“Is it a secret?” Emma says, biting her lip. It looks like maybe she’s already thinking that I’m not worth it, that the drunken makeouts were more fun.
I try to regain my footing, try to sense if the world feels the way it did on the Night of the Perfect Taco, like things were about to irrevocably change. I feel like an asshole for even comparing this to my brother’s death. I take a deep breath, preparing for the confession.
“Your mom,” I say, squinting in the morning sun. I feel like I should be memorizing Emma’s features, clutching as tightly as I can to her memory. “When she said she wanted to start giving me lessons, she also said I couldn’t keep working at the restaurant if I dated you.”
Emma’s jaw sets. “She said that?”
“Yeah.”
Emma raises an eyebrow. “And you’re still seeing me.”
“Well, yeah.” A family walks past us, the dad accidentally bumping my shoulder as he chases after a golden-haired toddler who’s giggling as she waddles down the sidewalk. I don’t want to picture my days without Emma.
“But you want to stop?” Emma asks.
I meet her eyes, furrowing my brow. “What? No! Hell no. I can’t stay away from you.” This makes her smile, and the effect is like the first taste of something sweet, like thirst quenched. But she suppresses the smile, still making up her mind how she feels about this. “Isn’t that obvious?”
She shrugs, not amused. “So, what are you saying?”
“Just that maybe we can’t make out at work anymore.” I look up hopefully at her. She moves her glasses to the top of her head, and I know she does it all the time, almost a tic, but there’s something I adore about it. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”
Emma crosses her arms in front of her chest. She’s quiet for a second, either upset or just absorbing the information. I guess I don’t know her well enough to be able to tell. We walk in silence for a little while, until I hear her mutter, “She’s such an asshole.” I’m not sure if it’s meant for me or just for herself.
“So, what? You want to sneak around?” Her jaw is still set. I can practically see her weighing her options, all the other joys available to her, easier ones.
“Is that okay?”
Emma sighs. She kicks a pebble hard, so that it bounces off the sidewalk and onto the street, still rolling along when I lose sight of it. “Sure. Whatever.”
We don’t say another word until we reach the restaurant and head to separate entrances with nothing more than a parting smile.
When I get to my station, Elias is in there waiting for me. “Hey, man, sorry about Matt. I swear he’s not always that bad. You just bring it out of him.”
“Great,” I say, laughing. “I only have to see him every second of the day.”
“Yeah, about that. You busy tonight? I think it’d make shit at the house a lot less dramatic if we all hang out a bit, unwind. Gonna tell people to spread the word, get a good scene going.”
The news of a party spreads fast in the kitchen. Elias doesn’t so much ask our roommates’ permission as announce the fact that a party will be happening, and the words bounce around the kitchen like living things.
I try to get a read on Chef all day, to see if Matt’s given anything away. I know deep down that she would not be the kind to react subtly if she found out I was going directly against her orders, but I still fret about it the whole day. By the time shift is over, it feels like the whole restaurant is coming over to our place, including Chef. I’m gonna have to stay away from Emma.
Earlier, I had swung by the hostess stand to tell her to meet me down the block so we could at least walk to the party together. Now I sneak away from the crowd, pretending to make a phone call so I can wait for her. I look forward to slipping my hand into hers, to stealing a few quiet moments with her among the fireflies and moonlit woods. But ten minutes later she still hasn’t shown. Downtown is too small a place to lose someone in, so I figure she got caught up in a group of people leaving and couldn’t think of an excuse to slip away.
I can hear the convoy of loud-mouthed cooks a few blocks ahead of me. I think about jogging a little to catch up to everyone, but then I notice my shadow is doing things it’s not supposed to. “You’re still hanging around, huh?”
“You think I’d leave you alone?” It’s not even a full moon and still the light is stronger than the spare streetlights. This place is so ridiculous.
“You don’t think I’m doing fine here on my own?” I ask.
“That’s not what I said,” Felix says. “I’m actually pretty proud of you, Carlos.”
God, why do those words feel so great, even coming from a ghost? It’s hard to remember that I wanted him gone so badly a few weeks ago.
I keep walking up the street, following the voices up ahead. Felix follows at my side, though the light dictates he should be shifting with each passing lamppost. “I miss parties,” he says, when we get closer and can hear the sound from the house reverberating down the block. “I miss that level of drunkenness where you’re just curious to know everyone. Death doesn’t have that.”
I sigh and look up at the sky. It’s too beautiful here to rage at his death. How can a night sky like this exist in a world full of grief? A couple of shooting stars streak across the sky, and I suppress my rage with wonder.
“Why would you say something like that?” I ask, not sure if the question is directed at Felix or myself. “You can stop reminding me you’re dead. It’s not like I’ve forgotten.”
Behind me I hear someone call out, “Again, man? What the hell is wrong with you?” Mierda. It’s Matt, carrying a case of beer, clearly overhearing my one-sided conversation.
I turn away from him, not wanting to deal with his shit. He calls out a couple of times in between fits of laughter, but I half jog the rest of the way up the block, ignoring him.
At the house, the party’s already underway. I spot Emma immediately, my eyes flitting toward her as if there is a beacon shining from her. She doesn’t spot me right away, but Chef is here already too, and I don’t want to go say hi while obviously beaming, so I go grab a beer instead.