the hating game ; lrh

fifty-four

CALUM, OUR MOTHER AND I stand outside a modern-looking church, watching strangers pour into the building at a rapid rate, patting each other on the back and sharing solemn, sympathetic smiles.

I feel incredibly out of place as we approach the church. My father was never a godly man, at least not that I knew of — then again, I guess I never really knew my father. That much is made clear by the fact that I cannot seem to identify even a few of the many people attending his funeral. I never knew my father to be liked by anybody. I guess that must have changed after he left us.

I feel a rush of relief course through me as I spot Luke leaning up against the front wall of the church, dressed in a suit and black tie. When he sees me, he pushes himself off the wall and stands up straighter, offering a small wave to indicate he is there.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Calum asks me, face contorted in anger and surprise.

"I asked him to come," I admit bravely, not bothering to make eye contact with my brother as we continue walking.

Calum reaches out for my hand, stopping me from moving any further. "What? Rory—" he begins, already shaking his head.

"I know," I stop him with a sigh, not wanting to hear his arguments. Not today. "I just... I need him today. It's stupid."

Calum lets out a sigh of understanding now, dropping my hand. "It's not stupid," he assures me, somewhat sheepishly.

I offer my brother a small smile of thanks and lead us toward Luke once again. When we reach him, I bravely step forward and offer the boy a hug. Luke seems somewhat taken aback by this, but wraps his arms around me nonetheless.

"Thank you for coming," I tell him quietly, still feeling uneasy due to all the people here.

"Of course," Luke responds. He looks as though he wants to say something else, but before he does he turns to Calum. "Hey."

Hands shoved in his pockets, Calum raises his brows and struggles to meet Luke's eye. "Hey," he responds uncomfortably, clearing his throat immediately afterward. He then reaches out to touch my arm. "We should get a seat."

I nod, turning to Luke and gesturing for him to follow us in. Inside the church, there seems to somehow be even more people than I originally thought. Each row is filled almost to the brim with people of all ages — children, families, older men and women. At the front of the church, however, is what breaks my heart the most.

A family of four — and older woman, two boys looking in their twenties, and a girl around my age — stand in front of a casket, my father's casket, accepting handshakes and hugs from people in the crowd. Like a slow stream, people approach them and offer their condolences, which the family kindly accept with sad smiles and tears eyes.

I grip Calum's hand as I see this, the panic coursing through my body to his. "Is that—?" I begin, unsure of quite how to pose the question.

"His new family? It must be," Calum answers, thankfully saying the words so that I don't have to. I take a deep breath at this, willing myself not to be hurt. I knew this might happen. Did I really expect him to live the rest of his life as a deadbeat? Did I really want that? "Come on, let's sit."

We slide into the row second from the front, seated behind the new family. Luke slides in last, sitting beside me, silent but somehow still comforting. A speaker approaches the lectern behind my father's coffin, and everybody immediately takes their seats.

"Thank you for joining us today," the man offers the church a sad smile, glancing down at the papers before him only briefly before continuing. "We are gathered here today to celebrate the life of a good man. John Hood was loved and adored by many. He was a friendly face within our community and always willing to lend a helping hand. John was a friend to all those who needed it."

My heart rate increases rapidly with each word spoken, jumping up when my father's first 'friend' takes the microphone and begins speaking anecdotally about their favourite memories.

"John was... well, he was John," the man lets out a chuckle which the crowd shares, almost knowingly. I glance around at this, confused at this apparent inside joke that I am certainly not part of. "He was tough as nails on the outside, but underneath that rough exterior he was really just a big softie. He was the type of person you could always count on. He cared about everybody he crossed paths with, and he'd do anything you asked of him — you say jump, and he'd ask how high."

I find myself shaking my head at this in disbelief. This is nothing like that father I have known. Reliable? Sensitive? Caring? My father possessed not an inkling of any of those traits. Nonetheless, I sit through this man's lie-riddled speech and smile politely when he makes eye contact with me as he scans the crowd. The first man to speak returns to the lectern, that annoying sad smile adorning his face again.

"Now, John's beloved daughter would like to say a few words."

I freeze where I sit, my heart stopping almost completely. Time seems to move at half-speed as I turn to Calum, shaking my head at him in confusion. His daughter. I am his daughter. They want me to speak? I look to my mother next, frowning in confusion at her, too. She only stares back, shaking her head for lack of knowledge. Why would they want me to speak? Did my father leave this in his will? Did he request this before he passed?

Just as I am about to stand up from the pew and make my way blindly to the lectern, Luke's band comes to touch my thigh gently. I whip my head around to face him, and he nods toward the front of the church. When I turn to follow his gaze, my heart drops into my stomach as I see the young girl from the family sitting before us — his new family — approaching the lectern. It was not me they were referring to.

The blonde-haired girl wipes her teary eyes and adjusts her papers, drawing a deep breath before looking up to the crowd and beginning her speech. Behind her, a montage of pictures of my father and this girl begins playing. My heart aches with the loss of something I never realised I was longing for as I watch this montage — pictures of him teaching her to ride a bike, of them eating ice cream, cooking together, him pushing her on a swing, him at her Sweet Sixteenth, photos from Christmas and birthdays and parties that I never had.

"I've been trying to think of what I might say about my dad," a jolt of pain heads straight toward my heart at the mention of this last word. He is her step-daughter, yet they are close enough for her to call him 'dad'. "Because there really are no words to describe him. My dad was my world. Although he might not have been there from the very beginning, all of my best memories have him by my side. He has been my teacher, my mentor, my confidant, my superhero, and, most importantly, my best friend. I have never been able to even picture a world without my dad, so living in one is going to be the hardest thing I will ever have to do."

My eyes well up with tears at this girl's words. They remind me of everything that I never had — this whole other life that was taken from me. The father that never showed up for me, never cared or wanted to know me, who ran away and found a new family that he liked better. And he showed up for them, instead. In fact, according to this girl's speech and the pictures on the church wall, he did more than show up — he went above and beyond for these people he isn't even related to. He left his own flesh and blood because we weren't good enough for him.

Just as I feel as though I am about to break down — about to stand up and scream at this poor girl that she doesn't know my father, not like I do — I feel Luke slip his hand into mine, intertwining our fingers and squeezing. I look up to him, eyes filled to the brim with tears, and he squeezes my hand again, assuring me silently but surely that everything is going to be just fine.

I lean into Luke slightly, feeling completely comforted by his action, and manage to sit through the remainder of the funeral in peace.