The Last Goodbye Party
The Question
I stood in the kitchen, my fingers gripping the edge of the counter so hard my knuckles turned white. The house was too quiet—just the hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the floorboards. It had been like this for weeks. Ever since Dad died, the air felt heavy, like even the walls were holding their breath.
I took a deep breath and walked over to where Mum sat at the table, staring into a cup of tea that had long gone cold. Her eyes were red, her hair messy, and her clothes wrinkled. She looked like she hadn't slept in days.
"Mom," I said, my voice shaky. "Can I throw a party? Just… one last goodbye for everyone here.
The words hung in the air like a storm cloud. I watched her face closely, waiting for her reaction.
For a second, she didn't move. Then, slowly, she looked up at me. Her eyes widened, her mouth tightening into a thin line.
"David," she said, her voice sharp and brittle, like glass about to shatter. "Your dad just passed away, and you want to throw a party? Are you out of your mind?"
Her words stung, but I didn't back down. I clenched my fists and stood taller.
"No, Mom, I'm not crazy," I shot back. My voice cracked a little, but I kept going. "Just because Dad died doesn't mean I have to act like you!"
As soon as the words left my mouth, I wished I could take them back.
Her face crumpled. Tears spilled down her cheeks, silent and fast. My chest ached with guilt. I hadn't meant to hurt her—not like this.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled, bracing myself for her to yell, to slap me, to do something.
But she didn't.
Instead, she reached out and pulled me into a hug so tight I could barely breathe. Her heartbeat pounded against my chest, fast and uneven.
"David… you're right," she whispered, her voice thick with tears. "Just this once… I'll let you have your party. You can use the house. I'll stay at a hotel until it's over."
I froze. This wasn't what I expected. No screaming, no punishment—just quiet acceptance. And somehow, that made me feel worse.
But beneath the guilt, a tiny spark of relief flickered inside me.
"Thank you, Mom," I blurted, pulling back to look at her. "You're the best."
She gave me a weak smile, but her eyes were still sad. Then her face turned serious.
"Listen, David. No alcohol. No strippers. No drugs. And absolutely no nudity or sex. And try to stay out of trouble, okay?"
I nodded fast. "Got it. No trouble."
She sighed and stood up, her movements slow, like every step took effort. I watched her walk toward her room, her shoulders slumped.
Before she could disappear down the hall, I ran after her and wrapped her in another hug. She patted my back gently before pulling away and leaving me standing there, my heart pounding.
The Planning Begins
Back in my room, I threw myself onto the bed and grabbed my notebook. The party was happening. Finally, something to look forward to—something to drown out the suffocating silence of the house.
I scribbled down ideas—music, food, decorations. The more people, the better. The louder, the better.
But as I wrote, the weight of Dad's absence pressed down on me. The grief was always there, lurking in the corners of my mind. I clenched my jaw and pushed it away.
No. Tonight isn't about sadness. It's about forgetting.
I grabbed my phone and started sending invites—classmates, teammates, old friends. A hundred people, maybe more.
Then my phone buzzed.
A name flashed on the screen: Favour.
My stomach twisted. I'd sent her an invite, but I hadn't called. What was I supposed to say?
"Hey, sorry my dad died, wanna come drown our sorrows in my living room?"
I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the answer button.
The Unanswered Calls
The phone had been ringing for days.
Favour.
Her name flashed across the screen again and again, a reminder of the life I'd left behind—the laughter, the inside jokes, the normalcy that now felt like a distant dream.
But how could I answer? How could I explain the storm inside me?
Every time the phone rang, my chest tightened. My fingers froze. I just… couldn't.
And then, as if the universe was testing me, the screen lit up again.
Favour calling…
My breath caught. My thumb hovered over the answer button, shaking.
Ten minutes passed—ten long minutes of me staring at the ceiling, trying to find the right words.
"Hey, Favour. Yeah, sorry I vanished. My world fell apart, and I didn't know how to tell you."
Pathetic.
I swallowed hard and finally reached for the phone—
But the ringing stopped.
I cursed under my breath. I'd waited too long. Again.
The silence that followed was worse than the ringing—a hollow emptiness where her voice should have been.
Guilt twisted in my stomach. Before I could overthink it, I dialed her back.
The call hadn't even fully connected when her voice cut through the line, sharp with frustration.
"Hey, David, what the hell? Why haven't you been picking up?"
Hearing her voice—so familiar, so alive—sent a jolt through me. For a second, I forgot how to speak.
Then the truth spilled out, raw and unfiltered.
"I'm sorry, Favour. I… I kind of lost my dad. That's why."
The pain in my chest was a living thing, clawing its way up my throat. I could almost see her face on the other end, the anger melting into something worse.
Pity.
To Be Continued…