JENNIE
"Good morning." Mom and Dad looked up from the table, each holding a glass of ice water.
"You look nice," Mom said. "Is that the dress that arrived here yesterday?"
"Yes. Jimin, our tour manager, sent it over."
I hadn't had a black dress in my luggage. That thought hadn't even crossed my mind until two days ago. I'd planned on hitting the mall, but in true Jimin form, he'd been three steps ahead, coming to my rescue. He'd texted me before I'd even been able to plan my shopping trip and told me a dress and shoes would be arriving by a courier.
Jimin worked for our general manager, Ben, and was technically only required to oversee the tours, but he always went above and beyond.
The dress was demure and black, fitted but not tight with cap sleeves and a jewel neckline. There was a pleat at the hips, giving me the illusion of curves and hiding the pockets I'd already stuffed with folded tissues.
The heels were peep-toe pumps, patent leather with red Louboutin soles. The gorgeous shoes would be wasted in my wardrobe since I preferred boots, but Jimin appreciated nice clothes and made sure that when it mattered we were always decked out in the finest.
Today, it mattered.
I clicked across the tiled kitchen floor, my heels making a cheerful clip that didn't seem appropriate for a day of mourning. I filled a mug with the coffee Mom had made special for me, then joined my parents at the table, taking care with my steps this time to muffle the noise.
"Is there anything I can do today?" I asked.
Dad shook his head. "No, I think we're all set, but thank you. And thank you for singing. I'm glad we can honor her last wishes today."
Her last wishes. My God, I missed her. I'd woken up this morning, buried my face in my pillow and cried. Why hadn't I come back sooner? Why hadn't I spent more time with Nan?
Even while I'd been off living my busy life, she'd been so ingrained in my world. I hadn't missed her because she'd been with me, every step of the way. But I should have come home. I should have hugged her more and held her hand. I should have sung to her in person and played the early drafts of my music for her.
But I'd been scared. A coward.
"She was so proud of you." Mom's hand stretched across the table, covering mine. "We all are."
My eyes flicked to Dad. He simply nodded.
"I should have come to see her. To see everyone."
"She understood," he said quietly. "She was the most understanding person in the world. Like this funeral. I've been to hundreds in my life, but I've never planned one. She wouldn't let me help plan Dad's. She took care of it all on her own. And you should have seen the list the lawyer gave us with her will. She practically planned her own too. What she wanted for the service. The type of flowers. The music. I think she knew I'd be struggling."
The lump in my throat grew ten sizes as his eyes flooded with tears. "I'm sorry, Dad."
"Did you know she used to grade my sermons?"
"She did?"
He nodded. "We leave notebook paper in the pews so kids have something to draw on besides the hymnals and Bibles. Every week she'd take a slip, give me a grade, then drop it into the offering. It was very hard last week knowing there'd be no report card in the offering plate."
The lump in my throat burned. "Did she ever give you an F?"
"A B- was the lowest she went and that was because I was referencing Leviticus. She wasn't particularly fond of that book. She called it dull and far too long."
"That is so . . . Nan." She'd had strong opinions but delivered them in a way that, whether you agreed with them or not, you couldn't help but adore.
"Yes, it was. I drew the lucky straw when it came to parents." He forced a smile, blinking the tears away. "I feel blessed that I was able to live by them for so long."
Dad had grown up in Bozeman. This was where Nan and my grandfather had grown up too. The Kims went back four generations in Montana and not many moved away—and stayed away.
Except for me.
My father had gone to college in Bozeman, where he'd met Mom. After working for a year, he'd decided to become a reverend. He moved his family— Hanbin had been two months old—to Colorado, where he got his master's in divinity from a seminary school. I had been born in Idaho, where Dad had been a reverend at a small church. Then the stars aligned and he'd been able to take over at the church where he'd grown up. Nan's church.
His church.
They moved us here three days before my first birthday.
Dad was going on twenty-six years at this church. He'd always said that it could be harmful for a pastor to become too engrained and too permanent. That he'd look elsewhere when his pastoral tenure became too long. Mostly, he'd wanted to make sure us kids could graduate from Bozeman High.
Yet here he was.
Would he stay until retirement? I couldn't imagine Mom and Dad not living in this house, not serving this community.
