by Karina Halle
“Uh huh,” he says, pulling on his coat. “Too bad I don’t care. Now you know what it feels like to have a nickname you can’t shake.”
“But your nicknames are funny,” I whine as he throws on his scarf and opens the door, the cold air flowing in.
“It’s only fair, Blondie,” he says, shooting me a smirk over his shoulder as he heads down the steps and crosses the yard toward the Knightly’s.
I close the door, feeling chilled from head to toe, and then go back into the kitchen, sitting in my place.
My father is staring at me, but I can’t read his expression.
I have a sip of wine, swallow. “What?”
“What is it with you and redheads?”
I have to laugh.
Four
“Want a reason? How about because.”
– Turnin’ On the Screw
I’m dreaming.
Dreaming that I’m standing in the Knightly’s front yard, staring at their house. I know it’s a dream because the world is white, with only the house having some color and features, like I’m on overexposed film.
And I’m lucid dreaming, too. I’m controlling this ride.
But what I want in that house isn’t there. I can sense Jacob, Dawn, Sage…and Max. But Max isn’t the man I’m looking for.
I’m looking for Jay.
And he’s not here.
I doubt he ever will be.
I feel the dream starting to fade from my mind, feel the control slip away into the black.
Then I stop myself. The world freezes over.
Once upon a time, Jay used to visit me in my dreams. I was never sure how he did it, other than it being a supernatural skill he had in his toolbox. Now I’m wondering if I can do the same. If I can concentrate hard enough in a dream state, if I can bring him into my dream.
So I focus all the energy that’s running through my veins, that same kind of white hot lightning that forms in the depths of me when I need to manipulate the space around me, punch holes through dimensions, fight baddies, and all that crazy shit.
But instead of bringing Jay to me, the scene in front of me starts to change. The house recedes, fading and fading, getting smaller and smaller, until another house appears. A ranch, blue, with a cactus garden out front. A house I’ve never seen before, though the more I try to focus on it, the blurrier it gets.
And then I realize what I’ve done. I haven’t brought Jay into my dream. I’ve brought myself to him.
Feeling no fear, only curiosity, I start walking toward the house, because this is real and yet it’s not real at the same time. The closer I get, the more real it becomes. I open the door and walk on in.
It looks like a typical house. There’s a living room to the left, a kitchen to the right, everything looks tidy, with some subtle southwestern décor, like terracotta pottery on the shelves and a Santa Fe style tapestry hanging from the wall.
I don’t think, I just let the energy take me, like I’m being pulled until I’m walking down a hall to a door.
I stare at it for a moment, giving myself a moment to think about what I’m about to do. I know it’s just a dream. But if Jay is in there like I think he is, then that might be real to him. More than a dream. And this will be the first time I’ve seen him since he left.
I take in a deep breath, even though there’s no air in this world, and I open the door.
Jay is standing in the middle of a bedroom, his back to me, facing a window that glows white. The walls of the room are black and it’s hard to tell if there are even walls at all or if it’s just endless space.
Everything inside me stills, like all that energy just froze on itself.
Just being in the same room as Jay makes me want to crumple to my knees. It takes everything to remain on my feet.
“You came,” Jay says, and his voice makes my heart lurch, tears rushing to my eyes.
Stay strong, I remind myself. You’re in control here.
“I was wondering when you would,” he continues, still staring out.
Something about that bothers me. My hackles raise despite myself. “Oh, so you assumed I’d try and find you in dreamland.”
“You’re stubborn,” he says, turning to face me. “That will never change.”
Fuck. He looks good. Too good. It’s not fair.
“It’s good to see you,” he adds, giving me a faint smile. I forgot that about him, how rarely he smiled, how damn serious he was.
“Where are we?” I manage to say.
“Arizona,” he says. “Just outside Tucson.”
“Oh.” I swallow. “So I assume this is your house?”
He nods. “I’m just renting it. Came fully furnished.”
“It’s nice. The décor.” Oh my god. I’m visiting him in my dream and we’re having small talk?
“Do you like it here?” I add to the small talk. I can’t help myself. This is awful. Everything about this is awful. Wrong. It shouldn’t be like this between us.
He shrugs. “The weather is nice,” he says slowly.
