeral, Piper can understand Alex's impulse to agree to a eulogy; the funeral director gives what is obviously a routine, painfully generic speech about death and people living on through family. He drops in references to Alex, Diane's love for music, her lifelong work ethic and other details from his brief conversation with Alex and Piper, but it's a Mad Libs, fill-in-the-blanks type of effort.
It's like there could be anyone in that coffin, and it's the coffin that Piper can't stop staring at, tuning out the undertaker and instead thinking about that casket going into the ground, how the grave is already dug, a few miles from here, that Diane's body will be there forever, fading into bones.
She really, really hopes Alex isn't thinking any of that.
Alex isn't staring at the coffin, at least; but she also doesn't seem to be hearing a word of the service. She's tightly wound and stone still, her face wiped clean, the same blank expression she'd had last night.
Piper takes her hand and squeezes, but Alex doesn't look over.
Too soon, the undertaker gives a respectful nod, and says, "Now Diane's daughter Alex would like to say a few words."
Piper's genuinely worried she's going to have to physically lead Alex the full distance to the pulpit, but after an uncomfortable pause she stands up, pulling her hand from Piper's and rummaging in her jacket pocket for her notes.
The seconds start to crawl by, stretching out Alex's walk to the front. Piper feels sick already, just wishing this part would be over.
She isn't sure what it is that's scaring her so much about this eulogy until Alex gets to the front. It's the sight of her all alone up there, in front of everyone; she feels impossibly far away, and Piper's chest aches, hard. She can't remember ever feeling this desperate to protect Alex.
It's taking forever, she hasn't still hasn't said anything, the wait is torture. Piper twists around in her pew, scanning the crowd, her chest swelling with the absurd desire to yell at them all to get out, leave her alone.
Then Alex starts, "My mom was..."
Her voice breaks in half. It's that quick. Alex's eyes widen; she takes off her glasses and puts them back on again, then looks up, eyes roving the crowd. Piper's probably the only one who sees the flash of unadulterated panic before Alex's face hardens and she lowers her gaze again.
Piper can feel it, how much Alex hates this, how much it feels like an intrusion. If Alex tries to talk about her mom, she's going to cry, and she hates crying in front of people, especially people like her aunt or Piper's parents. Piper is in agony, watching this, watching Alex's horrified attempt to hold herself together, needing to do this and absolutely not wanting to.
Her heart surges toward Alex, and she's on her feet and halfway there before Piper even registers what she's doing.
She approaches Alex at the podium; a murmur of reaction sweeps through the room, but Piper ignores it. Her hands are shaking violently, and Piper gently covers them with her own; only then does she look up and meet Piper's eyes.
Alex looks worse than Piper's ever ever seen her, her whole face is wreckage, and Piper's brain nearly short circuits with the number of contradictory impulses crossing wires: to cry, to hug Alex, to go all out to make her smile.
Piper glances down at the pieces of paper on the pulpit, Alex's notes for the eulogy: they're mostly black scribbles of crossed out sentences and false starts. There are only a few surviving words and phrases, and most of them don't make sense without context. Piper recognizes a few song titles in there, some from the tape cassette from last night, and the crying impulse nearly wins out.
Instead she starts talking.
"I met Diane when I was nine years old...that's when Alex and I started being friends, in fourth grade. We became best friends pretty fast, so I spent a lot of time at their apartment, sleeping over. Diane was always making fun of us, saying we were scary close...that Alex would be reaching for the phone to call me, and it would ring and be me calling her. And we'd...we'd have these conversations that were all half-sentences, not even realizing we didn't have to finish our thoughts before the other one would answer." She looks beside her; Alex's eyes are digging into hers, like if she stares at Piper intensely enough, she'll forget everyone else is here.
Piper gives her fingers a gentle, reassuring squeeze before she continues, "Diane teased us about it constantly...and I remember at one point, she started this joke about how we acted like twins - we were only like eleven, so this was a couple years before we knew to be really glad we weren't related." Piper hadn't meant to say that; soft laughter rolls through the room. God. She's sure her parents loved that one.
"Uh. Anyway. She said we had a psychic connection like some twins do. And I remember one thing she started doing...the three of us would be sitting around watching a movie, or eating at Friendly's...and out of nowhere, Diane would reach over, to either one of us, and do that thing where you squeeze a few inches above the knee, in that really ticklish spot. And whichever one of us she did it to would yelp and jump like we'd been electrocuted, and Diane would just smile, super innocent, and say she just wanted to see if the other one would feel it, too."
Another wave of soft, restrained laughter sweeps through the chapel, but Piper knows it's a strange story to start with, as much about her and Alex as it is about Diane, but there's a reason it's the first thing that came to mind: here they are, over ten years later, and she finally thinks Diane might have been right.
