It was raining at Monique Jones’s mother’s funeral. Only a few people—around fifteen to twenty people—attended, the priest droning on about prayers before the coffin was lowered on the ground. Monique wore a pair of dark shades to cover the bags underneath her eyes. She had been crying a week ago, when her mother was already too dependent for life support and she and her father finally decided to unplug the life support. She had never woken up. Monique didn’t even get the chance to tell her mother she loved her.
She wouldn’t know if Celestine ever felt the same—if she ever loved Monique—or if she was even proud of what Monique had become. Monica stood far away from Monique but Monique could perfectly see her with her shoulders slumped. She hadn’t talked to her ever since Monica told her a
