Ethan Crowe hated the flowers.
There were too many of them.
White lilies stood beside the coffin.
Roses covered the tables near the entrance.
Larger arrangements had been placed against the walls of the funeral home, each carrying a small card with the name of whoever had sent it.
Together, they made the entire room smell too sweet.
His mother would have hated that.
Laura Crowe liked flowers, but she never liked having too many inside the house.
Flowers belong outside, she had once told Ethan while watering the plants on their apartment balcony.
They’re supposed to have sunlight.
Ethan stared at the lilies surrounding her coffin.
There wasn’t much sunlight here.
The large windows looked out over Grayhaven City, but evening had already arrived.
Streetlights glowed beneath the cloudy sky, and headlights reflected against the wet pavement outside.
Cars continued passing, and people walked along the sidewalks.
A woman hurried beneath an umbrella with a Growlithe trotting beside her.
A delivery truck stopped across the street, and a Machoke climbed down from the passenger side carrying two heavy boxes.
Grayhaven hadn’t stopped because Laura Crowe had died.
That bothered Ethan more than he thought it should.
His mother was dead, and people were still going to work.
Restaurants were serving dinner.
Children were complaining about homework.
Pokémon were being walked.
Tomorrow morning, millions of people would wake up and continue with their lives.
Everything kept going except her.
Something soft pressed against Ethan’s leg.
He looked down.
Delcatty sat beside his chair.
She had barely left him since the accident.
Normally, Delcatty was affectionate and curious.
She liked sleeping in patches of sunlight, stealing Ethan’s place on the couch, and sitting directly in front of the television whenever someone tried to watch it.
Mom had raised her from a Skitty.
There were photographs of Laura holding her before Ethan had even been born.
Now Delcatty was quiet.
Her cream-colored body remained curled against Ethan’s chair, purple ears lowered as she stared toward the coffin.
Ethan rested a hand on her head.
Delcatty leaned against him.
“Yeah,” he whispered.
“I know.”
He wasn’t sure which of them he was trying to comfort.
“Ethan?”
He looked up.
An older woman stood in front of him.
Ethan recognized her face but couldn’t remember her name.
She had worked with Mom somewhere.
Or maybe they’d gone to school together.
There had been so many people today that Ethan had stopped trying to remember.
The woman gave him a sad smile.
“Your mother was a wonderful person.”
Ethan nodded.
“Thank you.”
It was what Grandpa had told him to say.
After the first twenty visitors, Arthur had apparently realized Ethan had no idea what he was supposed to say when someone told him they were sorry his mother was dead.
The woman squeezed his shoulder.
“She talked about you all the time.”
“I know.”
She hesitated for a moment before walking away.
Ethan looked back at the coffin.
The funeral home had done a good job.
Everyone kept saying that.
Laura looked peaceful.
Ethan didn’t think she looked peaceful.
He thought she looked wrong.
His mother was always doing something—cooking, cleaning, reading, talking on the phone, taking Delcatty for a walk, or reminding Ethan for the third time that his dirty clothes belonged inside the laundry basket instead of three feet away from it.
She laughed easily.
She smiled even when she was annoyed.
And whenever she concentrated, she had a habit of pushing her hair behind her left ear whether it was actually in her face or not.
The woman inside the coffin wasn’t doing any of those things.
She was simply still.
Ethan looked down at his hands.
He remembered their last breakfast.
He hadn’t known it would be the last one.
That seemed unfair.
If someone was going to have their last breakfast with their mother, shouldn’t they be told?
Laura had made eggs.
She had burned one side because she was talking to Grandpa on the phone while cooking.
Ethan complained.
She told him he could cook his own.
He ate them anyway.
Delcatty had spent breakfast beneath the table waiting for someone to drop something.
Then Mom drove him to school.
Before Ethan got out of the car, she’d called after him.
He turned around.
She was holding his lunch.
He’d forgotten it on the passenger seat.
Again.
She laughed.
“Try remembering your own head tomorrow.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Bye, Mom.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Then he closed the door.
That was the last time Ethan saw his mother alive.
There had been no final speech or dramatic goodbye.
She handed him his lunch, and Ethan walked into school.
He swallowed.
Grandpa came to get him that afternoon.
Ethan remembered seeing Arthur standing outside the school office and immediately knowing something was wrong.
Grandpa didn’t pick him up from school.
Not without calling first.
Arthur took him home.
Sat him down.
Then came the words Ethan could still hear separately: his mother, an accident, the hospital, and finally, *I’m sorry.*
Ethan understood every word individually.
Together, they somehow didn’t make sense.
There had been a traffic accident.
Another vehicle had lost control.
