Page 108 of Vicious
I never got to know my father, not truly, and it makes tears spring to my eyes for the first time all day. “Thank you,” I say quietly, feeling subdued and withdrawn. I lean against Chase, letting his arm hold me up as I try not to ruminate about all the things I’d said and done before Baba had died.
The judge peers at me. “Simon never mentioned you were adopted.”
I stare at him in blatant disbelief. “I’m not?—”
Chase squeezes my arm just hard enough to cause a twinge of pain. “May’s mother is Chinese. I’ve heard interracial marriage has been allowed in this country since 1967.”
The judge pales and coughs into his hand. “Right, of course. My apologies.” He looks over his shoulder. “I think I see somebody I need to speak to.” He scuttles off, running away from the awkwardness.
Once he’s gone, Chase mutters, “Prick.”
“I can’t believe he had the… the audacity,” I sputter, anger making it difficult for me to speak. “Even if he had adopted me, he was still my father. Despite everything, Baba did the best he could.” The anger goes out like a candle flame, and I slump. “Even though I didn’t tell him as much.”
“He knew.” Chase loosens his grip on my arm and rubs it gently instead. “Do you really want to extend the wake much longer? These people didn’t care about Simon.”
I shake my head. “I kind of want to just leave without saying anything,” I admit, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. “I don’t think they’d even notice.” And Baba wouldn’t want me to be uncomfortable and share my soul in front of a bunch of assholes who are only there for potential gossip and drama.
“Okay.” Chase kisses the side of my head and lets go of me entirely. “I’ll say something just so these people don’t stick around for too long.”
He walks over to the center of the funeral hall. Baba’s cremated remains are in a beautiful urn on the mantle behind him. I’d found a photo of him from when he was younger and placed it in a frame next to the urn.
And that’s it. That is the entirety of Baba in this room.
“Dear gathered guests!” Chase says to the small collection of people. They all turn to him, clearly confused. “Thanks for joining us on this somber occasion to celebrate the life of our friend Simon.”
I notice a few people whispering to each other. They probably don’t understand why Chase is the one speaking.
Chase glances at the photo of Baba before turning back to the audience. “If you’re here, I assume you all knew Simon to some extent. He was a complicated man, but I think we can all agree that he did everything in his life with passion.” Chase smiles sadly. “He worked his ass off for his clients, no matter how futile it might have seemed. He always believed the best in people.
“I think it’s that optimism that drew people to him. He always knew things would get better. Even when things were at the lowest, he clung to that optimism.”
Chase looks in my direction briefly, and I swallow hard, trying not to let my emotions overwhelm me. If nothing else, he’s a gifted orator, but that’s no surprise, given his success at his profession.
“That optimism might have been incomprehensible to most of us, but it carried him through life and made him great company no matter the occasion.” Chase sobers up slightly. “Whenever I met up with Simon, he talked about May, his daughter. He was so proud of her, in everything she did. I’m sure you’ve all heard the stories too. How smart she was, how she could turn simple scraps into beautiful dresses, how she was the pillar of his life.”
Several people murmur in agreement, which shocks me because I didn’t think he talked about me. It wasn’t like I’d really done anything to be proud of beyond working myself half to death.
The words touch me anyway, especially since people seem to be receptive to those words. I fan myself with my hands, trying not to let the tears fall.
“May, you truly do your father proud. I know that Simon wanted nothing more than for you to flourish.” Chase raises his glass of wine. “To Simon, a man who fought for others and, despite all the hardships, always wanted the best for all.”
“To Baba,” I whisper, raising my own glass. “Who saved my life.”
A few people look at me, probably curious about what I’m saying, but I don’t speak any louder. They don’t need to know how he died, even though in the end, he’d been a hero.
To me and Chase both.
* * *
“Do you want drinks?” Chase asks when we get back to his house. Our house?
“I want many, many drinks,” I tell him, raking a hand through my hair and utterly destroying any attempts I’d made at making it look good. “How many can I get?”
“It depends if we’re going to do anything else tonight.” Chase opens one of the kitchen cabinets to display a small collection of alcohol. He glances over his shoulder at me. “I wouldn’t want to be accused of taking advantage.” After a pause, he adds, “On second thought, have as many drinks as you want.”
I can’t help but laugh, even though I’m torn between amusement and the urge to burst into tears. “Maybe it’s not a good idea to drink,” I say slowly. I look up to meet his eyes, swallowing hard. “You still… I mean… I should probably be punished for running away. Especially since I ended up in major trouble.”
Fuck. I shouldn’t have suggested that. But the grief is pulling at me, and I know that if I start drinking, it’s going to be the only thing I can think of. It’s the only thing I’ve been thinking about, these past ten days.