The Past and Other Things That Should Stay Buried(26)

“Still not getting why it suddenly became imperative that we go to the party,” I say. “And the more you explain, the less enticing you’re making it sound.”

“Not everything’s about you.” Dino finishes tying his shoes. “So back to the story. Gwen showed up at Rafi’s with her new boyfriend who happens to be, you guessed it, Leon’s ex-boyfriend. Leon’s having a meltdown and Gwen’s acting like—”

My upper lip curls. “Who are you?”

“What?”

“Last year, when Jack broke up with me to date some skinny girl with boy hips—”

“Didn’t we just talk about that?”

“Fine. He dumped me for a girl with perfectly normal hips who’s probably one of those people who believes the earth is as flat as your ass. My point is you gave me exactly one day to cry it out. One day. After that, every time I mentioned his name or looked like I was getting emotional, you’d roll your eyes and tell me to suck it up.”

“We should go.” He heads for the door.

“You’ve changed, Dino.”

He pauses with his hand on the knob. “Look, we’ll go to Rafi’s, and I’ll deal with the situation, and then we’ll figure out what to do with you. Okay?”

“Fine,” I say. “Whatever.”





DINO

I DON’T KNOW WHETHER I’M more nervous for July to meet Rafi and the others or for them to meet July. Only, with a little luck, no one will know they’re meeting my ex–best friend. It’s too late to reconsider, though, since I’ve already texted Rafi to let him know I’m on my way. I haven’t told him I’m bringing a guest yet, so that’ll be a nice surprise.

“What name did you decide on?” I ask.

July’s spent most of the ride touching up her makeup, ensuring her skin is lively and even. “Roxane,” she says. “I’m Dino’s cousin, in town from Knoxville for the wedding.”

“Laying the southern accent on a little thick, don’t you think?”

“I don’t tell you how to gay; don’t tell me how to act.”

I glance at her and frown. “How to gay?”

“Or whatever.”

“See, comments like that are maybe why I never brought you to meet these people.”

“You used to have a sense of humor.”

No matter how hard I try to convince myself that this isn’t going to end in disaster, I can’t outrun the feeling that this is absolutely going to end in disaster. July’s going to offend someone or more bits of her skin will slough off the way her thumb did. Taking her to Rafi’s house isn’t one of my better ideas. It’s too great a risk. Yet here I am, turning down Rafi’s street, parking on the road in front of his house, explaining the rules to July one last time.

“Don’t talk to anyone unless you absolutely have to. In fact, try to avoid people altogether.”

July rolls her eyes. “Maybe you’d feel better locking me in the trunk.”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

“It’s a terrible idea.”

“Fine,” I say. “But try not to act so much like—”

“Like what?”

“Like yourself.” As soon as I say it, I wish I hadn’t. We’re here at Rafi’s, and July and I were kind of getting along, and there’s a much higher probability that she’ll screw things up if she’s angry at me.

“Do I even want to know what that means?”

“No.”

“Dino!”

I flinch and say, “Fatima Jahani’s Halloween party, sophomore year.”

July’s face contorts into an angry sneer. “You are not going to—”

“You pushed Anya into the pool! In her Gamora costume!”

“How many times do I have to tell you that that was an accident?”

“You’re saying it wasn’t a reaction to me giving her more attention than you?”

July mumbles under her breath, “I don’t get what was so special about her anyway.”

“She was new!” I yell. “I was trying to be nice.”

July’s face is a tight mask of anger and her body is giving off serious “go to hell” vibes. “You keep dredging up these horrible things I did, but if I was such a monster, why did you stay friends with me for so long?”

“Sometimes, I have no idea,” I say. “Now, let’s go do this, and if you could not cause a scene, that would be great.”

“Depends,” she mutters. “Does Rafi have a pool?”

Rafi lives about twenty minutes south of Palm Shores, in a historical preservation neighborhood. Rather than the cookie-cutter houses found in most of South Florida, the houses on Rafi’s street are an odd marriage of Palm Beach eccentricity and Pueblo architectural design, built around the 1920s. His house consists of three multi-story cubes with soft, rounded corners at the top so that they kind of looked like adobe, but painted a garish flamingo pink, managing to be both culturally appropriative and tacky at the same time.

“Fancy,” July says.

Cement steps are set into sandy-colored rocks that carve a path through the lawn to the front door. The landscaping has the barely tamed look of a traditional English garden, with birds of paradise popping out from around a marlberry tree, bursting with white blooms.