Micah slid the glass shower door closed and open, then turned in a circle, perplexed.
Pocketing the ring, he strode for his phone. Ximena was going to think he’d lost his mind.
He typed,
All of the apartments in the complex were designed in a similar manner, but it had been so long since he’d entered a neighbor’s place, let alone used their bathroom, that there was no way to remember if all the tubs were the same.
His phone vibrated.
It took a moment for Ximena to respond.
He snorted.
Micah took out the curtain ring and turned it over in his hand.
Cosmo.
3
WHEN DOVES CRY
Cosmo - Three Years Ago
Cosmo sliced through a particularly tough bundle of twine holding a set of paintings together. Bubble wrap popped and deflated, and he carefully pulled it away. He set down the X-Acto and shook shreds of plastic from his gloved hands.
After giving the idea some thought, he’d wondered if it was selfish to throw his own funeral party and invite people to attend. People didn’t throw their own baby showers or retirement parties. But they did throw their own birthday parties and wedding receptions. Cosmo wasn’t asking people to buy something off a gift registry at Shady Meadows Funeral Home. He wanted them to enjoy themselves and in return get a little support.
It was tempting to start drafting a eulogy first, but the obituary would come before the funeral. And he needed invitations, of course. Decor. Flowers. A burial outfit. There was so much to do!
Was food served at funerals? It had been so long since he’d attended one that he couldn’t remember. But it wouldn’t be a party without food and booze.
Foie gras. No. Not after learning the poor ducks were force-fed through a feeding tube to fatten their livers.
Pâté then. And brie with those crackers that–
A hand closed over his shoulder, and he gasped.
Royce stepped back. The director’s tie was crooked, the back room’s fluorescent lighting washing out his fair skin andglancing off his balding head. The gaunt cut of his jaw and his intense blue gaze made him look intimidating, but when he smiled, a little of the harshness dissolved. “Didn’t mean to startle you. I said your name three times.”
“Ah, sorry. Lost in thought.” Cosmo turned back to the unwrapped painting and blew a shred of bubble wrap from the thick impasto strokes. Hopefully Royce didn’t think he was slacking off. Identical Dog was one of the most prestigious galleries in Lemon Disco, and it was only Cosmo’s second week. He and Royce had both been at the party the night before, and Cosmo’s public breakup with Zedd likely hadn’t made the best impression.
“The packaging on Allen’s block prints was horrendous. A piece of masking tape was stuck totwoof them; I believe I sweated out half my body weight trying to peel it off without damaging the prints. I wasn’t completely successful.” Cosmo picked up the damned strip of tape, flecked here and there with blue paint and a bit of paper.
Royce waved a hand. “Take photos of the prints and the tape, but don’t worry about it. We aren’t responsible for Allen’s poor packaging.” He turned his gaze to the impasto, but Cosmo sensed all of the director’s attention was on him.
Cosmo peeled away another sheet of bubble wrap. “Is there a problem? Have I made a mistake?”
“Mistake? Not at all. I wanted to see how you were feeling after all that champagne last night.” He cocked his head, now in perfect symmetry with his crooked tie. “Do you want to break for lunch at the pub across the street? Maybe a Bloody Mary will help the hangover. My treat.”