His mother hadn’t done anything wrong.
Adults kept repeating that part.
As though knowing whose fault it was changed anything.
Ethan hadn’t cried immediately.
He did later.
He couldn’t remember exactly when.
Now he mostly felt tired.
Across the room, Arthur Bennett stood near the entrance speaking with two men Ethan recognized from his berry orchard.
Grandpa looked uncomfortable in his black suit.
Arthur hated suits.
His normal clothes were old boots, work pants, and shirts that almost always had dirt somewhere on them.
His gray hair had even been properly combed today.
Beside him rested Stoutland.
The old Pokémon hadn’t moved much all afternoon.
Every few minutes, however, Stoutland looked toward Ethan.
Checking.
Always checking.
Delcatty suddenly raised her head.
Ethan followed her gaze.
Daniel Crowe was approaching.
His father wore a dark suit and black tie.
His light-brown hair looked slightly disordered, as though he’d run his hand through it too many times.
“Ethan.”
“Dad.”
Daniel glanced at the empty chair beside him.
“Can I sit?”
Ethan nodded.
His father sat.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Then Daniel asked, “How are you holding up?”
Ethan stared at him.
Daniel closed his eyes.
“That was a stupid question.”
“A little.”
“Sorry.”
Ethan looked back toward the coffin.
“It’s okay.”
Silence returned.
Ethan didn’t hate his father.
Maybe things would have been easier if he did.
Daniel hadn’t abandoned him.
His parents had simply stopped being happy together.
Ethan had been young when they divorced, but he remembered the arguments.
Not screaming.
His mother rarely screamed.
Instead, Ethan remembered quiet dinners, closed doors, and Dad sleeping in another room.
Then Daniel moved out.
The divorce came later.
Ethan stayed with Mom.
He still visited Dad on some weekends, birthdays, and holidays.
Daniel attended some of his school events and called regularly.
His father wasn’t a stranger, but he wasn’t home either.
Mom had been home.
Daniel rubbed his hands together.
“Victoria wanted to come.”
Ethan didn’t respond.
“I told her today probably wasn’t the best time.”
“Okay.”
“The twins stayed home with her.”
Ethan nodded.
Ryan and Emily.
His eight-year-old half-brother and half-sister.
He didn’t dislike them.
Emily talked too much.
Ryan had recently become obsessed with Pokémon cards and insisted on showing Ethan every new one he got.
They were fine.
They were simply part of Dad’s other family.
“Ethan.”
He looked over.
“We need to talk about what’s going to happen after this.”
Ethan’s stomach tightened.
He had known this was coming.
Adults had been discussing him for days.
They always lowered their voices whenever Ethan walked into the room, apparently believing twelve-year-olds couldn’t tell when people were talking about them.
Daniel continued.
“You don’t need to worry about your things or school.
We’ll handle everything.”
“Handle what?”
His father hesitated.
“Moving.”
There it was.
“I don’t want to move.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
Daniel stopped.
Ethan looked away.
He hadn’t meant to say it that sharply.
But he didn’t apologize.
“You can’t stay in the apartment alone,” Daniel said.
“I know.”
“Then you understand why you’ll need to come home with us.”
Ethan looked at him.
“That’s not my home.”
His father went silent.
Delcatty pushed closer against Ethan’s leg.
“I’m going with Grandpa.”
Daniel frowned.
“Ethan—”
“I already told him.”
That wasn’t entirely true.
Ethan had told Arthur he wanted to live with him.
Grandpa hadn’t said yes.
He hadn’t said no either.
He had simply pulled Ethan against his chest and told him they would figure everything out after the funeral.
To Ethan, that was close enough.
“The Bennett property is outside Grayhaven,” Daniel said.
“Your routine would change.
School transportation alone—”
“I don’t care.”
“And your grandfather is getting older.”
Ethan looked across the room.
Arthur was sixty-two and currently arguing with a berry farmer twice his size while an Elite-grade Stoutland sat calmly beside him.
“He isn’t that old.”
Daniel almost smiled.
“Don’t tell him I said that.”
Ethan didn’t smile back.
“We have room for you,” Daniel continued.
“Victoria already prepared your room.”
“I don’t want a room.”
“Ethan.”
“I don’t want to live there.”
His father’s jaw tightened.
“Victoria has always tried to make you feel welcome.”
“I know.”
“She cares about you.”
“I know.”
And Ethan did know.
Victoria had never been cruel to him.
She remembered his birthday.
She bought him Christmas presents.
Whenever he visited, she made sure there was food he liked.
Sometimes she tried too hard.
But Ethan understood why.
None of that made her Mom, and the Ashford house still wasn’t home.
