“So, I’m dead?” “Basically,” Jack answers, leaning back in his chair. I turn to him. “Can I be made undead?” “Nope. We gotta kill you now. Needs to match the paperwork.” I like him. Mom’s head whirls from me to him. “Jesus Christ, Jack. She literally just got here.” She searches my face for indignation, but I only laugh. We share some of the same snark.
