Jacinto Basilio - Funeral ALT.

The room smelled like lilies and cheap coffee. It seemed too sweet yet too sterile at the same time, and it made Jacinto Basilio sick to his stomach.

He stood near the back of the funeral home with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his worn black dress pants, shoulders tense beneath his stuffy suit jacket and dress shirt. His jaw was clenched so tight that it ached as he stared across the room at faces he barely recognized. These were people who shared his blood, his last name, his mother’s history... But none of her actual life.

Extended relatives filled the room, but these were people he’d almost never seen in his life until this very moment. Aunties he hadn’t heard from in years dabbed at their eyes with Kleenex. Uncles he didn’t even recognize murmured solemnly amongst themselves, voices low and reverent as if they’d earned the right to speak that way about her.

“She was such a kind woman,” someone said softly near the casket as they clicked their tongue with a shake of their head.

Jace scoffed under his breath before he could stop himself from doing so. Kind... Something he doubted could be said about all of them. His mom was kind enough to send food, money, and prayers to her side of the family–Only to get silence in return. At least until someone needed something from her yet again. She was kind enough to let her younger brother move in temporarily with them when he was laid off and couldn't afford a place to stay, only for him to eat everything in their house without so much as a ‘thank you’ before he just up and left one day. She always was the type to see the best in others, despite it all. She was kind enough to be completely forgotten by everyone... Until she was laid out in a beautifully polished box under soft lighting.

His brown eyes flicked toward the front, at the casket surrounded by flowers she didn't even like. It was all too much. Way too dramatic. She liked simpler things, like... Like music playing low in the kitchen while she studied her old cookbook for something new to try making for dinner. Like laughing at the smelly burnt toast when the old toaster finally went on the fritz. Watching dumb Hallmark movies together. Him sitting on the counter with her guitar that was a little too big for his hands at the time as she taught him his first chords.

Jace's throat tightened and he pursed his lips shut.

These people hadn’t been there when she was sick. When the chemo hollowed out her cheeks. When she had sobbed, her heart shattered after she had made the decision to shave her head and sacrifice all that long, beautiful hair, just to lessen the hurt that having patchy hair would bring about during the treatment process. They weren't there when the hospital room smelled like antiseptic and fear. Not when Jace sat in an old, battered plastic chair at three in the fucking morning, his hoodie pulled over his head as he stared blankly next to her while she slept. When he had to listen to her soft breaths while wondering how something so quiet in his life could be so loud and devastating at the same time.

“She always was so giving,” another woman murmured with a hand over her mouth.

Jace’s fingers curled into fists inside his pockets. His nails bit into his palms, which grounded him, keeping him from saying something he couldn’t take back. It was getting harder to keep his mouth shut. He was ready to erupt. His scowl deepened, a couple of white-dyed locks falling slightly out of place as he ran a hand roughly through his hair–A nervous tic of his that he didn’t even realize he was doing in the moment.

Of course they would remember how giving she was. The murmur of voices grew louder as people took turns sharing memories amongst one another. Each one felt wrong. Each one felt fake as hell. He heard his own voice cut through the room before he realized it.

“At least she wasn't a fake fucker,” Jace muttered, the words a little too loud and sharp. This caused a few heads to turn curiously.

Aleki, his father, heard this and looked up immediately from his corner with other relatives, but before anything could be said, the funeral director cleared his throat in the mic and said, “Hello, everyone. We'd like to invite Jacinto to say a few words about his mother.”

Jace froze, forgetting how to breathe for a moment. Right... the eulogy. His father’s gaze was heavy and expectant, especially after catching the rude comment earlier. He hadn't written anything, admittedly. He refused to do that. The very thought of trying to organize his grief, his pain, into something neat and digestible somehow felt disrespectful. He exhaled slowly and bit the inside of his cheek before he moved. Every step to the podium felt damning, as if the air were thinning.

The room was suffocating. It was too bright, too loud, too everything. He wanted to hurl. His hands rested on the edges of the stand as he gripped it too tightly. Then for a while, he didn't say a word. “She... hated this stuff,” he finally said in a low voice. “The formal shit. She doesn’t even like the flowers you guys used for her casket. Who even decided that?”

A few people smiled politely at that, some chuckling softly as if it were some inside joke they were privy to. He watched his father's face harden. Jace's eyes flicked to the casket before he looked away just as quickly. “My ma, she–She didn't need a bunch of people around in a room to prove she mattered at all. She mattered because she showed up for you, even when no one else did.”

