Page 16 of Love By the Slice

What even was left? She blurted out, “There’s a Pompeii immersive experience exhibit at the college?”

He started. “Wait, really?”

“What did you expect I would say?” She folded her arms. “We sign up for a time slot. I get in free with my student ID. And afterward, maybe we get ice cream.”

Greg said, “Deal!”

She opened the app and suggested days and times until he found one next week that worked. But shouldn’t he be suggesting these things? Why was she doing all the work when he was the one who’d asked her out?

No matter. Giggling, she said, “Should I tell everyone you’re taking me to Italy?”

Greg exclaimed, “That’s going to raise the bar super high. If I take you to Italy in January, what am I going to do for Valentine’s Day?”

Shelly laughed, but then another order came in, and Greg resumed tossing a dough. About to clap back that he could take her on an immersive trip to Middle Earth, she hesitated. No, she’d come up with this date. Even if it didn’t top Italy, let him come up with the next one.

CHAPTER NINE

POMPEII TURNED OUT to be more fun than Greg thought it would be. Also, a lot more grim.

“This shouldn’t have surprised me,” he said as they stood before plaster models of people who’d died with their arms raised before their faces.

Shelly advanced to the next exhibit. “Did you not know about the volcano?”

“No, I mean, it shouldn’t have surprised me that you’d choose something dark.” Greg chuckled. “I suggested going out because you’re always so serious.”

She replied, “Next time, suggest something lighthearted.”

Shelly thought there’d be a next time.Take that, Ezra.

The “immersive experience” consisted of a series of rooms they moved through in order. The first two had been a mockup of everyday life in Pompeii, complete with birdsong, a breeze of sea air emerging from a wall projection of the Mediterranean, and a Roman pool. They’d enjoyed mock-ups of Roman mosaics and even a Pompeiian marketplace, plus exhibits of jewelry and Roman clothing. In the background, every so often, Mount Vesuvius had put up a little puff of vapor, and he floor trembled. Immersive, indeed.

Then, between two rooms, was a tiny anteroom where, once the doors locked, the room went pitch black, the floor shook like crazy, and a roar sent Shelly jumping into his arms.

The next room was their current room, the air heavy with mist (one supposed, to mimic the smoky air after the volcano had gone off) and the temperature higher. The lights were red, and all around, were plaster people frozen in the moment of decision.

Shelly paused before two people, one who seemed to be protecting the other. She whispered, “It’s all so fragile.”

Greg said, “The world used to be a lot less predictable.”

Shelly didn’t move away from the two people. They might have been siblings, or lovers, or parent and child. One was shielding the other, but how had they even had the time to do it? Everyone seemed stalled out exactly where they’d been, except for their arms raised in a pugilistic response. Greg had read about that ages ago, how when faced with sudden heat, there’s a reflex to put up your arms.

If anything, that meant this had been sudden. No one would have known what hit them. It would be like him tossing a dough in the air and not being alive to catch it on the way down, and the dough would hit the countertop already cooked through.

Was she seeing herself in the protector, or the one protected?

He nudged her forward to where there was, actually, a loaf of bread. He said, “At some distance from the volcano, there would have been dough that got perfectly cooked.”

She murmured, “Not funny.”

He said, “I tried.”

She said, “Don’t. Some things are meant to be serious.”

They moved through the devastation. Something about the floor made it crunch with each step, as though the ground itself were brittle. The walls shone with projections of lava flows, as did parts of the floor. The audio had gone silent. No birds, no trickling water, and not even any sound from the liquid stone.

Afterward, standing in silence in the exit hall, adjusting to real life again, Greg wondered how long Shelly would want tostay serious, or if he should try cheering her up. She wore a stark silence. They took a quick pass through the gift shop, but how do you buy a t-shirt commemorating the sudden death of sixteen thousand people?

Greg drove Shelly to an ice cream shop he knew, except it was closed for the winter (he should have checked) and then they chose a second which did happen to be open. Shelly still hadn’t said much, so while she worked at her cone, he said, “What are you thinking?”

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