The Pepto-Bismol pink spires of Castle Claude come into view, and I feel a familiar rush of anticipation. At least no one has built a strip mall on this block.
“You guys sad about Claude?” Sofia asks.
“Yeah,” Felix replies without hesitation. It shouldn’t surprise me that he’s comfortable talking about feelings. Probably a requirement for musical theater.
“It’s going to be strange not having him there,” I volunteer, because I too have a sensitive side.
“He’ll still be there in spirit. Not a ghost,” Felix clarifies. “The spirit of the place. Like the mood and the vibes.”
“I got that.” It sounds snippy, even though I agree. My grandmother calls this having a “petty party,” because being unreasonable can be fun.
“Excuse you, dickhead!” Sofia yells, slamming on the brakes. At first, I think she too is annoyed with Felix for having the audacity to exist. Then a flash of red catches my eye as a sports car zooms into the parking lot behind the building.
The other vehicle screeches to a stop. A guy in mirrored sunglasses jumps out, reaching over his shoulder tobeep-beepthe doors locked as he strides off. As far as I can tell, he still hasn’t noticed the large white van he nearly ran off the road.
“Is thathim?” Felix asks. “Your sister’s ex.”
Sofia frowns. “Ricky drives a Kia. And his head is shaved. He’s also like six inches taller. And Black.”
“So that’s a no,” Felix translates. “It was just a working hypothesis.”
He’s trying to play it off, but I get a hit of secondhand embarrassment, having done the same mental math (muscles + jerk) and reached a similarly erroneous conclusion. The only thing worse than watching a brilliant deduction crash and burn is knowing other people witnessed your mistake.
“Then who is that guy?” I ask, only Sofia must not hear because she’s already hopping out of the van.
There’s a beat of awkward silence before Felix says, “I guess we should go in.”
I nod. Then I slide my eyes across him to the door, silently reminding him that he’s sitting between me and the exit. What is— Oh no. Is he about to get weepy over Claude? Surely he doesn’t think I’m the right person to share some deep emotional breakdown with. A quick mental inventory tells me there are a couple of tissues in my bag, but I can’t promise they haven’t been used.
“We could do a bit,” he says at last.
“Excuse me?”
“When we go in. A little comedy thing. Just for fun,” he stresses, like maybe I’m worried about the quality of the performance. “They won’t see it coming.”
I pause to see if he’s going to crack, but he appears to be serious. “What did you have in mind?”
“Have you ever done any mime?”
I stare at him, stone-faced.
“See? You’re a natural.” He laughs at his own joke beforeturning slightly more serious. “What if you go in and pretend I missed my flight and then I pop out and surprise everyone?”
And let him make a grand entrance, like a conquering hero? No thank you. I shake my head.
“Or we could stage a really loud argument, and then you throw a drink in my face?”
“Tempting.”
“I’ve got it!” He stabs a finger skyward. “Let’s pretend we’ve fallen madly in love on the ride over and walk in there all, ‘Oh my darling, my smoochie pie.’”
I put a hand to my forehead like I can’t believe my ears. Which is true, but I’m mostly trying to hide the inferno raging across my cheeks. “Maybe not at a funeral. You know?”
“But it’sClaude’sfuneral. He would think it was hilarious. Anyway, it’s more of a celebration of life,” Felix tacks on, sounding less sure of himself.
He’s not wrong about Claude, who adored melodrama. The problem is me, in the sense that I’m not sure I can hold my own. It’s one thing to throw myself into a game of Killing Me Softly, but I’m used to acting in front of the Castle Claude crew. Felix is semipro, and my age, on top of which, we just met. I don’t want to start this vacation by getting shown up.
“Let’s just be normal,” I tell him. “For today.”