"Are you all set to sing with Lisa?" Mom asked, sipping her water.
Lisa.
I dropped my gaze, not wanting them to see the flush that crept into my cheeks.
What the actual fuck had I been thinking last night? I had sex. Sex with Lisa.
The two of us had always had an incredible passion for each other, even as awkward teenagers, but last night had been . . . wow. My core throbbed and ached.
What a goddamn tangled mess. Resisting Lisa last night had been impossible. There'd been so much heat and unbridled lust in her kiss. There'd been so much tenderness in her touch. With her inside me, everything had just felt right.
Then she'd reminded me that our lives were traveling in opposite directions.
She had a son. I understood her need for a simple life.
Mine was anything but simple. And I couldn't stay.
I'd waited until she'd fallen asleep, until the rise and fall of her chest had become slow and deep, then I'd swiped up my clothes and snuck out, dressing in her living room as I'd waited for an Uber to take me home.
How would I face her today? How would I sing beside her? "Jennie?"
"Oh, sorry, Mom." I hadn't answered her question. "Yes, I think we're set."
"What are you singing?"
"'Torchlight.' It's one of the band's songs." I had no idea if my mother listened to my music.
We sat in silence, none of us having anything happy to say on a day like this, until Dad stood from the table and took his empty glass to the sink.
Mom cast his back a sorrowful look as he walked out of the kitchen and headed down the hall toward his office. She stood, ready to follow. "We're going to leave in about an hour."
"Okay." I nodded, then I was alone.
When I got home to Seattle, I wanted to be alone. I wanted days spent by myself in my music room, interacting with others only when I needed to order takeout.
But not today. Today, I didn't want to be alone, where the silence was punishing and the solitude miserable.
I'd lost my grandmother. I'd missed the chance to say goodbye. I didn't like myself today. I didn't want to be alone with me.
The ache in my heart forced me up from the chair and my heels clicked furiously as I rushed for the front door. "Mom," I called through the house. "I'm going to go to the church early and practice."
"Oh. Okay," she called back from Dad's office.
My walk to the church was brisk, the air having not yet warmed from the rising sun. I shivered and wrapped my arms around my waist as goose bumps broke across my forearms and calves.
Even though the walk was short, my feet ached by the time I made it to the church. When I stepped inside the door, the smell of coffee and sugar cookies wafted from the reception area. The lights were on in the sanctuary.
I poked my head in, seeing two women bustling around the stage, shifting flower arrangements and photos.
"I know Bradley wanted people to be able to walk up and look at pictures, but I'm afraid we're going to need the front row open for seating," one of the women said.
"I think so too," the other said. "Even with the folding chairs, this is going to be packed. Remind me to crank up the air."
One of the women glanced over her shoulder and spotted me. She dropped her chin, peering at me over a pair of clear-framed glasses. "I'm sorry, dear. We aren't quite ready yet. The service doesn't start until ten."
"Oh, I'm—"
"Jennie." The other woman, who'd had her back to me, turned and I recognized her instantly. Ugh.
"Hi, Susan." I waved to the church's office coordinator and forced a polite smile. She'd been here nearly as long as Dad, though her hair had grayed twice as much since I'd seen her last. It was nearly white, a sharp contrast to her black pantsuit.
"This is Bradley's other daughter." Susan sent her friend a look, who turned away, muttering, "Oh."
Nice. This damn church.
It wasn't the building or the messages Dad preached that I hated so much. It was the people like Susan who felt justified to judge. It wasn't the entire congregation. Most who'd gone here were kind and warm and caring.
But Susan was everything wrong with this place. She had this idea in her head of how people should act. Specifically, how a pastor's daughter should act.
Fucking Susan. Good to see she hadn't changed.
I marched down the aisle, not caring when she gave me a scowl. This was my grandmother's funeral. This was about my family today, and she could stuff it.
Stepping on stage, I walked to the piano and hefted the pot of lilies and roses off the top.
"Those are for the piano." Susan huffed, her gaze zeroing in on my nose ring.
"I'm not playing with the lid down," I barked and moved the flowers to the open space at the base of Dad's pulpit.
She took a step, ready to snatch them and put them back, but I leveled my gaze and she inched away.
Bitch.
