The First to Die at the End (Death-Cast #0)(77)

Gloria leans forward. “You did? Why?”

Before he can answer, the waiter approaches, asking if he can get anything started for the table. Gloria still remembers how long it took for her and Rolando to place an order last time, promising their waitress they would take a look at the menu in just a moment, but the two kept joking around and laughing so hard that they were fighting for their next breath. She’s mourning a life of love and laughter and light as she orders a hot tea and waffles with maple syrup.

“I’ll just have a black coffee,” Rolando says.

“Nothing to eat?” Gloria asks before the waiter can.

“I just came from a . . . a meeting, you can say. I ate a bit there.”

A meeting? He’s not normally so vague.

Gloria wants to ask with who, but for the first time in a long time, the answer scares her.

What if Rolando had a breakfast date? Who’s the lucky woman? Will Gloria be strong enough to attend that wedding? Can she hold back the tears when meeting his child?

She will.

Gloria is a planner, and she plans to be happy for her best friend.

Once the waiter steps away, Gloria follows up with Rolando. “You quit?”

“It wasn’t a good fit for me. It’s probably too heavy to talk about right now,” Rolando says, glancing at Pazito. “Are you both going straight home after lunch? Maybe we can go to the park? We can talk some more then.”

“Park!” Pazito shouts, scaring the patrons in the booth behind him.

“It looks like we’re going to the park,” Gloria says.

She won’t be able to spend her life with Rolando, but they can have today.





Orion


12:38 p.m.

“Next stop: Brooklyn Bridge,” I announce in my best train conductor voice.

The bridge is a couple minutes away from the train station, the perfect one-two punch for Valentino’s tour. He doesn’t seem super hyped, though, or even slightly hyped. The Brooklyn Bridge is an iconic part of New York where he can take in views of the city; I can even point out where the Twin Towers once stood. But Valentino seems . . . pained?

“You good?” I ask. “I promise the bridge isn’t going to collapse under us.”

“I’m not concerned about the bridge. That sounds nice.”

“Okay, cool. Then what’s up?”

“I’m thinking about your secret.”

“The secret that stays in the secret station?”

“I implied I’d take it to my grave. I never said we wouldn’t talk about it.”

We begin crossing the bridge, the first minute of what could be an hour journey as we walk to Brooklyn with the East River beneath us. That’s a long time to dig through this deep pain of love feeling out of reach, like it’s buried in the center of the world and I don’t have a shovel. But if Valentino wants to claw through the ground with me, I can’t knock that.

“What do you want to know?” I ask, unwrapping the hoodie from my waist and putting it back on, cozy inside it like I was when wrapped in Valentino’s arms on the train.

“Why do you think no one will love you before you die? Because you’re expecting you’ll die young?”

“It’s wild, but I could live until I’m a hundred and I think I’ll still never know love. Like, legit love. This world isn’t built for guys like us, you know.”

“That doesn’t mean there isn’t someone out there for you.”

I want to scream that I think he’s that capital-s Someone. “I came out last month too and it’s not like a bunch of dudes started lining up outside my house.”

“Probably a good thing.”

“I had a shit ton of crushes in high school, and I didn’t know for sure, but I got some closeted vibes from a couple of them. I swore they were prob into me too, though no one hit me up with any confessions once I was out.”

“I’m sure someone wanted to, Orion. It’s possible they weren’t ready or were still figuring themselves out.”

There’s a million reasons why someone won’t come out. What might seem like no big deal to one person is the whole universe to another.

“True. There’s also shitty parents,” I say, thinking of Valentino’s.

“Maybe they would’ve been kicked out of their house. I got lucky.”

Parents not kicking you out of your home because you’re gay shouldn’t be luck. That should be the expectation when you bring a kid into this world. If you can’t do that, then fuck off, fuck off, fuck off. I’m done playing this shit where we got to be nice to people who hate on us for how we love. They’re the reasons why we got it so hard, why we lock away our feelings even though it means we’ll die without knowing the happiness that comes to others so easily.

“Did you ever have any boyfriends?” I ask, feeling sick with envy in my empty stomach.

“No, but I had a big crush back in March.”

“What was he like?”

Though I already suspect I know the answer: muscular, beautiful, pearly white smile.

“He’s another model.”

You don’t fucking say.

“We first met during this photo shoot a couple years ago. I was this student driver acting like I didn’t know how to drive, and George was posing as my instructor, though he actually doesn’t know how to drive. The casting people did not care. George played a really convincing and kind instructor.”