aj didn’t like churches. in all honesty, they creeped him out. and people only ever seemed to go for bad things. they were too quiet and too clean and he felt like if he breathed wrong, the priest at the front would wring his neck. it’s not like he’s a church goer — his mam and dad aren’t religious and he can count on one finger the amount of times he’s been to church, mostly for christenings. even then, he doesn’t like it.

but today is worse than all the times he’s had to stiffly sit between his mam and dad. it’s quiet. it’s wrong. the air doesn’t seem like it knows how to settle, how to calm down.

aj’s sat on one of the pews, his mam, aoife, on one side and his dad, joey, on the other. they’re both wearing black. everyone is. everyone’s listening as the priest goes on about eternal rest, peace and harmony. some people are sobbing and sniffling.

aj’s eyes aren’t on the priest. or the alter. or the priest. or the coffin perched in the middle. his focus is on you. you, sat at the front, posture deadly straight and movement stiff. your little brother is sat beside you, legs swinging as he listens to the priest say about how amazing your mam was.

you’re dressed in a nice black dress. aj remembers his mam helping you pick it out. your knuckles are white as you grip the end of the dress, your face too still. too straight. your brother is quiet beside you. he’s too small to actually understand what’s going on, but he seems content enough.

there were no tears. no sadness. just dim eyes as you listen to the priest drone on about hope and religion — stuff that aj knows you don’t believe in, but your mam did.

aj gets up slowly, avoiding the pleading look from his mam to sit back down. he walks to the front and slides in beside you. he doesn’t touch you, not yet. the priest continues, and you continue to stare straight ahead. he puts a hand on your thigh. let’s his thumb run back and forth.

he doesn’t do more than that. he doesn’t look at you, just stares ahead.

it’s a few minutes later when your fingers interlock with his, and they stay rested on your thigh. your nails dig into his hand, but he doesn’t care. he runs his thumb back and forth, gentle.

you haven’t cried yet. not just today, but at all. not since you got the call. you’ve been eerily calm and quiet, and aj is freaked out, but his dad tells him it’s a normal response to trauma and grief, so he doesn’t worry too much. but it’s been two weeks since her death, and still, nothing. it’s like you’re completely shut off, and aj wants you to at least process the fact that your mam is gone.

but not today. not now, anyways.

he keeps a hold on your hand as the funeral ends. as your mam gets lowered into the plot in the ground. still, you don’t cry. you just watch, holding your brothers hand. people weep and sob, even aj feels a tear in his eye, but he doesn’t let them fall. he just keeps a grip on your hand.

he keeps you grounded. helps you into the funeral cars back to your house. helps look after your brother. joey sorts out the house for the wake, and aoife helps with your brother. aj stands by your side, holding your hand as aunts and uncles and cousins and friends offer condolences, cry and cling to you.

you don’t cry. you barely react.

the wake continues, and aj stays with you as much as he can. when he can’t find you, he walks into the garden and sees you sat on the cracked rock steps. your elbows are rested on your knees, and your chin in your hands, gaze vacant as you stare straight ahead.

still, you don’t cry.