Page 1 of Saint Céline
1
Céline
My best friend killed herself two weeks ago.
The words sat heavy in my throat the whole morning. I stood beside Katherine’s coffin and shook hands with people I barely knew. Rain poured down in cold sheets off the Atlantic. It soaked through my black coat and left dark patches on the wool. Mud sucked at the heels of my boots every time I shifted my weight. I kept my hands clasped tight in front of me so no one would see them shake.
Mrs. Montgomery leaned into my shoulder again. Her fingers dug into my sleeve like she might fall if she let go. She hadn’t eaten in days. I could tell by the way her body felt too light against mine. Another guest stepped up with a bouquet of lilies. I took them gently, added them to the pile near the casket, and pointed her toward the white tent where the food waited.
“Thank you for coming,” I said.
My voice came out soft and steady. Everyone kept telling me how strong I was. I didn’t feel strong. I felt empty, like someone had scraped everything out of me and left a shell that still knew how to smile at the right times. The weight of it all pressed on my ribs, but I kept my back straight anyway.
The white roses around the coffin smelled too sweet in the wet air. Someone from the university had shaped them into a half-circle behind Katherine’s photograph. In the picture, she looked calm and pretty, the way people like to remember girls who die young. I had picked every photo myself. I left out the ones where she stood awkwardly in the corner of a party, or where her eyes looked angry, or where she sat alone in the library staring at nothing. Those were the real ones. But today wasn’t about the real ones.
Mrs. Montgomery squeezed my hand harder. “I don’t know what we would’ve done without you, Selena.”
I looked down at the grass. “You don’t have to think about any of that right now. I’ve handled everything.”
And I had. I’d called the florist, fixed the wording in the obituary, booked rooms for out-of-town relatives, and made sure the caterers knew not to serve anything with nuts because Katherine’s uncle was allergic. I’d done it all while her parents moved through their house like people who had forgotten how to live there. The pressure sat right behind my eyes, but I blinked it away and kept moving.
Sophia touched my elbow. Her umbrella bumped mine as she moved closer. Anya stood right beside her, rubbing her cold hands together even though she wore a thick coat.
“You should sit down for a minute,” Anya said. “You’ve been on your feet since dawn.”
“I’m fine.”
“You said that an hour ago,” Sophia reminded me. Her voice stayed even, but her eyes moved over my face like she was checking for cracks.
They both looked tired. Dark circles under their eyes. They had driven through the rain at five in the morning to be here. They had not known Katherine well. They had come for me. The thought sat heavy in my chest. I swallowed it down and gave them a small nod. We shared a dorm at Bellamont University and instantly became best friends, but they never did seem to like Katherine as much whenever we hung out.
Bellamont University loved me. Professors stopped me in the halls to ask how my weekend was. Classmates saved me seats. Alumni sent me messages on my birthday. Katherine had gone to classes there for years and still felt like a ghost in the rooms. A handful of students had shown up today, mostly from the ones she shared notes with. They stood near the back, shifting from foot to foot, hands in their pockets.
Across the grass, a cluster of girls huddled under the reception awning. One of them leaned in and whispered, “She was kind of a loner, right?” The other shrugged. “Not to be mean, but nobody saw this coming because nobody really knew her.”
Sophia’s shoulders tightened. Before she could speak, I turned toward them. Rain tapped on the fabric above our heads.
“That’s enough,” I said.
The words came out quieter than I meant, but they heard me. Their faces went red.
“I’m sorry,” one girl muttered. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know.” I kept my voice low. “She was still a person. A good person.”
The shame on their faces felt familiar. I knew exactly what they meant. Katherine had never been loved the easy way. People respected her grades. They asked her for help with papers. But they didn’t invite her places just to hear her laugh.They saved those invitations for me. The ache in my chest sharpened so fast I had to breathe through it. Sophia’s fingers brushed my arm, light and quick, like she knew the exact second I needed steadying.
I looked past them. Mr. Montgomery stood near the priest, talking to donors in that stiff way people do when they’re forcing words out through grief. His eyes looked raw. Mrs. Montgomery still hadn’t let go of my hand.
“You’re a saint, Céline,” she whispered.
The name landed between us. A Saint.Saint Céline.
I almost laughed, but I leaned down and kissed her cold cheek instead.
“You should sit before you catch a chill,” I said.
She nodded. I walked her to the row of folding chairs and made sure the blanket covered her knees. When I turned back, I saw my mother standing under the edge of the tent. She looked out of place even in the nice black dress I bought her two years ago, after selling one of my designer handbags. Her shoulders stayed hunched like she still expected someone to tell her she didn’t belong. When our eyes met, her face softened the way it used to when I was little, and she’d pull me close after a bad day.
