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“Ask me what?” Dex asks as he enters the room. He stops in front of us, folding his arms across his chest. “Am I interrupting girl time?”
“It’s fine,” Perry says. “Ada’s been having strange dreams too.”
Dex nods, sliding his fingers across the stubble on his jaw. “Well, I wouldn’t worry about it. Ada is going off to school and our second wedding anniversary is coming up in October, which is enough to make any woman lose their shit. Two years as Mrs. Foray, it’s a lot to handle.”
“Tell me about it,” Perry says under her breath, though there’s a hint of a smile on her lips as she stares up at him. Lord, the two of them make me so sick sometimes with their love for each other. Sick and, I must admit, jealous.
Perry continues, “Did you know a guy at our wedding called Jay?”
Dex shakes his head, giving her a lopsided grin. “The only thing I knew that day was you, kiddo.”
“Oh, barf,” I say, sinking back into the couch.
He flashes his smile to me as he sits on the edge of the coffee table. “Sorry I’m not of any help. I guess we could go through the wedding photos. What’s this all about? You hook up with him?”
“No,” I say quickly, glaring at him. I don’t think so. “I just feel like he’s appearing in my dreams.” I straighten up. “Anyway, weird dreams aside, I’m fine. Just . . .”
“On edge,” Perry supplies.
“Well I am now since you told me you’ve been having feelings about things.”
“Perry is always having feelings,” Dex says. “It’s usually her period’s fault.”
“Dex,” she hisses at him. “Stop blaming everything on PMS.”
He cocks a brow. “Right. Like you don’t turn into a murderous she-devil once a month who plows through an entire cake even when you swear you’re all gluten-free.” He looks at me. “She makes me buy gluten-free bread for us. Have you ever tried that shit? It’s like chewing on dried-out dogshit.”
I raise my palm. “Stop. How would you even know what that tastes like?”
“Someone want to set the table?” Dad hollers from the kitchen.
Both Perry and I look expectantly at Dex. He can use the brownie points.
He sighs and gets up, trudging into the kitchen to get the plates.
I look back at Perry. “He’s probably right you know.”
“About the dried-out dogshit?”
“Yes. And also it being a stressful time of year for us. Me anyway. Maybe I’m just stressing and you’re picking up on it and it’s manifesting itself into dreams.”
“You’re nervous about starting school,” she says sympathetically.
“Actually I’m excited. I just . . . you know. I wish mom was here for it.”
Perry sighs and leans back into the cushions, running her hand over her face. “Yeah. I get it. I think of her during the stupidest times. Like, I’ll pick up a pomegranate at the supermarket and think, would mom know what to do with this? I know I can Google it, but it’s not the same. I just wish I could ask her advice on things, anything. Even though we weren’t close, not like you guys, I thought—I knew—that in time we would grow closer.”
My chest is weighted, the heavy hands of grief starting to climb up from the inside. Sometimes I forget that she and Perry weren’t as close as we were. My mother treated her like the bad seed, the black sheep, because she was too afraid to see Perry for what she really was. When they finally began to reconcile . . . it was too late.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, trying to keep my voice strong, even though we’ve talked about it many times before.
Perry’s head lolls to the side and she smiles softly at me. “Don’t be.”
“Also, I don’t want to move,” I add.
“Still?” she asks, looking around the room. “I couldn’t wait to get out of here. Aside from the fact that it’s way too big for you and dad, doesn’t this place scare you?”
“No,” I tell her. Totally lying. Because this house does scare me. But at the same time, I feel compelled to stay here. It’s not just because it’s everything I’ve known, that I’m hanging onto memories of my mother. It’s because it needs me to stay.
“All right ladies,” Dex says poking his head around the corner. “Let’s eat before your feelings turn to hangriness.”
Dad made roast chicken and vegetables with mashed potatoes that he calls “special potatoes” even though the only thing that makes them special is the fact that there’s bacon bits and truffle salt sprinkled in it. Well, that and they are damn good.
We gather around the table, helping ourselves to the food and conversation that doesn’t involve feelings and dreams and death.
“Hey I saw you have new neighbors now,” Dex says between mouthfuls of chicken. “Poor people don’t know who they’ve moved next door to.” His brows raise at Perry. “Had they moved in a few years ago, they wouldn’t have lasted long with all the shenanigans and whatnot.”
