Page 2 of Lesbian CEO
“The suit?”
“Yeah,” I smile. The suit. It’s one I’ve been wanting for a while. I’ve never felt super comfortable in dresses or skirts, and Ashley was the one that suggested I finally just invest in some good suits. This is the first one I purchased. I had it tailored to fit me perfectly, and I have to admit that it was a great decision. I feel good in it. I feel alive.
I feel like me for the first time in ages.
She makes me feel like myself.
“I bet you look hot as hell, Jess.” I can practically hear Ashley swoon. The two of us have no romantic interest in the other, so there’s no sexual tension or chemistry there, but I appreciate her unending support. Everyone needs a friend like Ashley. We all need someone who will call us before a big date and egg us on, letting us know that no matter what happens next, it’ll be great. Life is going to be great. I have a feeling that I don’t even know just how good it can get.
“Thanks.”
“She’s so lucky.”
My heart swells.
“I’m the lucky one.”
“I won’t keep you,” Ashley says. “I just wanted to wish you good luck.”
“I don’t need it,” I tell her firmly. “Everything’s going to be perfect.”
Toni
HE’S GONE.
All of this time and I can’t believe he’s gone.
My dad. He was supposed to be the one guy I could always count on to be there for me, but he’s left me. My mother wraps her arms around his body. She doesn’t care that he’s not inside of it anymore. She hugs him, holding him, but she doesn’t cry.
Why isn’t she crying?
Tears are pouring down my cheeks as I watch my mom hug the man she loved for decades. She couldn’t have imagined things would end so soon. I know that for my parents, every day felt fresh. New. The two of them still acted like newlyweds even after all of this time, but now he’s gone.
My dad has left.
Should she really be holding his body? He’s not there anymore, but Mom doesn’t seem to notice. Time of death has been called. The monitors hooked up to him are silent, but still, my mother wraps her arms around my dad one last time.
The nurses let her.
“Mom,” I manage to whisper. “Mom, he’s gone.”
A nurse, Miranda, places a hand on my shoulder and gently shakes her head.
“Let her be,” she tells me. “This part is important.”
For Mom, I know. This is all part of the grieving process, part of letting go of everything that she’s been through in the past few days. Dad was supposed to live a long, healthy life. He wasn’t supposed to die, especially on short notice.
My head is already spinning as I think of all of the phone calls we’re going to have to make. There are going to be meetings with attorneys and employees and clients. We’re going to have to figure out who’s going to take over the company and whether to keep it or sell it. Then there’s the matter of his investments. Mom is on some of those, but not all. Dad’s got cash. Not lots of it, but normal amounts. That’s going to take a long time to go through. The biggest thing is that we can’t let anyone know until we’re ready or the media is going to have a total field day and get everyone all freaked out over Dad’s passing. He runs a hardware store we’re going to have to run or sell, and people are going to have big opinions on it.
We’re not ready for that.
We’re not ready for talk.
Time, I realize, is the one thing my mom and I need more of, yet it’s the one thing we can’t seem to reclaim. No matter how much we try to chase the elusive idea of having “enough” time, we don’t. Our wheels are spinning over and over as we try to find ways to solve problem after problem, but right now, our biggest problem is in front of us. Dad is gone and we’re hurting. We’re going to miss him. He wasn’t supposed to leave us so soon, and I wonder if I’m in shock.
My mom still isn’t crying. No one is. We all sit there in awkward silence as Mom lays across Dad’s dead body, unmoving. She seems completely unaware of the fact that the rest of us are here: me, the nurses, the hospice care lady. There was a doctor in here earlier who declared that yes, my father has passed. He left, though, and now it’s just our little group. Mom never moves.
Then we realize that Mom still isn’t moving.