“You shouldn’t decide something this important while you’re upset,” Daniel said.
“My mother died.
When am I supposed to stop being upset?”
Daniel flinched.
Ethan immediately regretted saying it.
It wasn’t that the words were untrue.
It was the way his father looked toward Laura’s coffin after hearing them.
For the first time that day, Ethan remembered something.
Daniel had once loved Laura too.
There were old photographs of Dad carrying Mom on his back at the beach, Mom drawing on Dad’s face while he slept, and the three of them together when Ethan was little.
Divorce hadn’t erased those years.
“I’m sorry,” Ethan said.
Daniel continued staring at the coffin.
“It’s okay.”
A large shape approached them.
Stoutland stopped beside Ethan and rested its head against his knee.
Ethan buried his fingers in the Pokémon’s thick fur.
Arthur followed behind.
“Everything alright?”
Daniel stood.
“We were discussing where Ethan will stay.”
Grandpa’s expression changed.
“Daniel.”
“I’m his father.”
“And I’m aware of that.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t.”
“Stop.”
Both men looked at Ethan.
“I don’t want you fighting.”
Arthur’s expression softened.
“No one’s fighting.”
Grandpa glanced at Daniel.
“Yet.”
“Grandpa.”
“Right.”
Arthur dragged another chair over.
Now all three of them sat beside Laura’s coffin.
Delcatty remained pressed against Ethan.
Stoutland lay beside Arthur.
For some reason, Ethan suddenly imagined what Mom would say if she could see them.
Three stubborn men sitting silently because none of them knew how to talk properly.
She would probably make fun of all three.
The thought hurt.
But it also made Ethan smile for half a second.
He looked at the coffin.
“What happens tomorrow?”
Neither man answered immediately.
“Everyone keeps telling me what happens today,” Ethan continued.
“The wake.
The funeral.
Paperwork.”
His throat tightened.
“What happens after?”
Arthur rested a rough hand on his shoulder.
“You wake up.”
Ethan frowned.
“You eat breakfast.”
“That’s it?”
“No.”
Grandpa looked toward his daughter.
“But it’s where you start.”
Ethan said nothing.
“Then you get through the day,” Arthur continued.
“After that, you get through the next one.”
It wasn’t a great speech or a promise that everything would suddenly become okay.
It was only tomorrow: breakfast, one day, and then another.
Ethan believed that more than all the comforting things people had told him since the accident.
He looked at Daniel.
“I want to live with Grandpa.”
His father remained silent.
“I’m not doing it because I’m angry with you,” Ethan added.
“I just…”
He looked toward Laura.
“I want to go home with Grandpa.”
The Bennett orchard.
The old house where Mom had grown up, the kitchen where she’d learned to cook, the bedroom where she’d slept as a child, and the berry fields she always complained Grandpa made her work in during summer.
There were pieces of her there.
Daniel closed his eyes briefly.
When he opened them, some of the tension had left his face.
“We’ll figure it out.”
It wasn’t exactly permission, but it wasn’t a refusal.
For tonight, that was enough.
More visitors entered the funeral home.
Someone called Arthur from across the room.
Daniel’s phone vibrated.
Outside, Grayhaven continued moving beneath the evening lights.
Ethan stood.
Delcatty immediately rose with him.
Near the end of the coffin was a small arrangement he hadn’t noticed earlier.
Sunflowers.
Mom liked sunflowers.
She said they were uncomplicated.
Give them sunlight and water, then let them grow.
Ethan reached out and touched one of the yellow petals.
He didn’t know what he was supposed to do without her, what living with Grandpa would be like, or what would happen with Dad.
Tomorrow would come before he had any of those answers.
Delcatty rubbed her head against his leg.
Ethan looked down.
His mother’s oldest companion looked back at him.
Mom was gone.
Delcatty knew it too, but they still had each other.
Ethan crouched and wrapped his arms around her.
Delcatty pressed her head against his chest.
That was when his eyes started burning.
Ethan stood again and wiped at them with his sleeve.
He touched the sunflower one last time.
“Goodbye, Mom.”
The words came out smaller than he’d intended.
Then the tears finally came.
And this time, Ethan didn’t try to stop them.
Author reference
Pokémon Potential: ⚪ → 🟢 → 🟡 → 🔵 → 🟣 → 🔴
⚪ White — up to Normal Grade
🟢 Green — up to Advanced Grade
🟡 Yellow — up to Elite Grade
🔵 Blue — up to Expert Grade
🟣 Purple — up to King Grade
🔴 Red — up to Champion Grade
Grade represents a Pokémon’s current strength, not its Potential