Fix You

So, Mara, what do you do for a living?

I brush makeup on your grandpa’s face. I style your aunt’s hair just like in the pictures. I drive a hearse, and my workday usually starts after 9 PM.

I’m a freelance embalmer. A mortician. A stylist for the dead.

At this point in the conversation, most people make a polite excuse and back out of the room. I don’t blame them. People don’t like thinking about what happens after they die. And Nick Hamilton, the brother of my latest decedent, is no exception.

But he’s obsessed. Maybe because they were twins, although they didn’t particularly look alike. Nick saw footage of the accident online and it scarred him. He was fascinated that I was able to work my magic and make his brother whole again, which...hey, it’s my job. But this is different. Nick is different.

I thought I had my life in order. But this reckless, infuriating, fascinating man is changing everything. I wish I’d never met him.

I’m a great f*cking liar.

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