The coffin was lowered into the ground as the forecasted showers began. Makayla watched the coffin hit the bottom of the big grave, and the ties were released. She didn't like the way the flowers were placed around the site 'father' and 'husband' as though in celebration. Celebration of what? My best friend is burying his father, she thought.

Pink carnations were the only flower in the bouquet that made sense, the flower that symbolised never forgetting. But why would you want to anyway?

The single crimson rose hit the top of the casket— the one that Jessie had been holding in the church. She eyed her best friend, who was already staring at her and his face hurt her soul.

Blank.

That's all it showed - a sheet of paper with not even a crease or ripple stared back at her, dead and emotionless. Jessie's hands were shoved in pockets no doubt in fists as they had been throughout the whole service.

His mother, on the other hand, was in and out of sobs. Every once and a while collecting herself before the death of her husband came like a flood, knocking her back into tears.

As the rain turned from a drizzle to a pour, the pair stood there, a grave in between them. It felt as though it wasn't just one death they were mourning but the death of the old Jessie as well.

Though she was just over an arm's length away. Makayla had never felt so distant from her friend. As he turned and followed his mother to the car, she knew that he was walking away from what was.

Her mother placed a caring hand on her daughter's shoulder, watching the interaction unfold. Makayla looked at her mother, tears brimming the rims of her brown eyes.

"It doesn't get better from here, does it?" Makayla said, sniffling slightly.

Her mother sighed, confirming all her fears. She led her away to the car an umbrella covering them from the rain, but the damage had already been done.

Jessie had never understood the concept of a wake. It was ironic, really, as the one person he wished would wake never will. His father was dead, gone, and would continue to be so until he joined him.

Is it even worth considering heaven or hell? He thought. What good would it do him? He'd rather just wish his father was here on Earth with him.

One thing he was appreciative for was that they were no longer cruising along the road parading the death of his father. So that they also had the additional condolences from complete strangers.

Because together, with enough wishful thinking, he will rise on the third day. He scoffed to himself, catching the attention of his mother.

"You okay, Jessie?"

It was a stupid question, neither of them would be ok for a very, very long time. His mother wasn't asking him if he was really okay, she was just wondering whether he felt worse than he did twenty minutes ago.

He strained to smile, but it was enough to show his mother as he turned his head.

"Don't worry about me." He took her furthest shoulder and brought her closer letting her lean her tired head on his shoulder. Jessie stroked her blonde hair; something which his father would do after a long day at work, something which he had adopted from a young age.

His mother sighed contently, her nose red and blocked from the crying, causing her breathing to be slightly nasally.

"You smell just like him."

His eyes stung as her words hit him. He hadn't washed any differently today and certainly couldn't bring himself to touch his father's belongings. So it hurt him immensely to find that his natural smell had become similar to his father's, and unfortunately it was a smell he'd never be able to smell himself.

The vibration of his phone seized his eyes from watering any further, and he was thankful for it. If he were to cry it would shatter the remaining pieces of his mother's heart and probably his own.

A text from Makayla. A form of communication they hadn't used since the day his father had died. Not that they didn't speak at school during lunch or if they shared a class, it was just that once Jessie left to go home, he found it extremely difficult to maintain the charade. But for Makayla, he'd always try as much as his mind would let him.

Jessie watched the four dots, as Makayla thought of a casual, non-casual way of gauging what he was feeling.

Usually, that would be it for Jessie, he had lost the ability to make conversation flow, or at least at this point misplaced it.

He stared at the device blankly as he waited for Makayla to reply, but a small part of him hoped she would take the hint and just leave it at that. However, Makayla was too kind, too caring and nurturing that she would find any way to continue talking to him and just a little bit his heart moved and his pain subsided.

But only briefly.

At this point, Makayla decided not to reply, she was already choking on how far her foot was in her mouth as it was. Damn, why do I have to be so awkward?

She put her phone away, hoping that the weather would at least not compliment the occasion, not that a BBQ at a wake would lighten the mood.

Makayla leaned back, tying her hair, which was still wet from the rain. They weren't far from home, and she hoped they would be. Never had she dreaded heading to Jessie's house and having to see him.

Almost as though her father had read her mind, he eyed her from the mirror.

"You don't have to come with us to the wake, Makayla. You know that, right?" her father said. Despite being a strong man, his voice was still riddled with sadness, sadness for his daughter's friend, and sadness that was riddling her as a result of that.

"If there was any a time to be there for Jessie it has to be today." The type of response he expected from his daughter, and he felt both happy but also worried.

Makayla was fragile to other's emotions, like a sponge she would absorb all around her; a trait she found very difficult to control. He worried that she wouldn't be able to accompany Jessie on his journey to recovery without being damaged on the way.

The family slowed down into the drive, and his mother was the first to get out.

"I'll wait in the car. If I leave this seat I'm sure your mother will persist on me trying the salad...again."

Makayla let a small laugh, but it was cut short as this wasn't the day to be happy. To her, laughing or being anything but sad was disrespectful to the life they witnessed being lowered into the ground.

"I'm going to change into something more comfortable."

"Get in and out without your mother seeing you know how happy she was that you were wearing a dress."

She nodded curtly and left, going up to her room to find casual funeral attire. Luckily for her, she wasn't short on something black.

She decided to wear her black Deadpool top hoping that the anti-hero would spark some sort of conversation with Jessie if he saw it. Knowing her friend wouldn't ever miss a chance to explain in painstaking detail of all the reasons why Deadpool would be able to stop Thanos singlehandedly.

Makayla's eyes cast out of the window to the garden staring at her pride and joy the collection of flowers that littered the perimeter of the greenery. Flowers, I'll bring them flowers. She smiled to herself and moved towards the garden.

"You've changed?"

Makayla sighed as her mother caught her halfway through emptying the sixth packet of cheese into the clear plastic bowl.

"It kept riding up, and I just want to get back into my normal clothes." Makayla went out into the garden, uncomfortable about talking about where they had just come from.

She had already decided what flowers she would bring with her. Opening the small plastic box near the entrance she took out her gloves, a sharp knife and small glass pot to put the flowers in.

Gladiolus— white flowers with faint strikes of purple in them some often confused them for lilies with the way they are shaped, and how their anthers were presented.

The glass pot had been filled one-quarter of the way. She set aside as she gently held a bunch of the gladiolus in one hand before gliding the knife diagonally across the stalks placing them into the container.

Makayla took her freshly cut flowers and returned back inside but not before she put away her equipment.

"Gladioluses, the flower of remembrance."

Makayla looked at her mother as she wrapped the bowl in clingfilm. She still put on her apron despite the fact that she was only making a cold side dish.

As she removed it and placed it on the side, her mother approached her bowl tucked under her arm.

"He needs to process this and deal with it in his own way, Makayla." She side hugged her daughter, who kept her eyes on the flowers taking in the delicate crimps surrounding the edge of each petal.

All Makayla could do was hum in response, she managed to move out of her mother's grasp and hurried to the door.

Her mother knew everything that was plaguing her mind, and she feared if she remained next to her, she would see her intentions as well.