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“This place ain’t quiet.”

“Dead people are.”

His smile fades a little, not in a bad way. More like he is listening despite himself.

I swirl the drink in my cup. “Living people want to be seen, but they lie about it. They want prettier, younger, hotter, richer, smaller, louder, softer. Dead people just need help being remembered kindly. I think there’s something honest in that.”

Bitter doesn’t answer right away.

Outside the lounge, someone starts laughing, loud and drunk and brokenhearted.

He looks toward the sound. “Ain’t much honesty around death.”

“I disagree.”

“Then you ain’t seen enough of it.”

There is a coldness under his words. Old cold. The kind that doesn’t come from the weather.

I could ask. I almost do. But Miss Mercy told me to listen, and I’m trying to learn more than hair and makeup today.

So I take another sip and say, “Maybe that’s why I’m here.”

His eyes come back to me.

They are darker now.

“You got a man?” he asks.

I blink. “That was a turn.”

“Question stands.”

“No.”

“Ex?”

“Everybody has an ex.”

“Is he breathing?”

“For now.”

The answer slips out before I can make it sunny.

Bitter catches it. His entire body stills, not much, just enough to make the air notice.

“Problem?” he asks.

“Not today.”

“That ain’t no.”

“It ain’t yes either.”

He studies me for another long second. “You sure you ain’t running?”

I give him my brightest smile. “I’m walking very purposefully toward an education.”