I walked to the piano and sat down, closing my eyes and pretending the women weren't there. My fingers found the keys and I played, song after song, loud and angry. Grief, rage, pain—every emotion was poured into the music until I finally caught my breath and looked up to see the room was empty.
I'd scared them away.
Ironically, I used to like Susan. She'd always kept Werther's Originals in a glass dish on her desk, and she'd let me have one after piano lessons or on the days when I'd be here with Dad. Then I got older, I became my own person, and she didn't like that person. I didn't fit into her designated hole. I'd worn tight jeans with holes in the knees and my Doc Martens unlaced.
Dad hadn't been the only one who'd disapproved of my church apparel.
The last time I remembered getting one of her hard candies had been before my thirteenth birthday. I was going to sneak in later and toss that bowl in the trash.
No matter how poorly she treated me, Dad had never reprimanded her. He always chose the congregation. Always.
Over his daughter.
Dad didn't want conflict. He'd wanted me to put on a smile and stay quiet.
To keep my opinions, my dreams bottled up.
Jennie wants to be a rock star.
Great. How cute. The problem was that dream didn't wither away. I didn't grow out of it.
I chased it with abandon.
"I need to get out of here," I muttered to myself, standing from the piano.
The row of photographs in front of the stage beckoned and I walked closer to take them in. The closest was a framed picture of Nan kneeling in her flower garden. She smiled at a rose bush, a pair of clippers in her hand. Who would take care of those roses now that she was gone?
The next picture was of her and my grandfather at their fortieth wedding anniversary party. It was on an easel beside their wedding photo.
My eyes blurred when I took in the next. It was a picture of Nan and me. We were both wearing headphones, and my tongue was sticking out. My eyes were shut, and my hands were making the rock and roll sign. Nan was smiling at me, her face frozen in laughter.
I had no idea someone had taken a picture that day when we'd been at Nan's house goofing around. It had to have been Lisa. I was seventeen in the picture, and those days Lisa and I had been inseparable.
My hand covered my heart, rubbing at my sternum, physically trying to push the pain away, as the tears began to fall.
She was gone. Nan was gone.
And I hadn't been here to say goodbye.
The door opened behind me and a whoosh of air ran through the church. I didn't turn to see who'd come in. I didn't want anyone to see my tears, so I stumbled away from the picture. My spiked heel caught on the carpet and I stumbled but managed to keep from falling. When I had my balance, I ran from the sanctuary, disappearing through the side door that would take me to the basement.
The bathroom downstairs was a good place to cry. I'd done it before. So I locked myself inside and let the tears fall into a tuft of toilet paper, hoping my waterproof mascara would hold up for a few more hours.
Footsteps and muffled voices echoed above my head. I took a deep breath, sucked in the emotions, and approached the mirror to assess the damage. My eyes were red-rimmed and my nose was puffy. My lips were pale and my cheeks splotchy.
"Nice," I muttered, drying my eyes for a final time and sniffling.
The noise above continued as people filed into the church, but I loitered in the bathroom, not wanting to hear condolences or pretend like this wasn't the hardest thing I'd ever done.
But as the minutes ticked on and ten o'clock approached, I knew I couldn't hide for much longer. I tossed the damp tissues away and washed my hands. Twice. Doing everything possible to avoid going upstairs and saying goodbye.
How could Dad deliver a message today? How would he be able to stand? How was I going to sing?
The noise from above began to dim as people were likely seated and waiting.
I gulped, forced my feet to the door, and swung it open.
A pair of golden-brown eyes were waiting on the other side.
"Hey," Lisa said, leaning against the wall across from the bathroom. "Thought I'd find you down here."
"I just needed a minute." Or twenty. "You look nice."
Her eyes swept me head to toe. "Same to you."
Lisa was wearing a charcoal suit, the white shirt underneath starched stiff. Her hands were in her pockets making her shoulders look impossibly broad in her suit coat. She looked capable, like she'd hold the weight of today on her back without any trouble.
I envied her strength. Maybe I should have stolen some before sneaking out of her bed last night.
"Um. About last night, I—"
She lifted a hand. "We don't need to talk about it. Not today."
"Okay." Not today, but what she really meant was not ever. .
"You gonna make it today?"
"I don't know," I admitted.
