"I'm here to pay my respects to your father, Peter!" Liz's eyes are wide and innocent, like she has no idea of our prejudice against her.

"You weren't invited." Peter practically growls.

Liz remains unabashed. "Well," she continues smoothly, "you are my ex-boyfriend, and I have met John Parker before. So I thought I may as well come to the funeral."

I stare at her in disbelief. So does Peter.

"So are you letting me in?" Liz demands, crossing her arms impatiently.

"No!" Peter and I yell in unison. People shoot us dirty looks.

"At least let me comfort poor, poor Isabelle."

We shake our heads.

"Half an hour."

"No."

"Fifteen minutes."

"No." I glare at her suspiciously. There must be a reason, apart from paying her respects, on being so desperate to enter the funeral. After all, Liz Toomes isn't the one to have respect.

"Ten minutes?"

"Go away." Peter sighs.

"What?"

"He told you to go. Didn't you hear?" I snicker. Liz scowls.

"You'll regret it." She says almost like a promise.

"I don't think so." I chortle.

"You will." Her eyes glitter with pure malice as she turns and sashays away.

I chew on my nails nervously, watching her retreating figure. "You don't think she'll actually do something, do you?"

Peter shrugs. "Maybe."

"And still you take it so lightly?"

He gives me a look. "I can't do anything now, can I? And neither can you."

"I mean yeah, I guess."

The funeral commences half an hour later when everyone has arrived, and after both Peter and I make sure Liz hasn't snuck in somehow. Isabelle sits between us, and halfway during the service, I grab her hand and squeeze it. She doesn't give a sign that she felt it. For the past few days, she's been in a daze as if she's swantering around in an unfamiliar world. I look over at Peter. His face is expressionless and it's only when the casket is begun to be taken down the aisle when his facade cracks. Tears rushes to his eyes and I think when he believes no one is looking, he wipes his nose. Liz Toomes is long forgotten.

We trudge outside where the velvet casket is being buried and watch in silence, hearing only the vague sobs of the guests. Not once do I see Peter's head lift from the ground.

***

Peter and I may have broken up, but that doesn't mean I can't lie next to him at night, whispering now and then. I find that the prejudice I've felt for the past days against him is almost gone. Almost.

But how do I tell him that I still like him? Love him? It's not even quite the right timing to tell him. What about in a week? A month? Or never at all?

Sometimes the fateful words just barely escape from spitting out of my mouth. And often, I catch him staring at me, averting his stare when our eyes meet.

It's a full three months before life begins to grow normal again. Slowly, day by day, Isabelle's strength returns. But there's something in her laughter now that wasn't there before and probably will stay for good. I guess that's only the after-effect of deep mourning. Peter is pretty much himself again, rowdy and mirthful. And I'm glad of it.

"MJ."

I'm halfway up the staircase, stretching and yawning, and just thinking how good sleep would be at this moment when Peter calls. I turn.

"Yeah, what is it?"

"Will you take a walk with me around the garden?"

I hesitate. Another day I would've loved to, but today isn't really the best day. "Won't you go with Isabelle? It'll do her good." I immediately regret saying this, hearing how rude it sounds. "Sorry. I didn't mean to say it like that..."

"It's fine." Peter shrugs. "I'll go by myself then." He shoves his hands into his pockets and spins around, about to walk off.

I groan. He's guilt tripping me, and it's working as always. "Fine. I'll go."

"Perfect!" He flashes me his widest grin.

I mutter as I shuffle down the stairs, "you're so annoying."

Peter laughs. "Thanks for the compliment."

"You're welcome." I reply.

The first thing Isabelle did after recovering from her long mourn of John's death, was planting seeds of different kinds of flowers everywhere in the backyard. Now the yard is a small colourful forest of daisies, pansies and tulips. It's a quite beautiful sight. Especially in the rays of the light sunset terrorising over the sky, such as now.

"So what brought this on?" I wonder aloud as we stroll around the flowers. "You could have come with Isabelle."

"I actually..." he clears his throat. "I actually wanted to talk to you about something."

"Oh?" I arch one eyebrow in a curious, demanding manner.

"You know that day with Amy?" Is he sweating from the heat or nerves?

"Yes..." I observe him suspiciously. My voice hardens. "Are you two dating now?"

"No! Stop jumping to conclusions and listen to what I have to say. The truth."

"The actual truth with no lies?"

"Yes!"

"Fine. Go on."

"That day, I wasn't cheating on you."

The words come as a shock. So all that comes out of my mouth is a flabbergasted, "huh?"

"Do you know what Amy does for a living?"

"What?" I don't see what Amy's job has to do with anything.

"She's a party planner, and I wanted to throw a big party for you because your birthday is, y'know, next month."

"But that's four months before then." I say, confused.

"I know, but a big birthday party has to be planned months earlier."

"Oh." I frown. "But what was with the hug? It seemed pretty cozy to me."

Peter glares. "You should know that Amy's my cousin."

"What?" My jaw drops. "But your last name-"

"She's my cousin on my mother's side."

Understanding sweeps over me. "How did you not tell me that?" I demand.

"You never gave me a chance, and the past months were too much of a mess to tell you..."

"Yeah, I suppose it was." I agree and pause. "I...I'm sorry, Peter. I misunderstood everything."

"It's fine. As long as you forgive me I'm fine."

Judging from the truth, there's nothing for me to forgive. "So we're good?"

"I suppose we are." Peter confirms.

At first we glance at each other, all of a sudden shy and awkward. Then I break the silence.

"So what did you plan for my birthday? For my so-called party?"

Peter looks mischievous. "Honestly," he says thoughtfully, "do you even deserve to know?"

I swat at his hoodie strings. "Yes! Especially after all that ordeal I went through those months ago. Tell me, Peter. I'm curious."

"Nuh uh!" He grins, shaking his head resolutely and crossing his arms. "Secret."

I scowl, then yawn, suddenly remembering how tired I am.

"Tiered?" Peter asks surprisingly gently.

"Very." I yawn again, half genuine and half deliberate.

Peter laughs.

That night I have the best sleep I've had in ages.