My heart is pounding as he wraps his arms around me. The hug is tight, his pecs pressed against my flat chest.
“I hate that you lived through that,” Valentino says. “I’m sorry I asked.”
I shake my head, my chin dragging along his shoulder. “Nope, we started it.”
Dalma clears her throat. “I did some light teasing, but you popped the question first.” She winks, swearing she’s cute with that little turn of phrase, and it’s actually solid but mortifying when I’m hugging this guy who is into other guys but that doesn’t automatically mean me.
I break the hug, way too self-conscious now.
“One last thing,” I say, wiping away my tears.
“For real?” Dalma asks, then flashes a smile. “I’m kidding, but for real for real, it’s almost midnight.”
I turn to the jumbotron, and that hourglass is almost full at the bottom.
“I’ll be fast,” I say.
“You don’t have to be,” Valentino says.
I rest my hand on his shoulder, the same shoulder my chin was just on. “Look, maybe we’ll never talk again beyond tonight, but there’s one thing I’d love for you to take away from this encounter.”
He leans in, attentive.
“You said that if someone you hold in your heart dies, then you die too. I love my parents so damn much, every time I got to talk about them in past tense like they’re nothing but ghosts instead of the living, breathing, solid people they were, it breaks me.” We’re minutes from midnight. “Here’s the truth no one ever wants to admit when death is on the horizon, or when you’re deep in that grief—as long as you keep existing, you’ll keep breathing, and if you’re breathing, one day you’ll start living again.”
I know it’s stupid, but I swear I can see in his eyes that he gets me, that he’s burning those words into memory for that tragic day he loses someone, that he’s really taking it to heart.
“But no matter how much you’re living, Valentino, it’s still going to be haunting if you don’t get the chance to say goodbye to someone you love. Especially if given the chance.”
Valentino looks at the hourglass. “I should sign up before it’s too late.”
Valentino
11:52 p.m.
I’m registering for Death-Cast.
Thankfully I don’t have to wait in line since I have a smartphone. I go to death-cast.com and create an account. I skim the contract language and get right to inputting my name, social security number, birth date, phone number, and list Scarlett as my emergency contact. The next slide runs through how the Death-Cast ringtone can’t be changed like other government warnings, such as the Amber Alert. Then it’s time to pay. I don’t want to invest for the full year, and even a month costs too much for all my new expenses in the city, so I opt in at the one-day rate to see how it feels to lean in to Death-Cast. I confirm my plan, and I’m greeted with one final slide: A Message from the Founder
Welcome to Death-Cast, where you are taking your life—and your death—into your own hands.
Here at the company, we refer to those who are dying as Deckers. “Why Deckers?” you ask. We want you to remember that you are all the captains on the decks of your own ships, setting sail on your own journeys. Stay in motion, or, more simply put, live your life.
Don’t wait until your horizon is fast approaching.
But if it is, Death-Cast is here for you.
—Joaquin Rosa
“Done,” I say, pocketing my phone.
“How do you feel?” Orion asks.