Page 43 of The Last One to Let You Down

The last thing any embalmer wanted was to spill cavity fluid. One whiff was sure to cure any stuffy nose and make even the most hardened mortician’s eyes water.

The cavity fluid was injected using a short hose that connected the bottle to the end of the trocar. Tom held the trocar in one hand and, with the other, held the bottle upside down above his head. He would move the trocar all around to disperse the fluid and gravity did the rest.

The hole in Mr. Lopez’s stomach would be closed with a trocar button, a small plastic screw that was twisted into place using a trocar button applicator. It wasn’t anything more than a sort of specialized screwdriver except that instead of a flat head, it had two prongs that fit into the trocar button.

The last step was bathing, and Tom was always very thorough. To wash the back, he would alternate rolling Mr. Lopez on either side to make sure he didn’t miss anything. He washed his hair, rinsed him off, and then it was time to dry. Right as he was putting some moisturizer on Mr. Lopez’s face and preparing to cover him with a sheet, he heard a knock on the prep room door.

The sound startled Tom, and he jerked his head up at the clock. It was seven-fifteen now, and he had no idea who would be knocking.

All the employees had the door code to get in here. After all, a code was required to even gain access to the hallway outside.

Tom quickly covered Mr. Lopez up and began to strip out of his gear. Heart pounding, he slowly opened the door and couldn’t believe who was waiting for him on the other side.

“Cypress!”

“You know, you guys should really stop propping that door open,” Cypress said with a click of his tongue. “No telling what kind of weirdos might walk right in.”

“What are you doing here?” Tom quickly stepped out of the prep room, shutting the door behind him.

“We have a date, remember?” Cypress reminded him, looking especially fantastic in an olive-green sweater and dark jeans.

“But you said not to worry about it?” Tom frowned, very aware he was a sweaty mess in wrinkled scrubs. He had no idea what his hair even looked like, but it was probably bad.

“Yeah, didn’t you get my other texts?”

“I was embalming?”

“Come with me,” Cypress said, taking Tom’s hand and smiling slyly.

Tom let himself be led down to the garage door, his stomach twisting up with excitement. He had no idea what Cypress was up to, but there was no way it could be more of a surprise than him showing up at the funeral home like this.

Oh, Tom was wrong.

It was a much bigger surprise.

There was a small folding table and two chairs set up inside the garage with a small vase of flowers and two lit candles. A large bag of takeout was resting on the floor, and Tom could see a bottle of wine waiting to be opened.

Tom was totally speechless, staring in awe at the spectacular vision before him. His heart was galloping all over the place, and he squeezed Cypress’s hand, trying to communicate how touched he was since he still couldn’t get a word out.

“Do you like it?” Cypress asked, winding his thick arms around Tom’s waist.

“I love it,” Tom gushed, finally finding his voice again. He laughed, giddy and happy, exclaiming, “This is the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

“That’s a damn shame,” Cypress said, leaning down for a deep kiss. His hands pressed into the small of Tom’s back, holding him close as the kiss heated up.

Tom ran his fingers through the sides of Cypress’s beard and into his hair, forgetting about dinner. Making out in the funeral home must have created some sort of Pavlovian response because now all Tom could think about was getting on his knees.

“Mmm, dinner first,” Cypress murmured, finally pulling away and running his tongue over his lips. “Dessert later.”

“You really did all of this for me?” Tom was still having trouble wrapping his head around it.

“Mmhm. I wanted to pick you up at seven because I had reservations at York’s for seven-thirty.” Cypress gestured to one of the chairs, pulling it out for Tom to sit.

“York’s?” Tom scoffed, sitting down and scooting in with Cypress’s assistance. “That place has like a six-month waiting list.”

“I know,” Cypress said with a wink, “but I did the flowers when the York’s got married a few years ago, and they are very grateful customers. I really wanted to wow you for our first date.”

“Mission accomplished. But wait, what about the reservations?” Tom frowned. “Were the York’s upset that you canceled like this?”