Piper can't look at the hurt on Alex's face without it walloping her. She feels like Alex's grief is right there in her chest, tangled inextricably with her own. Alex cries, and Piper feels the tears rising up her throat.
Piper swallows hard, and forces a smile. "Diane kept that up to months, even though it was only funny to her. It always took her forever to get tired of a joke." More laughter, fond and knowing; Piper thinks there's nothing so relieved as laughter at a funeral, as though everyone is grateful for the chance to prove that happiness and humor still exists.
"Like, there was this story she told me probably a dozen times about a customer at Wal Mart, and no matter how many times she'd told it, it took her forever to get through it because she'd crack herself up..." Piper keeps going, telling the story, and when she finishes that one she starts another, and then another.
If she'd written this speech down, any professor she'd ever had would tear it apart, point out that it's just anecdote after anecdote, no transitions or overarching theme, no real direction.
But early on she feels Alex move behind her and lean her forehead against the back of her head; it's like she's hiding behind Piper, and the stories of her mom.
So Piper doesn't stop; she builds a shelter out of memories, until she feels Alex's lips brush the back of her neck, in the center of her tattoo. Alex straightens up, reaching for Piper's hand again, and gives her a tiny nod, mouthing, "Thank you."
Piper stops talking, without any regard to a wrap up or conclusion, and walks beside Alex to the family pew.
Alex doesn't let go of her hand for the rest of the service, or as they move through the funeral home when it's over, continually stopped by the other mourners, or even when they walk outside and head for the funeral home's limo to ride the cemetery.
They're almost to the vehicle, parked at the curb, when someone calls out, "Piper..."
She and Alex both turn; Piper's mom is standing there, looking uncomfortable. When she doesn't say anything, Piper shrugs apologetically at Alex. "Give me a second?"
Alex nods, reluctantly letting go and heading to the car by herself.
Piper returns her attention to her mom. "Are you guys coming to the cemetery?"
"Oh, no, we weren't planning on it...unless you want us to?"
"No, that's fine. It's a smaller thing."
"We assumed so."
Silence stretches between them, and Piper casts an anxious glance back at the limo; Alex left the back door open for her. "Mom, I really appreciate you guys coming, but I have to - "
"I didn't..." Carol stops, seeming to choose her words carefully. "I didn't know any of that. How much time you spent with Diane...how well you knew her."
Piper sighs tiredly. "Alex and I practically alternated between each others houses, every weekend for, what? Eight years?"
"Yes, but I wouldn't have known that you and Alex were finishing each other's sentences when you were eleven. And...I doubt Alex has any affectionate stories about me."
Piper lifts her eyebrows, giving her a significant look. "I know." Too many conversations pile up between them, all the times Piper had defended the decision to keep her relationship from her parents, reminding them how they'd always treated Alex, even as a kid, like she was beneath them, not worth getting to know. Like Piper deserved better, even when they were just friends.
Carol sighs, then tilts her head at her daughter, eyes softening into a strange combination of sympathy and hurt that's utterly unfamiliar. "You really loved Diane Vause, didn't you?"
"Yeah." Piper can't bring herself to sound sorry about that.
"I honestly had no idea."
"I know."
There's hurt on her mom's face, but Piper can't reach any guilt. She can't believe it's taken this long of her mother to figure out how little they know each other, and not two years of short perfunctory visits, or the three years of keeping her relationship a complete secret.
The truth is, there were times when Alex and Diane would swap a look across a room, something so easy and simply, and Piper would ache with longing. She loved Diane, and she had always loved feeling like a part of their family, but she never quite stopped being jealous.
"Mom, I have to go with Alex."
"Of course." She gets two steps before her mother stops her, "Piper? Maybe the two of you could come over for dinner some night next week. Before you girls leave town again."
Piper's smile, dormant for what feels like weeks, bursts to life, disbelief and happiness blooming. "Really?"
Carol gives her a small, trying smile. "Really. Please."
As quickly as it ignited, the traitorous, sudden happiness extinguishes, as Piper remembers that Alex might still be leaving without her. That their breakup may or may not stick, and that this thing she'd never even let herself hope for might be completely irrelevant.
This time her smile is entirely forced, and much more familiar. "Thanks, Mom. I'll call you, okay?"
Piper can't go to a cemetery without feeling like a character in something fictional. It feels cinematic, not quite real, like her brain wants to limit death to stories.
In funeral scenes in novels, writers always mention the weather, finding it heavily significant no matter what it is. If it's raining, it's either eerily appropriate, or an insult added to injury. If the sun is out, it's emphasized as either ironic or glaringly inappropriate.
Today, the sun is out, but it's pouring more heat than light, leaving the air thick and sweltering. It's the worst kind of summer day, too hot to be wearing all black, and definitely too hot for the leather jacket Alex has on, but Piper doesn't dare say anything.
