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“Ugh! What the hell, Willow? This place is a mess.” She walks to my dining table and picks up the empty box my cinnamon roll was in.
“What? I haven’t been home long enough to clean it yet,” I counter.
“I can see that.” She scrunches her nose. “Andwhatis thatsmell?”
I look around, as if I’ll spot where the smell is coming from. “Hmm. So, it isn’t just me smelling that then?”
Faye ignores my comment and marches to the kitchen, and when she notices the dirty dishes in the sink, she groans. Immediately, she rolls up the sleeves of her sweater, turns on the faucet, and begins rinsing the dishes.
“Faye, you don’t have to do that!” I yell at her from the couch.
“If I don’t, who will?”
“I will…when I’m in the mood.”
She cuts her eyes at me briefly before putting her attention back on the dishes. “So are you going to tell me what that was about at the bookstore, or am I going to have to get you drunk and force the truth out of you?”
I knew this was coming, yet even with the question lingering in the air and having nearly two hours to think about it afterward, I still can’t bring myself to present a solid answer.
“Okay…” I sit up on the couch. “It’s going to sound crazy, but I’ve been having these really weird dreams. Or maybe they’re hallucinations? I don’t know.”
“How long have you been having them?” she asks nonchalantly, as if I just told her I love chocolate. That’s the thing about Faye. She’s not easily shocked. She’s normally calm and even-tempered.
“They started a couple weeks ago. Right after I returned from Atlanta.” I chew on my bottom lip. “But the first dream was kind of tame compared to the one I had last night and today. The first dream I was in some house, lost. The house was huge and I heard people talking, but no one came to find me. I also hear, like, this voice—some man’s voice. He has an accent. British, maybe?”
“Go on…”
“I don’t know who he is or anything, but he feels familiar somehow. Anyway, when I was in the basement, I was in a forest. It was cold and the trees were really tall and scary looking. And I think something was hunting me or chasing me…I can’t be sure. But that guys voice, I heard it again this time too. Like he’s calling out for me or looking for me before whatever that thing is can catch me.”
“Hmm.” She scratches the side of her head. “Maybe it’s stress.”
“Why would it be that?”
Her eyes find mine. “Because you bottle a lot of shit up. Maybe it’s finally starting to eat at your brain.”
I roll my eyes then stand, going to the dining table to clear it. I might as well keep myself busy too.
“Maybe you should talk to a therapist,” she offers.
“I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“I’m telling you, Willow. When I saw Dr. Wan, she was incredible. She really put my mind at ease with the grief I hadabout my mom’s death. She helped me heal…and I’m going to be honest, I think that’s what you need to do. You need to heal.” She turns the faucet off after filling the sink with water and suds and says, “I’m worried about you. I really am.”
“Why?” I ask, laughing. “I’m fine. Please don’t overreact. And why didn’t you use the dishwasher?”
“You’re drinking more, and the antidepressants don’t seem to be helping,” she goes on, ignoring my last remark. “You’re seeing and hearing things, and I’m worried that you’re secluding yourself. You’re forcing yourself to be lonely.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Really? If I hadn’t called you tonight, would you have called me to see what I was doing?”
I debate an answer. “I would have texted you…eventually.”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes and going back to the dishes. “All I’m saying is I think it would be good for you. If you’re seeing things and having bad dreams, maybe it means something, you know? Maybe it means it’s finally time to talk about Warren’s disappearance.”
I avoid looking at Faye as I carry some of the trash to the trash bin. “If I take the therapists’ number, will you stop bringing up Warren?”
She grins so big it nearly splits her face in half. “I promise.”
