That Time My Book Boyfriend Came to Life

Olivia

Somewhere in Illinois

I think it goes without saying, but funerals are the absolute worst.

The food is always way drier than anything I’ve ever tasted, which is a terrible thing to say considering that it’s made by all my aunts and older cousins.

There’s, like, no music…

… Except for the sound of a church piano playing Hymn-number-whatever—doesn’t matter, because no one can sing it right. No one. Not even that one niece everyone claims to be the next Billie Eilish when she’s really the next Hannah Montana.

Everyone’s crying.

Even the people who claim they’re ‘not criers’.

Especially those people.

It makes me so uncomfortable.

I have to hug and kiss family members I haven’t seen since I was three years old. And I only know this because they tell me that that’s how long it’s been.

There’s the uncle everyone’s found to be kind of creepy, trying to ask me about my job prospects when he’s really just finding an excuse to rub his arm against mine.

Like, ew.

Then there’s that cousin who’s always been weirdly competitive. For absolutely no reason. She just got a raise? Pushed out three kids? Congrats. I don’t care.

You know what I have? Free time.

No hate for those who have families. I love kids. I should, because I’m actually an art teacher at Winders Middle School in who-knows-where, Illinois.

Because teaching pubescent teens to draw fruit bowls has always been my calling.

I’m not being sarcastic. That’s just what the public school system does to you.

Or, you know, being near-thirty and single.

Speaking of which, my cousin Warren is giving me creepy googly eyes, so I’m busy trying to hide between the cake table and the nearest exit.

There’s a tap on my shoulder, and I gasp, knocking down a plate of brownies. “Shit!” I bend down and scrape them back into the paper plate, only to rise up and see my Aunt Gloria sneering in my direction.

“Olivia, language! You’re in a house of God, not the tattoo parlour.” Ha. Ha.

Here’s a fun little tale for you:

Once upon a time, my conservative, bad dye-job, parakeet-loving aunt hated my tattoos.

The end.

“Sorry, it just slipped out. Must be the heat,” I say, because what the fuck else am I supposed to tell her?

It is really hot, though. The tight black t-shirt dress I’m wearing isn’t helping. It’s thankfully made of cotton, and my annoyingly thick blonde hair is up in a bun, so beyond stripping naked, there’s not much more I could’ve done.

Aunt Gloria just glares like I spat on her polyester blouse and shuffles on to the bathroom for the third time this morning.

I slowly meander toward the exit when a lean arm reaches out to catch my wrist. I whip around only to see a man I don’t recognize, my eyebrows furrowing.

Weedle thin.

Groomed eyebrows.

Slicked-back brown hair.

Wearing a suit when it’s a hundred degrees?

Yep, definitely never met him.

“Uhm, hi?” I rip my arm out of his grasp. “You can’t just grab people. It’s rude.”

“Sorry about that, sweetheart.” His hand runs over the grease piled on his head, then bravely holds it out to me. “Name’s Tom. I’m an old friend of Joseph’s.” His breath smells like pickles.

I blink, regarding his oiled fingers with blatant disregard.

He lifts a brow, his arm lowering. “Your stepdad?”

“Yeah, I know who my stepdad is, Tom.” I shift so I’m leaning on the other foot, my palm anchoring my hip. “I’m wondering why you’re here. You weren’t on the guest list. How’d you get in?”

“Oh, Joe and I go way back.” Not what I asked, but okay. “He wanted you to have something. Wrote me a letter a few weeks ago and told me to bring it to ya when we bury him six feet under. Strict instructions. Said I couldn’t bring it to yous until you were havin’ cakes. An look, here we are!” He gestures to the spread of desserts, all baked with the intent to comfort.

I glare. “So, where is it then?”

“Where’s what?” Is he on something?

“Where’s the thing?” I clarify, just in case. “The thing he wanted you to bring me.”

Tom laughs, flashing me scrapes of yellow on his teeth. “It’s in my trunk.”

“No kidding. You want me to come with you, a stranger I’ve never met, to go look at something in your trunk? At a funeral? Where the holes are already dug for you?”

This guy is crazy-banana-sandwich if he thinks I’m going out there alone with him.

He lets out another hearty chuckle, holding onto his imaginary jolly belly. When he’s done, he straightens up and leans against the doorway exit, blocking my path. “Look, I get how this sounds. But I swear I ain’t here to harm ya. It’s just…it’s a computer, alright? An old one that your stepdad gave to me to give to you. It’s hard to carry, so if it makes you feel better, you can get one of your uncles to come help take it to your car for ya.”

A computer. Of course it’s a computer.

My late stepdad was a massive gaming nerd, always locked in his study like he was working on some top-secret mission only he ever knew about.

It drove my mom crazy, which I think is half the reason why she drinks.

I don’t know why he’s leaving his old pile of electronics to me, but I’m not about to argue. My laptop died about a week ago, and like I said earlier…I’m a teacher.

I sigh. “Uncle Jerry!” I call out just as a large man wearing a button shirt and sweatpants exits the men’s toilets. “You mind coming over here and helping me with something?”

Uncle Jerry waddles over, scratching at the back of his receding hairline. “Kid? What’s wrong? This guy bothering you?” He then sizes Tom up, a frown wrinkling his round cheeks. “Just who is this guy?”

I cross my arms. “Some old friend of Joe’s. Says he left me his old gaming desktop. You mind helping us carry it out to my car?”

My uncle smiles, and I remember why he’s my favorite. Because I’m his.

“Sure thing, kiddo.”

“Jerry,” he tells Tom. I grimace when their hands clasp together, my eyes drifting to the top of the stranger’s head.

I try not to snicker when I see Jerry loosely dusting off his hand on his shirt as we follow Tom out to the parking lot.

It doesn’t take three people to move a computer, but we do it anyway. I pretend to help by carrying the mouse and keyboard.

Once we reach my old green Toyota Camry, I unlock the trunk and we start piling everything in. Once we’re done, I see this as my golden ticket to escape this hellish day.

I can grieve when I’m home.

I can breathe when I’m home.

But most importantly, I can finally be with him.

“Well, if that’s everything, I’m gonna say goodbye and then head on out.” I nod once at Tom. “Stranger.” I give another nod to Uncle Jerry. “Jerry.”

“Manners, kid,” my uncle says, although there’s a faint smile on his lips. He opens his arms and I step inside his embrace, accepting the squeeze of comfort he gives my shoulders. When I let go, Tom holds his hand out again, not having learned his lesson the first time around.

“It was nice meetin’ ya. Your stepdad has told me lots of stories.”

“Mmhm.” I’m not here to make small talk, so I tell him, “Thanks for coming out all this way. I appreciate the effort.” I offer him a stiff smile, my legs itching to carry me into my car.

Tom does an odd bow—twice—and then finally fucks off.

“Drive safe, you hear me?”

I pause at my door, my hand hovering over the hot handle. “I will, thanks, Uncle Jerry.”

There’s an awkward silence because my stepdad actually died in a car accident last week, and my heart rings hollow.

We both take a second to recover, neither of us offering to shed a tear.

With a shake of his head and a wave of his finger, my uncle spins around, his shirt damp with sweat as he makes his way back to the building.

I hiss when I climb into the driver’s seat, my bare thighs sticking to the seat as waves of heat hit me like an open bonfire.

My fingers shake over the keys as I stick it in the ignition, the wheels of my Toyota spinning as I peel out of the parking.

Just twenty minutes, and I’ll be curled up in bed with my favorite online story.

Luca, I’m coming for you.