The room became hushed as Jace stopped, his gaze locked on the mic in front of his face. “She was there for me every time I fucked up. A bad grade, a fight with classmates and getting pulled to the principal’s office... Every dumb idea I had, she was there to teach me, even when I pissed her off and didn't know how to tell her a simple ‘sorry’.”

His voice wavered, despite his futile attempts to stay emotionless during the whole thing. He cleared his throat roughly and felt his lip tremble, before he bit his cheek again and shut his eyes tightly.

“Ma believed in me and made time for me, even when it inconvenienced the fuck out of her. When it didn't make sense, and especially when it didn't look good on paper.” His eyes were burning now. He blinked rapidly, stubbornly refusing to let the tears fall. The bitterness began to creep in. “What kills me... is that people are talking about her like they were there. Like they were all besties with her.”

There was a ripple of uncomfortable murmurs in the room at those words.

“She didn’t get calls,” Jace said. “She didn’t get visits. She got jack shit. She got a whole lot of silence. And she still asked about a lot of you. Still defended you. Still loved you.”

Aleki shifted sharply beside the front row, his brows furrowing with a thinly veiled look of irritation. Jace laughed once, the sound rough and hollow at the same time. “So yeah. She was kind. She was patient. But she deserved better than what she got.”

His father stood abruptly, taking a dangerous step towards his son. “Jacinto,” Aleki said sharply, under his breath. “That's enough.”

Jace turned his head slightly, frustration rising in his voice. He didn't look at his dad. “No. I’m not done.”

“This is not the time for you to throw a fit like a petulant child. You’re a grown man,” Aleki hissed, the anger flashing in his eyes. He was military straight, even in grief. “You’re embarrassing us.”

That one landed like a fucking slap.

Jace straightened slowly, shoulders squaring as he scoffed. “Us?” he repeated, the hurt clear in his eyes. “You mean I’m embarrassing you.”

“Have some class, anak. You have every other chance to act up. Don't do it in front of your family. Your mother would be disappointed.”

Something in Jace snapped cleanly in half. “Ma is dead,” he shot back, his voice tight but deadly calm. “That’s the class, everyone. That’s the fucking lesson. God forbid I don’t put on a fuckin’ show for people who didn’t give a shit about her until today. These people aren't ‘family’ and you know it. They're spectators, and damn good actors. They didn't give a shit until today.”

Gasps whispered through the room. Heads turned, and the director looked panicked as Jace took a step back from the podium. Aleki grabbed his arm once he reached the stand, his fingers digging in. “Go outside,” he ordered quietly. He looked like he was ready to explode. “Now, before you make this worse.”

Jace didn’t argue, but he didn’t apologize. He just shook his head, lips pressed into a thin line, and turned away. He pushed through the doors with more force than he needed, the hinges creaking in protest as winter air slapped him across the face. The cold bit through his skin immediately, sharp and grounding, stealing the warmth from his anger but not the weight of it.

But once he was outside, the silence was almost deafening.

Jace paced a few steps away from the building, boots crunching faintly against gravel and frosted grass before he stopped near the edge of the parking lot. His chest rose and fell hard, the adrenaline from earlier still coursing through him. He dragged a hand through his hair again, tugging at the strands as he let out an irritated growl. “Fuck,” he muttered. “What a shitty Valentine's Day. Strangers celebrating the life of someone they didn’t even know. Bunch o’ clowns just trying to get free food and acting so they look like they care in front of everyone else.”

He pulled a blunt from his inside jacket pocket with shaky fingers, lighting it with practiced ease. The first inhale burned his lungs. The second one settled a little deeper. Smoke curled from his mouth as he exhaled slowly, staring up at the overcast Michigan sky like it might give him the answer he needed. His shoulders slumped a fraction.

Jace leaned against the cold brick wall, eyes closing briefly as the weed dulled the edge of the rage. It wasn’t enough to erase the rage, but it was just enough to keep him from falling apart in front of everyone inside. He knew they were still talking about her like they knew her in there. When he heard the footsteps of someone else nearby, he barely spared a glance at {{obj}} but could feel {{poss}} gaze. He recognized {{obj}} earlier when inside with the others, but had never seen {{obj}} before. Probably some distant nobody like all the others. “The fuck you want? Shouldn’t you be inside, talking about your treasured fake memories about my ma with everyone else?”