Naya can’t speak for everyone else, but she found the group counseling to be very soothing.
Then again, she didn’t deliver any End Day calls tonight.
The group therapist guided everyone through meditation with her calming voice. She passed around crayons and paper and asked them to draw a lovely memory, and while Naya could see that some of the heralds, Andrea Donahue especially, were resistant to this exercise, they came around, and even now Andrea seems proud of the art she produced about her daughter’s first birthday. Though if drawing was putting some people off, Naya can only imagine if they had gone with the dance party as originally planned; the heralds who are already considering not returning tomorrow would have absolutely been pushed over the edge.
Naya takes the stage for the final event, one Joaquin planned on doing himself.
“Before we send you home, I’d like to read the names of the first Deckers, to both memorialize them and celebrate you all for giving them the opportunity to live before their passing.”
It’s unclear if this will be done at the end of every shift, but commemorating the firsts seemed important in recognizing that Death-Cast as a company cannot exist without them.
“Valentino Prince, Rose Marie Brosnan, Max Foster, Jacqueline Eagle, Chris Van Drew . . .”
When Naya completes the list, she asks for a moment of silence, in which she thinks about the Deckers who’ve died without warning from any of these hardworking heralds.
“May they all live while they can, and then rest in peace.”
Rolando Rubio
6:06 a.m.
Rolando throws away that drawing the first chance he gets.
That whole group therapy session was born out of good intentions, he knows that. He’s just not interested in keeping souvenirs for arguably the worst night of his life. Logically, he trusts that he changed a lot of people’s lives today, but he also somehow feels responsible, as if he pulled their names out of a hat and decided they were going to die. But hey, nothing undoes all that grief like drawing that time he went to the beach with Gloria and Paz; it was indeed a happy memory since Frankie didn’t go, but nonetheless, it’s not serving Rolando’s mental wellness—unwellness.
Right as he’s about to go into the employee break room and collect his things, he goes down the hall, where he finds Naya and Aster, their conversation turning to whispers.
“Can I speak with you, Mrs. Rosa? Alone?”
Aster steps away, returning to the customer service area.
“Please call me Naya,” she says, looking over her shoulder where her son is lying down on a rug with his puppy. “What can I do for you, Rolando? Did you want a private session with a therapist?”
“Oh god, no.”
Naya fails at masking her shock but cracks a quick smile. “I know that group counseling wasn’t for everyone.”
“No, it’s not. It feels so culty to tell people they’re going to die all night and then try to brush it off with a little meditation and an art project like we’re in kindergarten.”
“I’m open to feedback on how you think we should manage.”
“I have no idea, Mrs. Rosa—Naya. But just not that. That was horrible.”
Naya nods, even though Rolando has offered nothing productive. “I understand you were having some difficulties tonight.”
He stares point-blank. “Yes . . . I was finding it hard to tell people their lives were over.” There’s a pause, as if Naya is expecting Rolando to apologize or backtrack because he’s so tired or something, but he won’t lie. “If the other heralds didn’t struggle, I don’t know what to say. Maybe they were on the phone pushing printer paper while I was getting in trouble for comforting a lonely old man.”