The Past and Other Things That Should Stay Buried(68)

She holds one out to me and says, “Sorry I’m late.”





JULY

“WHERE DID YOU GET THAT awful dress?” At least Dino waits to ask until we’ve found a quiet place on the side of the building under some trees with a view of the golf course and houses at the far edge of the green. He slurps his Slurpee while mine sits beside him and melts, and all I can do is try to enjoy it vicariously through him.

I give him a twirl in the dress, which is weird and flowery, too tight at the chest and hips, and not quite long enough. “Hideous, yeah?”

“Yes,” he says. “Where’d it come from?”

“Zora.”

The color drains from Dino’s face, and I figure I better explain before he passes out or loses his mind or whatever, so I tell him how I called Zora and stayed with her and borrowed the dress from her so I could surprise him at the wedding and say good-bye.

“How could you do that?” he asks. “It was one thing telling her the truth about you being not-dead, but now you’ve dragged her into this nightmare, and she could be spilling your secret to her friends or selling you out to some shady online magazine for a few bucks.”

“She’s not,” I say. “She won’t.”

“But how do you know?”

I try to act nonchalant. “We’re friends now. I have a friend other than you.”

That seemingly short circuits whatever brainpower Dino’s got left. He sits holding his Slurpee with his mouth hanging open.

“You have to trust me, okay?”

“Trusting you isn’t the problem. It’s Zora I don’t trust.”

“Well, I’m not asking you to trust her,” I say. “Just me.”

Dino sucks on the straw and pulls up the last of his Slurpee and then starts on mine. It makes me strangely happy that it won’t go to waste.

“How was the wedding?”

“You missed the cake.”

“Why are you trying to hurt me?” I ask. “What did I ever do to you?” I’m only joking, but I quickly say, “Yeah, don’t answer that.”

Dino laughs. The color’s returning to his cheeks, which is good because I need him to be okay so that we can get through what’s coming.

“What do you think my wedding would’ve been like?” I ask.

Dino inhales slowly and then exhales with a soft laugh. “You would’ve been a monster, of course, but knowing is half the battle, so we would have been able to handle you.”

“I’m not that demanding.”

“You must not remember your confirmation party in eighth grade the way the rest of us remember it.”

“We had fun!”

“Mandated fun at regular intervals, followed by periods of enforced July adoration.”

I know Dino thinks he’s being funny, but I’m not laughing anymore. “Why is it that when a guy knows what he wants and goes after it and is proud of who he is, people call him a winner or a leader, but when a girl does it she’s a selfish bitch?”

“That’s not what I was saying.”

“Maybe not,” I say, “but the implication is clear enough.” I pause, giving Dino the opportunity to tell me I’m wrong, but he doesn’t. “You know how I always pictured my wedding? I pictured it small. Me, you, Jo, the guy I’m marrying, if necessary. Maybe my parents, but only if they agreed not to fight. There’d be a small service held in the nearest Catholic church to wherever we were, my wedding dress would be a simple but elegant thrift store find. The rings would be whatever. And then there’d be cake.”

“No reception?”

I shrug. “Doesn’t matter, so long as there’s cake.”

“Makes sense.”

“And do you know why that’s my ideal wedding?”

Dino shakes his head. “I really don’t.”

“Because weddings are supposed to be about celebrating the unification of two lives into one with the people you care about most. And you, Jo, and my parents are who matter to me. Not the dress or the rings or the reception.” I’m standing in front of him with my hands on my hips, more worked up about this than I mean to be. “Fine, yes, I’d also be wearing a tiara.”

I sit on the bench beside Dino, leaving space between us. I didn’t mean for us to get so far off track. I only asked the question expecting we could have a laugh before getting to the hard stuff.

“Jealousy,” Dino says.

“What?”

“You’re not a selfish bitch, July. We’re just jealous that you know what you want and aren’t afraid to fight for it.”

“Even you?”

“Especially me,” he says. “Look how hard it is for me to tell my parents what I don’t want. Imagine what it’s going to be like when I figure out what I actually do want?”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Maybe.”

A yawn spreads through me. They haven’t stopped since the night at the beach. It’s this overwhelming force that starts in my toes and ripples through my cells until it reaches my mouth and demands to come out. The only sensation I’ve ever felt similar to it was when I had poison ivy and I couldn’t stop scratching even when Momma would sit with me and rub Calamine lotion into the rash. She finally had to duct tape three layers of socks to my hands.