After the funeral, Stephen turned to them all and said, “My dad loved Japanese city pop, he believed in good, tailored suits with high armholes, he once bought a signed Steven Gerrard jersey just to burn it, and I think the only thing he liked that wasn’t about status or money was roses. Almost anywhere we went that had a rose, he would stop to look and admire the color, the shape. He was disappointed whenever they were in bad condition. Every rose was a gift to him. I don’t know if we ever even really knew each other and that’s weird. But I miss him.”

“I’m going to say one more fucked-up thing,” Stephen said, and looked directly at Ayanna as always. She nodded.

“He had so much money, so much stuff, and he only ever had little bits of people. What a dumbass.”

Then he stood up before anyone could say anything, and went over to his mother and told her she had done a great job, and he was very proud of her. He greeted some of his stepmoms and hugged some of his siblings. Most of them didn’t look like one another, but they all had similar facial expressions. The room was loud with conversations and high heels on hard tile floors. There was more liquor being poured, people were probably already trying to figure out which artworks would be on sale soon, and there was the wheeling of the carts covered in silver trays for the dinner that was to follow.

“Sometimes,” Felix said, “I feel like funerals are meant to kill the person one last time.”

Jane gave him an interested look. “Say more.”

“They’re meant to make you feel like time is moving on. You rarely go to one where you hear about the person as they were. It’s all gendered stuff, money, history, potential if they’re young. Sometimes all you hear is some half-assed talk about God and callings. The dead aren’t even talked about. It’s so depressing.” He turned to Ayanna earnestly. “When I die, I want you to remind people I could also be very annoying. Tell them about how often I leave wet towels on my side of the bed.”

She laughed, and he said, “I’m not joking. Make me be alive one last time.”

“I’ll tell them you stole expensive lotions and lied about it. You leave towels in the bed. You’re not as good of a driver as you think you are. The way your snore can sometimes sound like a bird.”

“Keep going,” he said.

“I’ll say nice things too.”

“Like what?”