“With what?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
He’s never in the mood for a lecture, but especially not at five in the morning on no sleep. His wife has always been so unsupportive when it comes to his dreams. That’s because she has no real artistic eye, no ability to see into the soul of his photographs. Instead, she expects Frankie to be practical, as if he wants to fix radiators and plunge toilets and deal with tenants who disturb him at three in the morning for the rest of his life.
Meanwhile, Gloria is playing manager and carting off Pazito to every audition every chance she gets. Here’s the thing: If Pazito were actually a good enough actor, he would’ve been booking work more easily after appearing in one of those Scorpius Hawthorne films. Having a small role in arguably the biggest fantasy franchise of their time surely should have led to other opportunities by now, but if that wasn’t enough to brighten his star, then that kid isn’t shining.
Maybe Gloria should raise their nine-year-old to develop some practical skills sooner rather than later so Pazito doesn’t grow up to be “distracted by big dreams” as she once accused Frankie when he forgot the anniversary of their loveless marriage.
He’s too upset to even focus on the news anymore. He gets out of bed, leaving the remote, and carries his phone back to the kitchen to see if he can reach Rolando while treating himself to another beer.
Frankie knows this End Day is his ticket out of debt and—if he’s lucky—this family.
Gloria Dario
5:19 a.m.
Death-Cast did not call Gloria Dario because she is not dying today, not that she should even be reachable, since her husband doesn’t want this family registered for this service, but Gloria signed up everyone behind his back anyway.
All her life, Gloria has been a planner.
Every morning she wakes up and knows what she’s preparing for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Every night she checks the weather and lays out her clothes for the next day. She keeps running to-do lists in tiny spiral notebooks that she purchases from the ninety-nine-cent store to stay on track, and practically lives for that thrill of checking off her tasks, no matter how small. She arrives to every appointment at least forty-five minutes early because the subway can be so unpredictable. She preps Pazito’s Halloween costume in August with fittings in September and final dress rehearsals in the first week of October. （Thankfully Pazito never changes his mind at the last minute, though she has a bin of fabrics and crafts in the closet just in case.） And even though it’s grim business and she doesn’t have much to leave behind, Gloria prepared her will during her first year of motherhood and pushed Frankie to do the same to ensure that Pazito will be taken care of after they’re gone.
Planning her life has always helped Gloria feel in control. But death has never been something she can plan as accurately until now.
Gloria had cried the entire time she was filling out the Death-Cast registration form, tempted to click out after answering each question in fear of Frankie finding out and hurling insults—maybe even more—for providing private information that has already been shared freely to other places, such as hospitals and even their cable provider. She could tell he was recycling conspiracies from third parties, and she’s long given up on trying to get her husband to see reason. All he does is lash out whenever they’re in disagreement. Which is why Gloria was crying while registering for Death-Cast. Yes, she’s devastated whenever she thinks about how she’ll spend her End Day with Pazito, knowing that even a master planner like herself can’t possibly squeeze in everything she hopes to do with her son before dying, but more than that, she was heartbroken because she knows that her husband is primed to be the one who kills her.
She discussed this with Rolando—her best friend in this life, and her lover in another—who very understandably hates Frankie and only plays nice to keep her safe.
“Why not just leave him?” Rolando had asked a million times over the years, most recently when she confided in him that she registered herself for Death-Cast. “It feels like you’re accepting he’s going to kill you.”