The Past and Other Things That Should Stay Buried(65)

Delilah bows her head and pulls her legs under her. “I’m not Mom, though.”

I eye the tattoos on her arms and the way her hair, while not the same color, is cut almost identical to our mom’s. I briefly consider pointing those details out to her, but I doubt she’s in the mood to appreciate them.

“You’re right,” I say. “You’re Delilah DeLuca: Kicker of Asses, Taker of Names, Waker of Brothers Who Haven’t Gotten Decent Sleep in Three Days.”

Before I can stop her, Delilah wraps me in a hug and squeezes until I can barely breathe. “Thanks, Dino.”

“Does this count as my wedding gift to you?”

She squeezes a little harder and whispers, “No. I really want the knife set I registered for.”

Finally, she lets go and sinks into the couch. “So, you doing okay? You’ve been gone a lot. Trying to avoid the grandparents?”

Now that July’s funeral is done, the questions feel less intrusive. My parents are still dodging the topic of July’s death, but funerals are basically the demarcation line for most people, after which the bereaved are expected to put it behind them and move on with their lives. Not that grief actually works that way.

“Broke up with Rafi—”

“Oh, Dino, I’m so sorry.”

“Got back together with Rafi.”

“Then I’m not sorry.”

I can’t exactly tell Delilah the rest—that I’ve been running around town with the animated corpse of my ex–best friend, trying to figure out how to get her to stay dead—so I say, “Pretty messed up about how people have stopped dying, huh?”

Delilah frowns like she knows exactly what I’m doing by bringing this up. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” I say. “So you don’t think the suspension of death throughout the world is cause for alarm? You don’t think that if this keeps up, not only will you and Mom and Dad be out of a job, but that the population explosion will quickly overwhelm the world?”

“Sure,” she says. “All of that, yeah. But it’s not permanent.”

“And you know that how?”

“People die. It’s the order of things.” She shrugs. “It’ll crank up again.”

“Okay, but now I think it’s weird how calm you are.”

“I’ve had my freak out for the year,” she says. “Besides, it’s kind of nice.”

I look at her like her head’s been replaced by a lobster. My thoughts drift to the woman in the emergency room missing part of her head and that guy who wanted to die. “How is it nice?”

Dee pats my arm. “Because it reminds us what death actually is.”

“Permanent?”

“Necessary.”





DINO

I HAVE NO IDEA HOW to tie a bow tie. I stand in front of the mirror and twist it into a knot that looks like a toddler did it.

“Do you know how to tie a bow tie?” I ask.

Rafi’s lounging on my bed in a black-and-blue checkered suit that looks phenomenal on him. Honestly, I may as well wear a bathrobe to the wedding. No one’s going to be looking at me with him by my side.

“Sorry. Bow ties aren’t one of my many skills.”

“Damn.” I strip the tie off to try again. “Oh, sorry about earlier. I should’ve mentioned that my grandma can get a little handsy.”

Rafi smiles, and God what a smile it is. “I’m used to it. I volunteered at a nursing home for a while. And it’s not like she felt me up. Anyway, you’re just not a touchy kind of guy.”

“I like it when you touch me.”

“Is that so?” Rafi stands and moves toward me, but then stops and clears his throat. “Hey, Mr. DeLuca.”

My dad’s standing in the doorway and I’m a little embarrassed, wondering how much of that he heard, but then I also don’t care. If he didn’t want to hear me flirting with my boyfriend, he shouldn’t have been eavesdropping.

“You look nice, Rafi.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Dad doesn’t say it, but I get the feeling he’s trying to indicate that he wants to talk to me alone. Thankfully, Rafi also notices. “I think I’ll go see if there are any of those waffles left.”

As soon as Rafi leaves, Dad walks into the room and takes his place standing beside me. “Problem with the tie?”

“Yeah,” I say. “The problem is that it’s not a clip-on.”

Dad moves behind me and arranges the tie around my neck so that the wide end hangs lower than the narrow. “Didn’t I teach you how to do this?”

“I can tie a regular tie, but this thing is the devil’s handiwork.”

Dad laughs and then slowly walks me through the steps. “It’s not as difficult as you think.”

I try to follow what he’s doing, but I get lost when he folds the left side and pulls the right side up through the neck. When he finishes, he tugs the ends to tighten it, looks at me appraisingly, and smiles.

“What?”

Dad shrugs and rests his hands on my shoulders. “You never let me show you how to do stuff like this. You taught yourself to shave from YouTube videos, your mom taught you how to change a tire and the oil in your car, and I don’t think anyone had to teach you how to make up decedents. You were born with that talent.”