Page 5

“Really?” Danielle perked up a bit.

“Yes.” I gestured to the photo on the wall from when my father was still running the place. Gladys, Freddy, and Steve stood in a somber row with him, looking kind, respectable, and non-vampire-like.

“Would one of them be conducting the service on the day?” Nick asked trying not to look guilty.

I answered his real question. “I’m more of the back office, executive director of the funeral home these days. Gladys is our customer coordinator.”

“Got it,” Nick said, nodding in a way that told me he understood what I was saying. He turned to his wife and said, “Your mom was pretty specific about wanting to go with Gorman’s. I think we should respect her wishes.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Danielle sighed and sagged, comfortable with mourning her loss instead of freaking out over the weirdo who she probably thought would use her mom’s body in a satanic ritual.

If only they knew how benign I was on the inside. Yes, I was a goth. Or at least I had been when I was a kid. I’d done the whole dress in black, white make-up, dyed black hair thing all through high school and college. I wasn’t into that scene so much anymore, but I did have an aesthetic, and I owed it to myself to keep that, even though I’d just passed thirty. No more make-up—well, except the occasional eyeliner. My skin was pale anyhow. Plenty of people had a wardrobe that consisted solely of black, and dressing somberly was part of my job.

It was the hair that threw people. Bright red was a statement, I knew. For me, it was a statement that I wasn’t an all-black goth anymore, I had a brighter, funny side, too.

That didn’t always translate.

“Let me just get the contract ready for you and I’ll make sure that your mother has the most beautiful memorial service imaginable,” I said, falling back on my voice to put the couple at ease as I got up to fetch the paperwork.

People were never prepared for the huge amount of work involved in a loved one dying. Some, like the couple in my office, were lucky that their loved one had left instructions with their wishes and everything that needed to be done. Others tumbled into complete chaos when someone died. I prided myself on being a calming, competent connection for them. I even talked to people about headstones, cremation, executing wills, and grief counseling, even though it wasn’t part of the package. I just thought people should be taken care of when they were in their darkest hour.

I didn’t always get the appreciation I hoped for by doing that. Thankfully, Nick and Danielle came around in the end.

“Thank you so much for all your help, Mr. Gorman,” Danielle said, shaking my hand after everything was taken care of, as I walked them to the door. It wasn’t lost on me that the handshake was as quick as possible and she pulled back a little too fast, like my pale hand might give her leprosy.

“It’s my pleasure,” I said, smiling all the same.

I stood in front of the parlor’s door for a few minutes, waving to the couple as they walked around the corner to the parking lot, then glanced across the street at the row of shops.

Not for the first time, an uncomfortable sense of longing filled me as I looked at the cheery businesses and the people walking along the sidewalk in front of them. It was silly, really, but I got the same burning feeling of being an outsider as I looked at those shops as I’d always had as a kid. Not just a kid, the weird kid. The kid that lived with dead people. The one who had cooties and was probably a zombie. The one nobody wanted to sit next to, and when they had to, I was the kid who said weird things like, “Did you know the human body loses twenty-one grams of weight at the moment of death?”

Even my teachers thought I was weird.

I tried not to sigh as I scanned all the quaint shops. Especially the new one that had been built over the spring and summer, Provisions. I’d heard they sold things like wine and cheese and upscale snacks. Things that would be great to have available for after funerals. But had I worked up the nerve to go over there and introduce myself to the cute guy who owned the place?

Of course not.

The cute guy in question was visible through the festively decorated windows of Common Grounds. I did venture into Common Grounds every now and then for coffee and a treat of some sort. I liked the friendly, community atmosphere of the place. And the fact that it was probably the queerest coffee shop I’d ever been in.

Oh, yeah. Being gay hadn’t helped me fit in and be accepted by the vanillas throughout my life either.

Provisions guy was talking to Diccon Meyers and Chase the barista, so there was no point in me summoning the nerve to pay a visit to the new shop just then. I fought off another sigh and headed back inside the parlor.

“Did that couple book with us for their mother?” Steve asked as he came out of the reception room that made up the bulk of the main floor. The part of the building that gave everyone the creeps, the crypt, was one floor below and accessible by an elevator in the back.

“They did in the end,” I said, sending Steve a friendly smile.

Steve made a sound of relief. “I was sure they’d come around eventually. You’re the best in this business, and as soon as people get past, you know, things—” he swept my black clothes and long, fanciful greatcoat with a glance that tried not to be judgmental, “—they all see that they’re in the best hands with you.”

“Thanks.” I patted Steve’s arm as I walked past him towards my office. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

I really didn’t. Without the staff Dad had hired years ago, I’d probably lose client after client and drive the hundred-year-old business into the ground.

You could always dress in a suit and let your hair go back to normal, that annoying, conforming voice inside me whispered.

I mean, I could, but I’d still be too tall and thin, I’d still be a nerd who didn’t understand why normal people liked half the things they liked, and I would have zero self-respect left. Being the odd one out all through my youth had taught me that the only person I could rely on to get me and respect me for who I am was me. And thanks to all the therapy Mom and Dad had paid for over the years, I’d developed the courage to live by that instead of caving to the vanillas.

I smiled as those thoughts flitted through my mind, then let them float off into the ether as I sat at my desk to process the paperwork for Danielle’s mom’s funeral. I had a few other bits and pieces of business to take care of as well, and when I concentrated on details, I really concentrated.