The Past and Other Things That Should Stay Buried(54)

“It’s a mistake,” Mr. DeLuca is saying. “People die. It’s the only true certainty in life.”

“So then it’s a hoax?” probably Theo’s mom says.

“It must be.”

Not-Theo says, “How cool would it be if no one died? Like, we’d all keep living forever.”

“It’d be less cool than you think,” Mrs. DeLuca adds. “Unless you like overpopulation, resource shortages, territory wars. Basically the worst disaster in human history.”

Ha! I knew I was right about that overpopulation scenario, but it’s weird how oddly excited Dino’s mom sounded describing that stuff.

Delilah clears her throat. “While I would love to continue discussing funerals and death, let’s not. At least until after the wedding.” Dino could learn a few things from his sister about being direct. She goes on to thank them for being there and helping her and for not shipping her to Australia when she lost her mind a little during the planning. Boring stuff.

I turn in the booth and peek around the corner to see if I can catch a glimpse of Dino. He’s sitting at the table like he’s got a titanium spine. Eyes deader than mine, vacant, staring straight ahead. He hasn’t touched his burger.

A shadow falls over my table, and someone clears their throat. My server is standing over me, and he’s not carrying food.

“Did you run out of shrimp?” I ask.

He keeps his voice low when he speaks, like he’s telling me a secret. “There’s been a complaint from some other customers.” His eyes dart to the booth across from mine, and he’s looking at me meaningfully like I’m supposed to know what the hell he’s hinting at. “About the smell?”

Oh. Yeah. The stink of me slowly putrefying. Got it. “Well,” I say, in an equally conspiratorial tone. “We are near the ocean.”

“I don’t think—”

“Are you insinuating that the smell is coming from me?”

“No, but—”

“Accusing me of—” I stop myself. No. This is not okay. This guy knows I’m the source of the smell, and I can’t lie and try to convince him I’m not. I wave him a little nearer. “You’re right. It’s me. I . . . I had a surgery. The smell is a side effect.” I can’t blush, so I bite my lower lip and look down. “I haven’t left my house in weeks because I can’t control the . . .” I lower my voice to barely above a whisper. “The gas. But I was feeling claustrophobic, and I wanted dinner at my favorite restaurant even though I knew I shouldn’t have come.” I scoot toward the end of the booth. “I’m so sorry. I’ll leave.”

Okay, so I traded one lie for another, but at least this lie doesn’t paint anyone other than me in a negative light. And as I lay it out, the hardness melts from his eyes, replaced by sympathy. My waiter shakes his head firmly. “You stay and enjoy your meal. I apologize for bothering you.” He walks away and I hear him at the next table saying, “These kinds of smells come from the ocean sometimes. May I offer you a table inside?”

Before I can bask in the glory of my victory, Dino slides into my booth. “I can’t do this,” he says.

“Do what?”

“Tell them.”

“They already know.”

Dino bows his head. “No they don’t,” he says. “I’ve talked around it, hoping they’d get the hint, but I’ve never come straight out and said it.” He glances at me. “Besides, this night is supposed to be about Delilah. I’d be a jerk if I made it about me.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

My waiter shows up with my meal, eyes Dino curiously, and leaves.

“You ordered dinner?” Dino says. “But you can’t eat.”

The rounded backs of pink shrimp poke out of the surface of bubbling cheesy goodness, and there are chunks of brown bacon swirled within. I put my nose as near to the dish as I can and suck air into my chest cavity. The savory aroma is muted, like when I’d catch a cold and my nose would get stuffed, but I can almost smell the richness of the bacon, the sweetness of the shrimp. It’s all tinged with a sour, rotten edge, but I remember how these foods are supposed to smell, and for now, it’s enough.

“Look,” I say when I’m done sniffing my dinner. “Have you learned nothing from the last two days with me?”

Dino rolls his eyes. “Oh, I’ve definitely learned some things. None of which will help me now, though.”

“Be honest,” I say. “Don’t sugarcoat it, don’t dance around it. Tell the truth and stand your ground.”

“You think that’ll work?”

“Yes!”

“I’ll try, but you know how they are.”

“I also know how you are.” I point at him. “So don’t be you. Be me. Okay?”

Dino nods. “Okay.”

As he slides out of the booth, I grab his arm. “Before you go. Got any cash? I left my wallet in the coffin.”





DINO

MOM TILTS HER HEAD AND smiles tightly at me. “You okay, Dino? I’ve got some stuff in my purse if your stomach is upset.”

Everyone at the table is pretending to ignore my mom subtly asking me if I’ve got diarrhea, and I’m grateful for the distraction. Most of the conversation is focused on Dee and Theo’s honeymoon, which is a six-week trip to Europe.