There's a smaller crowd at the cemetery, just Clara's family and Diane's group of friends. When they get there, Beth touches Piper on the arm and pulls her aside, out of Alex's earshot; Piper goes because it's easier than looking at the open grave, or the casket being carried over to it.
"You were great," she tells Piper warmly. "I thought my goddamn heart was going to beak, watching her stand up there, not saying a word, but you...you saved her. And it was a perfect speech, Di would have loved it."
"Yeah?"
"Oh, for sure. Trust me, kiddo."
Throat tightening, Piper gives her a clumsy smile, then turns around to find Alex.
Immediately, her insides freeze.
Alex is talking to Fahri.
He spots her over Alex's shoulder and lifts his hand in a wave. Alex turns and meets Piper's eyes, her expression unreadable, before they both return to their conversation.
When the shock gradually clears, Piper's first thought is that it's not fair; this place isn't his, he shouldn't be allowed here, it's rewriting the rules. Their hometown has always been about who they were before Alex joined the cartel, but now Fahri's brought it here, into Piper's territory.
And deep down, Piper's not sure she can compete.
Alex is glancing around again; she sees Beth watching her, and quickly says something to Fahri before walking over to a tight knot of Diane's friends.
Piper starts to follow her, but Fahri's already approaching.
"Piper," he nods a greeting, speaking in that calm, crisp way he has. "You taking good care of our girl?"
He's said things like that before, always in good humor, but today Piper bristles at the our.
She feels uncomfortable in Fahri's presence, but that's maybe overdramatic, even disingenuous, forcing the feeling for her own validation.
The truth is, she's taken shots in bars with Fahri, has had lively conversations with him, has even stayed out with him and a few others after Alex turned in for the night.
But after she carried that suitcase into Brussels, something changed. Time and exposure had made everything about the cartel seem normal...until Piper had been standing in an airport alone, nauseous and dizzy with terror, with nothing to do but wait - and consider the very real consequences.
She folds her arms over her chest, not holding eye contact with Fahri. "What are you doing here?"
He chuckles. "Jesus, Chapman. You're tense in the States." His smile fades into a serious expression. "I'm here to pay my respects. Of course."
"Right." Piper's eyes jump to Alex, still talking to Beth, but obviously distracted staring at the grave, with the coffin now poised above it. Something tugs in Piper's chest, pulling her toward Alex. She slides her gaze back to Fahri, intending to tersely excuse herself, but instead she blurts out, "Did you tell her to hurry back?"
Fahri raises his eyebrows, smirking the slightest bit at the bitter tone. "I only asked when the two of you would be rejoining us. Fair question, I think."
Piper's stomach swoops again, but she just shakes her head angrily. "Her mom died."
"And she's here mourning her," he says smoothly. "But she also has work to do." When Piper's glare doesn't abate, Fahri sighs, heavy with condescension. "Okay, Pipe, I guess you think she'd get unlimited bereavement time if she was working as a teacher or, or a fucking cocktail waitress, right?"
Piper turns away from him, striding over to Alex, ignoring the worry that's suddenly drop kicking her stomach.
The graveside service is short and generic, but it ends up being surprisingly easy for Piper to forget about Fahri lurking in the background of the small crowd.
Because Alex hasn't looked away from the coffin and the grave since Piper walked away from Fahri, and it's making Piper scared of her again. There's something genuinely wild in her eyes, like she might be about to really and truly lose it, whatever that entails.
Piper's standing slightly behind Alex, one arm around her waist, the other holding her hand, chin hooked over her shoulder; she can't shake the feeling that she needs to be ready to hold Alex together in case she falls completely apart.
She's trying not to look at the coffin, or at Alex's face, so Piper ends up gazing around the cemetery, all the rolling hills dotted with white and grey slabs. It's overwhelming to think that every headstone represents someone gone forever, someone grieved and cried for.
But Piper can't quite believe that anyone ever left this kind of hole. That anyone else ever hurt the way Alex is.
She thinks about the sound Alex made that morning, when she first saw Diane lying in the casket. Piper's sure she's going to have that sound trapped in her ears for the rest of her life, and she's suddenly terrified to hear whatever sound Alex makes when that casket goes underground.
The undertaker finishes a speech that's almost a prayer, and whatever machine the coffin is sitting makes a soft whirring sound before it starts lowering.
She feels Alex jerk and then shudder, and Piper tightens her grip on her, a hundred emotions exploding like fireworks in her chest.
For some reason, all of a sudden, rage is burning brightest.
Fuck you, she thinks, eyes on the coffin, her thoughts unraveling at dizzying speed. How dare you do this to her? How dare you leave her, how could you, you were supposed to take care of her, you said it was your job, that it wasn't mine, how fucking dare you, Diane?
The casket finally slips out of sight, into the grave, and the sound Piper was expecting cracks the air - a crooked, siren of a wail, long and low and primal, made of pure pain - but the noise doesn't come out of Alex.