He started to turn for the bags of decor clustered beside a collapsed pew, but the church door creaked open, and Royce walked inside. He put his hands behind his back the way he did when surveying Cosmo’s installation work in the gallery, then nodded approvingly.
He stopped before Cosmo. His silky charcoal tie was patterned in black embroidered paisleys. And it was crooked. “There’s the man of the hour. You look like a gothic bride.”
“Thank you.”
“And where’s the groom?”
Déjà grunted and threw Royce a glare. She protectively linked her arm in Cosmo’s. “That position isn’t available.”
“Ah. Then are you a friend? Or afriend?”
“None of your business.”
Cosmo glanced at Mom, intent to put this conversation to rest before anything mortifying came out of someone’s mouth, but Royce said, “Itismy business when Cosmo’s romantic affairs seem to infiltrate the gallery on a regular basis.”
Good heavens. That wasn’t true; Zedd had only shown up the one time, but once was bad enough. “Déjà has been my best friend since Art History 101. You met her at the Night Gallery afterparty, remember?”
“My attention must have been elsewhere,” Royce said.
“Yeah, on Cosmo.” Déjà squeezed his arm. “Because he’d been drunk on champagne, and you probably thought there was an opportunity to–”
Cosmo put up his hands. “We’re going to start soon. Royce, be a love and dump the ice into the coolers, please. The tiny wines need to be chilled. Déjà, some of the candles have gone out. Can you relight them?”
Royce headed to the hors d’oeuvres table and ripped open a bag of ice. Déjà pursed her lips, adjusted Cosmo’s veil, then pulled a lighter from her pocket.
Now he needed something for Mom to do that was out of earshot of anything else potentially embarrassing. People from different social circles mixing was a point of awkwardness he hadn’t considered when planning this thing. And being alive for your own funeral meant you were witness to it.
Mom took the skull votive from his hands and headed toward a bare windowsill beside the drink cooler. She touched Royce’s shoulder and said something. When he turned to her, she smiled that tight smile she got when she wasn’t sure if someone was friend or foe. Cosmo wiped his hands down his face. It was too bad he didn’t have that casket, because there was a good chance he would prematurely expire if this kept up.
Well, it was his party; he could die if he wanted to.
More people filtered in – art colleagues, old coworkers, people from parties, cousins, friends-of-friends, and even that girl from the coffee shop down the block. He couldn’t remember inviting some of them, but that was okay. There weren’t a lot of sturdy pews, but still plenty of places to sit.
A curvy Black person with a short, fluorescent orange afro approached, their hair color a sharp contrast to the muted church walls. They looked like a model for a commercial where the product wasn’t even shown, but whatever they were selling, you needed it before it sold out.
“Hello, Rye,” Cosmo said.
“Hey. Pretty sure I’ve been to all of the same parties you have in the last year,” they said. “This is by far the most incredible, and it hasn’t even started yet. Did you have to clean up a lot of trash to get this place ready?”
“There were some beer bottles and a couple junkie needles, but it was practically untouched. No one comes in here because it’s haunted, you know.” He paused. “Do you believe in ghosts?”
“Yes.” They whispered the word as if saying it any louder might summon one, but their eyes glittered. “I’m drawn to all of that paranormal stuff.”
He’d thought so. “Isn’t it thrilling to be able to experience something past your notions of the world? To touch beyond that barrier, even in a small way.” He brushed back his veil, then gripped Rye’s jacket and leaned in, hoping his face looked pained. “Rye…”
Rye frowned. “Are you okay?”
“Rye…” Cosmo gasped and let his knees buckle enough to tip Rye off balance and make them lean closer. “You– You have to do something for me. It’s my last wish as – as I leave this mortal coil.”
They scoffed, the concern in their eyes replaced with amusement. “I guess I can’t refuse that.”
Cosmo clawed at Rye’s jacket. “It’s Déjà. You must…”
At the mention of Déjà, Rye straightened and glanced around the room. “Yeah?”
“You must give her the love she deserves.”
Their eyes bulged. “Is it that obvious that I like her?”
