THE LAST PERSON I WANT to see is Rafi, but he’s sitting on the patio steps at the front door when I pull into the driveway at my house. There’s a cardboard box beside him. He looks considerably better than I feel. Then again, I doubt he had to get up after only four hours of sleep to go to a funeral for someone who may or may not be not-dead and texting me from inside of her buried coffin.
Rafi stands when I get out of the car, and I feel like the ground’s dropped out from under me. He’s wearing the shirt he was wearing when I first saw him, even though that was a year ago and it’s too tight across the shoulders now, but there’s a sadness in his eyes that hits me harder than I expected it to.
“Hey, Dino,” he says.
I motion at the box. “Stop by to return the stuff I gave you?” My voice comes out defensive, though I don’t mean for it to. I’m not certain I agree with Jo’s theory that July was angry at me when she should have been angry at herself, but I understand the idea, because how can I possibly be mad at Rafi?
Rafi’s face contorts with pain like I’ve knifed him. Then he shakes his head. “How was the funeral?”
“Depressing.”
He moves like he’s going to hug me, but stops himself. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t mean to be a dick,” I say. “But I’m exhausted, so why are you here?”
Rafi nods and picks up the box. He reaches inside and pulls out a light blue T-shirt. “This is from the fundraising marathon we ran together.” He passes it to me. Then he pulls out a torn paper bracelet. “Midnight madness at the fair.” The items keep coming. “The comic book you said would change my life, a list of the bands you made me listen to, a picture of you yelling at the religious nut who camped out in front of the community center.”
I interrupt him. “Rafi, what is this?”
He stops. “Last night, you said you don’t know who you are. And how can I possibly love you if you have no idea who you are?” He shoves the box at me. There are still tons more things in it. A dried carnation, a drawing I don’t remember doing, a pack of silver markers. “These things are who you are. At least, they’re who you are to me.”
I take the box and hold it awkwardly, wishing I could throw it away. “And what if the person I showed you isn’t real?”
“Then I’m an idiot,” Rafi says. “But, I’ve seen videos of you acting, Dino, and you’re not that good.”