The Past and Other Things That Should Stay Buried(55)

“It’s killing Delilah to not have everything planned,” Theo says. “We have our plane tickets to London, two nights in the city, a train ticket to anywhere, and nothing else.”

Dee slaps his arm. “It is not killing me.” Then she turns to his parents and mouths, It’s totally killing me.

Everyone calls out their favorite destinations as the servers clear the dinner plates. Grandma Jodi’s vote is for Dublin, and then she launches into a story about a young man she met while she was there the summer before college, which is a story I guess Grandpa Karl’s never heard, judging by his red-faced scowl. Mrs. Kang thinks Budapest, while Mr. Kang offers Venice. Will calls out Bangkok and then spends ten minutes giggling. And Grandma Sue tries to tell them they should stay in their own country because there’s no place more wonderful than home, but everyone ignores her. I don’t offer any suggestions. Dee had a map tagged with all the places in the world she wanted to visit long before she met Theo, so she may not have the tickets, but I guarantee she knows where she’s going.

I could let them keep talking for the rest of the night. Stuff my face with little cakes or whatever is for dessert, slip away, and not have to deal with this. Until the next time it comes up. When I begin my senior year, when it’s time to apply to college, when I choose a college and declare a major. And if I keep ignoring it, eventually I’m going to look up and find myself staring at a dead body because I’ll have become my sister or my parents without realizing it. I want to choose my future, not settle for it.

“I’m not going to be a mortician,” I say. At first, I don’t think anyone hears. Delilah is the only person who looks at me. But then my mom and dad stop talking, and soon everyone is watching me, waiting to see what absurd words fly out of my mouth next.

Dad says, “Let’s talk about this later.”

Delilah shakes her head. “It’s okay. Say what you need to say, Dino.”

I glance toward July’s booth, expecting to see the back of her head, leaning ever so slightly toward our table so she can hear better, but she’s gone. With everyone looking at me now, I try to think of what to say next. No. I try to think of what July would say next.

“Look, I’m glad you love dead people so much, but I don’t. I’m not interested in spending the rest of my life living across from a place where we keep them in the freezer and replace their blood with chemicals and fix them with putty and dress them up like dolls. That’s not my future.”

“But you’re so good at it,” Dad says.

“I’m good at a lot of stuff.” I tick things off on my fingers. “Fixing computers, drawing, cooking—”

“People,” Theo throws in. “You really understand people.”

“Okay,” I say, though I’m not sure I agree. “People, acting—”

Dee shakes her head. “You’re a terrible actor.”

I growl at her. “Whatever. The point is that being good at things doesn’t mean I should spend the rest of my life doing them.”

My mom is smiling at me. I’ve always suspected she might be persuaded to join my side, but in this moment, I don’t know where she stands. “You’re better than good at makeup. You’re better than me.”

“Then maybe I’ll go to cosmetology school, or I’ll study practical special effects for movies. Both of which are careers where I can work on the living instead of the dead.”

Grandpa Karl and Grandma Jodi aren’t heavily invested in my future as a mortician, so they sit and listen passively, but Grandma Sue tosses her napkin on the table. “You’re sixteen—”

“Seventeen.”

“You don’t know what you want, young man.” Her fierce eyes dare anyone to contradict her. “Your great-grandfather built DeLuca and Son’s. He passed it to his son, who passed it to your father who will—”

“Pass it to his daughter,” I say. “Delilah DeLuca. Who is amazing at what she does and actually loves it.”

Red creeps across Dad’s cheeks. “We’ll discuss this at home, Dino.”

I stand. “No, Dad, we won’t. Because this isn’t a discussion. This is me telling you and Mom and Grandma Sue, who doesn’t even live with us but thinks she can tell me what to do with my life, that I have no idea what I’m going to be when I’m older, but I know what I’m not going to be. Deal with it.”

And then I do the most July thing I can think of and walk away.





JULY

I RIDE UP FRONT INSTEAD of in the trunk when we leave Loggerheads. Dino cracks the windows when we get going, but he doesn’t mention the smell, which I’m grateful for.

“I can’t believe I did it,” he says. I don’t know where we’re going—I doubt Dino knows—but I’m happy for the moment to tag along for the ride. “You should have seen the looks on their faces. They were so surprised.”

“No they weren’t.” When Dino glares at me, I say, “What?”

“Can’t you let me have this?”

“Fine. Wow, I bet they were totally shocked to hear the thing they’ve suspected for years but refused to admit to avoid crushing their dreams of their son following in their footsteps. Good on you.” I turn to him. “Better?”