“How do you know the deceased?”

“Well, here’s the thing…”

I️ hesitate. My fingers fiddle the keys in my pocket.

“I️…um…I️ didn’t.”

He tilts his head to the side, not breaking eye contact.

“It’s hard to explain,” I️ try to smile, “work related, I️ guess you could say.”

He seems to relax.

“Oh! So a work acquaintance then?”

I️ nod in agreement, “Something like that.”

He glances around the room, adjusting his glasses.

“Well, no need to explain. I️ saw you standing alone and thought you could use a comforting word.”

I️ smile at that, “Thank you, reverend. I might yet.”

He nods and walks past to meander with the mourners. I️ take the opportunity to glance about the room.

These funeral parlors always have the same smell: Lilies and formaldehyde mixed with mortuary makeup.

A purple orchid rests alone beside the casket. The deceased’s wife twiddles the petals between visitors. She stares at the floor, trying to hide her bleeding mascara, but I️ notice - black splotches on the tissues in her left hand.

Her son, Johnathan, wraps a comforting arm around his mother. His suit is too big. He hasn’t darkened the door of a church in years, but that doesn’t seem to matter now. I️ walk past to stare into the casket. Neither take notice.

I️ lay a hand on the lacquered box. The Dressing Attendant left off his glasses. He looks young. Much healthier than the years of sickness he suffered. That’s good. I️ hope his family remembers him this way. He deserves it.

I️ graze a finger against the orchid as I️ step aside. It appears more vivid now than before.

Cliques of mourners speckle the room, whispering - friends, family, congregants. Many with tears in their eyes. Many smile and laugh over bittersweet memories. An aura of peace alights upon the gathering as a beam of light in the dark. This community is small, but close. A rarity, in my experience.

I️ walk back down the aisle towards their daughter and kneel down beside. She’s beautiful, smart, witty, and married rich to boot. But none of that matters now. Blonde curls hide her face against her husband’s chest, slightly leaning the banquet chair.

I️ rest a hand on the brocatelle seat back.

“You can cry. It’s okay to cry. You’ll see him again - many, many years from now. But you’ll always remember him fondly.” I️ sigh, “Your father is a good man.”

She stops to catch her breath and slowly reaches towards my chest. I️ don’t move. I️ don’t need to. Her hand passes through and picks up the paper box beneath my knee.

I️ stand and head towards the double doors in the back. The reverend meets me again at the doorway.

“I️-I️ don’t know why,” he stammers, “but I️ feel like I️… know you somehow.”

I️ laugh and motion for him to follow.

“It’s time to go, John. There’s another party waiting for you.”

His eyes spark with knowing. He spins around the room, looking to his wife, son, and daughter, then stares back at me.

“I️ gave Sophie that orchid, you know. For our anniversary. They were always her favorite.”

“And she’ll always think of you when she sees them.”

I️ pull the keys from my pocket and turn towards the hall, the revered beside.

“Do you know where we’re going?” I️ ask.

He smiles at his family one last time and follows.

“Home,” he says, “we’re going home.”