Page 36 of 12 Gays of Christmas

“If you mopeon all your dates, it’s not surprising you haven’t gotten laid yet.”

I stare at his profile. His eyes are on the road, but there’s a tiny smile around the corner of his mouth. Why did I agree to this date? Why did I get into his beat-up Chevy Impala? At least it isn’t a hearse. “Where are we going?” I’m not playing his little games.

“We’re going to a funeral and having a picnic.”

“Romantic.”

He laughs, and I can’t remember ever hearing Remi laugh before. A real laugh. Without his usual sarcasm. It has a certain…appeal. It’s a low chuckle, and although it doesn’t really do anything for me, it makes him seem more human. Less…Morticia Addams. “The funeral is tomorrow, actually. I’m just messing with you. But I have to stop in and do some…finishing touches.”

Remi’s enjoying this. Why did I put myself in the hands of someone who has never given any indication that he likes me? And not even in a romantic way. More of an in-a-zombie-apocalypse-you-won’t-be-the-first-person-I kill sort of way.

I don’t ask about the picnic. Partly because that gives him what he wants. But also, I don’t want to know. If we’re having a picnic in the same place as a dead body…and Remi would do this just to mess with me—I’m not sure what I’ll do. Call an Uber? Call Colin to save me from his weird ex? Oh God. This is a terrible idea. Maybe I should throw myself out of the car. The locks click, and I jerk my head around to look at him.

“Stop being dramatic,” he says, shaking his head. “Colin won’t talk to me again if he has to find a new roommate. And at this speed, you’ll kill yourself and the people behind you. Are you thinking about that?”

“I’m not…” But I can’t think of anything to say. What gave me away? My hand on the door handle? The way I stare longingly out the window? “Why are you so strange?” I ask instead.

“Why are you so normal?”

“I’m not.” I sound defensive, but what am I defending? My not being normal?

“You aren’t,” he agrees as he pulls up in front of a Victorian home and parks. “But you’re trying really hard to fit into that normal mold, and it’s fucking annoying.”

I’m no longer listening to him. The home isn’t a home. It’s a funeral parlor. Laske and Sons. Does he have a brother? A balcony with a railing is at the very top.

Remi jumps out of the car and stares at me when I don’t move. I glance at the imposing building. The last time I was in a funeral home was when my dad died. I was ten. I’m not in a hurry to experience it again. He walks around the car and opens my door for me. “They’re already dead. No one’s going to hurt you.”

I nod and unbuckle my seat belt. I can do this. Mostly because Remi will never let me live it down if I don’t. He still teases Colin about his fear of elevators. Although I think it’s more about enclosed spaces than the elevator itself.

“What’s it like working…here?”

“Come on. I’ll show you.” His grin tells me I asked the wrong thing. We go through the front door. Is there a side door, but this is his way of torturing me? Possibly. Probably.

Even empty, the place is solemn. The foyer is tastefully decorated with cool gray walls that aren’t as dark as I expected, but my memory is probably tainted by the darkness of losing Dad after he had been sick for so long.

We walk through a showroom that contains caskets in different styles, urns on display, and a table with chairs around it. He leads me down a hallway. “The viewing room is over there,” he says, pointing to a closed door and dropping back a step to place his hand on my back. Is he worried I’ll bolt? “But we’ll have to save that for another day.”

“Can’t wait.”

Another chuckle. Two in one day. He opens a door to the left and pushes me through it. His gentle nudge startles me. My fight or flight kicks in. I turn to run and slam right into him. Remi has muscles under his black getup. Who knew? Not that I care at the moment. I just need to get out of wherever he’s taking me. Remi sighs, grabs my shoulders, and turns me around.

We’re in an office. A perfectly ordinary office. The desk is smaller than I expect and there are a few chairs arranged in front of it.

Mom sat in a chair like this one, her face frozen—the way it had been since the day we’d said goodbye to Dad. Thinking back over the years, I realize it might still be that way. The words she’d muttered… “You weren’t supposed to go first. You weren’t supposed to leave me.”

Is Mom’s decision to save the world her way of leaving me before I leave her?

A hand squeezes my shoulder and I jerk away. Remi points to a chair and then sits beside me. “I’m sorry, Gil,” he says, tilting his head but not touching me again.

“What?”

“It’s hard to lose someone.”

I shake my head. “I didn’t—it was a long time ago.”

“Your dad?”

“Are you psychic? Are the dead sending you messages from beyond the grave?”

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