“But then he made me promise.”
I couldn’t breathe.
Jack had never told us.
Not once.
He had asked us whether his hair would grow back.
Whether he could still go to college.
Whether we’d let him travel if treatment worked.
He talked about the future so constantly that I assumed he believed in it as strongly as I needed to.
But six months before his death, my son had made his best friend promise what to wear to his funeral.
Theo said, “I thought if I didn’t promise, he’d think I was scared.”
He looked at Jack’s coffin.
“I was scared.”
Then he reached into the pocket of the dress.
Yes.
The stupid thing had pockets.
Jack would have appreciated that.
Theo unfolded a piece of paper.
“This is why I didn’t just ignore him.”
He held it up.
“Jack wrote it down.”
My head snapped toward him.
Theo looked at me.
“Mrs. Harris, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you before today. I just… I couldn’t.”
He unfolded the paper.
“It says, ‘Theo, if you’re reading this because I died, first of all, that’s embarrassing for me.'”
A ripple of laughter passed through the room.
Real laughter.
Painful, but real.
That sounded exactly like Jack.
Theo kept reading.
“‘Second, you promised. Red dress. Don’t chicken out just because my relatives are judgmental.'”
Daniel made a sound beside me that was half sob, half laugh.
Theo looked toward Daniel’s brother.
A few people laughed harder.
Then Theo’s face changed.
“‘Third, don’t let my funeral be the first time you lie to me just because I’m not there to call you out.'”
Theo lowered the paper.
“I almost didn’t come.”
I looked at him.
He said, “My dad told me not to wear it. My mom said people would misunderstand. My sister told me I was insane.”
