HAZEL
My father stood by Fia's mother's grave, talking on his phone with his back to me. He looked gaunt, his suit hanging awkwardly on his thin frame. Sunlight hit his face, making his features look even sharper.
I didn't care.
My phone felt heavy in my hand, the camera app still open. He had nearly caught me taking a photo of the headstone. He almost turned around at the worst moment while I crouched, trying to capture the name, dates, and the small carved rose at the top.
That would have been inconvenient.
This was the last shit on my list. I had already sat through my mother's sobbing and her loud, messy crying that seemed to last forever. Delta had picked up the aphrodisiac while I pretended to mourn a grandmother I had only met twice. Both times, she looked at me like I was just an unfortunate event in her daughter's life.
Which I suppose I was.