"I've been thinking about it." she pushed off the wall. "About the song."
"Yeah?"
"I think you should sing it alone."
Alone? My jaw dropped. "What? No. That's not what Nan wanted."
"She wanted you here, Jennie. Not to sing with me, just to sing. I think she thought it would be easier if we did it together, but you and I both know she would have loved it to be only you."
Was this happening? Was she really doing this to me? Now? "I-I don't . . . but she asked for us to sing together."
"And I'm saying no. You should sing alone."
This was because of last night. Because she'd asked me to stay—last night, nine years ago—and I'd left. She was punishing me.
Fuck her for abandoning me today.
"Fine." I marched past her and down the hallway.
Her footsteps followed, but the furious blood rushing in my ears drowned out the noise.
How dare she do this? How dare she switch it up at the last minute? Why wouldn't she have just said she didn't want to sing in the first place? Why practice and go through this entire week only to back out at the eleventh hour?
Was I really so horrible to sit beside for three fucking minutes?
She hadn't seemed to mind being inside me for an hour last night, but she couldn't give me three minutes.
My hands were balled into fists at my sides, my jaw locked tight as I walked upstairs. I was livid with Lisa, ready to clutch that fury close so it could propel me through the day, but as I stormed into the sanctuary and spotted two familiar faces hovering above the picture of me and Nan, my anger evaporated.
"What are you doing here?" My eyes flooded.
Kai's brown hair was tied back neatly, his lean body covered in an Italian black suit. Jimin's doing, no doubt, who stood at his side with his hand outstretched for mine.
"Thought you might need a friend." Kai put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me close.
There was no stopping the tears as they fell onto his suit.
Jimin's thumb rubbed the back of my hand, and when I pulled my shit together and looked up, his kind smile was waiting. He looked handsome in his dove-gray suit. "We love you."
"You good?" Kai asked as I stepped away and wiped my cheeks dry. "No. But I'm glad you guys are here."
"Come on." Jimin jerked his chin to the pews. "Show us where to sit."
"Okay." I let go of Jimin's hand and led them to the sections reserved for family. Kai and Jimin were my family too, and today I wanted to sit between them.
I could feel Lisa's gaze on my shoulders as we sat in the row in front of her. I refused to turn and look at her face, but I did risk a glance at Louis, whose mouth was hanging open as he gaped at Kai.
The room was quiet except for hushed whispers. We sat in silence and I clutched Kai's hand, squeezing it tight as I sucked in a few deep breaths to get myself under control. Then at ten o'clock on the dot, Dad emerged from a door that led to his office and began the service.
With glistening eyes, he spoke with love and adoration for his mother. He read the obituary that she herself had written, one that made the room chuckle because it was so . . . Nan.
Then after one prayer, Dad found me in the crowd and nodded.
I walked to the stage, my shoulders pinned and my fingers trembling. When Lisa didn't stand, Dad looked between the two of us, but just gave him a slight head shake as I sat at the piano.
For Nan.
This was for Nan.
I could do this for Nan.
Except I can't do this.
I forced my fingers to the cold keys. I swallowed the burn in my throat. I could do this. I would do this.
No tears. I swallowed again. No tears.
Then I made the mistake of looking into the crowd. Mom's chin was quivering. Hanbin's eyes were red. Brooklyn was crying.
And Louis . . . my heart cracked. Louis's shoulders were shaking as he cried, his face buried in his dada's chest.
My throat was on fire and my hands were shaking. What was I doing up here? I couldn't sing. How could Lisa send me up here to do this alone? How could she humiliate me like this? She should be sitting at my side, damn it. She should be here to play when I couldn't. To sing when I couldn't breathe.
If she was up here . . .
If she was up here, I wouldn't sing.
She knew it. She knew I'd lean on her. That's why she sent me up here alone. My eyes tracked across the faces staring, waiting for me to play, and I found her.
The world disappeared. The pews emptied and the pain faded.
She hadn't sent me up here alone. She'd known the only way for me to sing, for me to honor Nan's wish, was if I could look into the crowd and see her face.
My fingers pressed into the keys and I filled my lungs, the first note coming out with a rasp. Nan would have liked the rasp. She would have liked the softer notes that followed.
The notes I sang to Lisa. The notes I sang for Nan.