He smiles again, but this time, it holds warmth. Something I don’t expect. The pity in his eyes—no, sympathy—reminds me this is his job.He’s good at this.“I should have asked, Gil.”
“Answer the question.”
“It’s a company secret, sorry. I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you and then do the embalming, and it would just get way too messy.”
My mouth drops open, and he laughs. The real laugh. Three times in one day. Huh. “This is the weirdest date I’ve ever been on.”
“And we’ve barely gotten started. Want to see a dead body?”
“Why are you like this?”
Remi leads me through a different door and a short hallway into another room that has a significant drop in temperature. I watch my breath puff out and realize there is a reason this room is colder when I see the table with the body on it. An older woman is dressed in what looks like her Sunday best. “This is Mrs. Greene. She lived to ninety. Tomorrow’s her funeral, where her kids, grandkids, great-grandkids, and the entire membership of the Ely Methodist church will be in attendance. You asked me why I’m like this. I can’t answer that. But why do I do this? So Mrs. Greene will look her best.”
“And I’m here because…?”
“I’m not sure I can unpack that right now. Maybe later. The short answer is you needed me, and I need to do this.”
Thisis finishing Mrs. Greene’s makeup. Remi dons gloves and, with expert hands, gives Mrs. Greene the color she no longer has in death.
I have questions, but I don’t want to interrupt his work. I hear a sound that doesn’t make sense, and it takes my brain a moment to process it. Remi is humming. It sounds like “Let it Be” by the Beatles. “Who are you?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Remi works for a while, and it’s quiet. Except for the background noises. Am I imagining the thumping? The scraping? It’s freaking me out. It’s just my imagination. I need something to fill the silence. “Why are you doing this?”
He applies blush to Mrs. Greene’s bloodless pale cheeks. Without looking up, he says, “It is quite literally my job.”
The chair I’m sitting in swivels. Is that so they can grab things quickly? I swivel a little to keep me from running from the room screaming. “No, I mean, why did you ask me out?”
“Are you regretting our date already? That usually doesn’t happen until much later in the night when they see my room. I sleep in a coffin.” He glances up at me. It’s scary that I can almost tell when he’s joking.
“Are they built for two?” I ask, raising my eyebrows innocently.
He smiles, shakes his head, and points the end of the brush toward me. “See, Gil, this is why I tolerate you.”
“High praise. But you’re avoiding the question.”
“Yes.” He continues his work, and I swivel all the way around.
“Please don’t do that.”
“You saw the board, Remi. You obviously know what this is all about. My predicament.”
“Your race to get deflowered before your birthday.” He doesn’t look up, but I can still see the smile on his face.
“No one says deflowered anymore.”
“No one waits until they’re twenty-two to have sex.”
“That’s not true.”
He blows on Mrs. Greene’s cheeks to brush away any stray powder, and it seems gross, but it’s not like she cares. I shake off those thoughts. “You’re right.” He puts away his blush and pulls out a tube of lipstick. Okay, I can’t watch this. But instead of uncapping it, he looks at me. “You’re right. A lot of people probably wait to have sex.”
“Then why did you say it?”
“Because it’s what you think. Why else rush to get it done?”
Heat floods my face. Are my cheeks as bright as Mrs. Greene’s? “My point is, you know my goal is to meet someone and have sex with them.” It sounds strange when I say it like that.
“Yes.”