Page 40 of Kiss Slay Replay

Didn’t I hit a squirrel, in the dream? Another gnarly contribution from my subconscious. This journey has been notably roadkill free. That could be something.

I think about what Ravi would say, if I told him about the dream. Sometimes we’d exchange dreams over coffee. He could always remember his, articulate them better. Sometimes I’d notice his eyes glaze over when I was attempting to explain mine; he’d subtly check his phone, and I’d give up, tell him never mind and let him change the subject. I guess it’s easy to forget when there’s no one sitting across the table, but sometimes being with someone feels the same as being alone.

“Shit.” I almost miss the turn. I make the right, tires screeching as I pull onto the dirt road.

“You have arrived at your destination,” the GPS says.

I know. I recognize it.

2

I’ve spent enough time browsing the website and looking at the four million pictures Steph has sent me of the Lakeside at Wild Heart Acres to justify why it’s so achingly familiar. Why my dream was so accurate.

I drive slowly waiting for some anomaly. A welcome sign, a catering van. But it’s complete déjà vu. I pull up to the clearing at the top of the hill, and there’s the reception hall. The last time I saw it, it was burning.

I turn into the gravel parking lot, take the open space next to Evan’s red Civic. I park and rest my head on the steering wheel, in real danger of puking into my lap.

Deep breath. I lift my gaze, scan the lot, and see Cass and Luke’s van, Jace’s Jeep. An Audi hatchback that I’m guessing belongs to Steph’s sister, Olivia. I’m probably the last person to arrive. I always think I’m going to be early and end up late.

Another deep breath. I open the door.

Even the smell of the place is familiar. Floral and earthy. There’s a hint of smoke in the air that triggers my anxiety. I look for him, for too many eyes watching me from the distant tree line. I see you. What if it wasn’t just a dream? What if it was a warning?

“There she is.” Evan walks around the deck of the reception hall, hands on his hips. He wears khakis, a button-down, bow tie, brown leather oxfords, brown leather belt, tortoiseshell Ray-Bans. Wyatt is beside him in flannel.

They’re dressed exactly as they were in my dream, down to the polka dots on Evan’s bow tie. They both have signature styles, but still.

“What’s with your face?” Ev says, coming down the stairs. “And I say that with love.”

“I’m having the worst déjà vu.” I want to embrace him, hold him close, never let him go. I want to apologize. I want to cry.

I am. I’m crying.

“Pull it together,” he says. “Unacceptable.”

Wyatt claps me on the back. “There, there. You’re okay, kiddo.”

“Kiddo? She’s almost forty.”

That stops the tears right quick. “I’m thirty-one! And so are you!”

“Defamation. I’m twenty-five. And I’m suing,” Evan says. “We’re sharing a cabin. Did you know? You, me, Wyatt, Luke, and Cassie. We get our own rooms, of course. And bathrooms. But we share a common room.”

This weekend really will be just like college. It’s on the tip of my tongue. It’s what I said in my dream.

“How was the drive?” I say instead.

“Long enough that I’m reconsidering hypnotherapy.” Evan is terrified of flying. “Where’s your stuff?”

“In the trunk. Let me grab it.”

“Wyatt can get it for you. He loves to show off his brute strength.” He makes eyes at his husband, who turns fuchsia.

“No, no,” I say, turning on my heel and beelining toward my car. “I got it! I’ll do it!”

Anything to make my present reality as different from the dream as possible. Anything to escape this terrible déjà vu. There’s no safety in the familiar. Only fear.

“Jeez, we get it. You’re an independent woman,” Ev says. The two of them watch as I tussle with my suitcase. I finally manage to lift it out of the trunk, but it becomes unwieldy, clips my bumper as I’m trying to set it down, and lands hard on my foot. I fail to stifle a scream. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”