I walk toward him but stop in the middle of the room. “Why is your room like this?”
“It’s not really a room right now,” he says. “Your mind is manipulating it. Lucid dreamer.” He pauses. “I’m glad you came to see me.”
I cross my arms. “You seem overjoyed.”
Another stiff smile. “I’m trying to be on my best behavior, Ada.”
“What’s your worst behavior?”
He shakes his head. “Something I won’t indulge.”
The lump in my throat gets bigger. I try to swallow it down, tears burning behind my eyes. “Are we not even going to talk about this?”
“That would be my worst behavior. I’m sorry, Ada. I can’t. I have to stay focused.”
“On what?” I practically yell. “I’m right here in front of you!”
“You know you’re in my past now.”
My mouth drops open, my whole body reeling like I’ve been kicked in the stomach. “In your past? How can you just say that so callously? Do you have any idea what I’ve gone through? Do you have any feelings at all?”
“Ada,” he says patiently.
Fuck his patience. Fuck him for being able to so neatly and easily tuck me away into the past like that.
“You’re an asshole,” I spit out. “How dare you tell me that! I was something to you once. You loved me, Jay! And I know it was real, you’re not that good of a liar. I know you loved me.”
God, the words hurt to say.
He winces, looking pained for once. “I never said I didn’t.”
I march over to him, stopping inches away, staring up at him, using the anger to ground me, because if I let myself feel sadness for one second, if I let myself feel what it’s really like to be standing so close to him after all this time, I’d probably dissolve before his eyes.
“You left me,” I tell him, my voice trembling. “You just…disappeared from my life. You didn’t even say goodbye.”
He stares down at me, his eyes searching mine. “I wasn’t strong enough.”
“Bullshit!”
“You have no idea what it was like. I had to leave. You know this.”
“But you didn’t. You could have…”
“Said no?”
“You chose this,” I say angrily, waving my arms around. “You chose a life in Ari-fucking-zona with someone else. I don’t even know who!”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s someone who needs me, just like you needed me.”
“I still need you!” I yell.
“Do you?” he asks, raising a brow. “This is who I am. You knew that from the beginning.”
I flinch like I’ve been slapped. “Oh, so this is my fault? Because I believed you when you said you loved me, when you said we could make this work.”
“I said we’d try!” he snaps at me, eyes blazing, throwing dark energy around that makes my hair stand on end. “I said we’d try, and we did try and we had a good fucking ru
n.” He runs a hand over his face. “You changed my life, Ada. You showed me what it was like to love someone. You made me…whole. Better. And I’ll always be grateful to you for that. But you can’t ask me to throw away who I am for you. And the fact that you’d ask…”
I shake my head, close my eyes, a tear spilling down. Great.
“I wanted you to love me enough to stay,” I tell him, just letting it all out. “That’s all I wanted. Because I would have given anything to keep you.”
He puts his hand on my shoulder, his energy seeping into me. My eyes snap open and I pull back out of his grip.
“And I would have never asked that of you,” he says softly, taking his hand back. “That’s the difference between us.”
A low blow. So I’m the selfish one here?
I take another step back, feeling cold air swirl around me, feeling the pull back into my body, back into sleep. The dream is coming to an end.
There’s a chance I might not see him again.
I swallow my pride. I take a leap. Bury my anger.
“I’ll wait for you,” I tell him. “When you’re done here. I’ll be waiting for you.”
He gives me the saddest smile. “Ada,” he says softly. “There’s nothing to wait for.”
That’s all it takes.
The cold grabs hold of me.
Pulls me back away from him as he disappears from view, the air turning into a vortex of snowflakes in the darkness until suddenly I’m back in my bedroom, awake.
Staring out my window at the Knightly’s.
Tears running down my cheeks.
Snowflakes starting to fall from the sky.
Jacob is knocking at the front door just as I’m pouring myself my much-needed third coffee of the morning. I can’t actually see him from here in the kitchen, but that little antennae in my head is telling me one of them is here. I wonder if I’m trouble for some reason, for giving Max a ride or food or being nice to him or something.
It isn’t until I open the door and see Jacob’s stern face, his eyes more yellow than normal—though that probably has a lot to do with his mustard-colored scarf—that I remember why I think Jacob is mad at me.
It’s because I went and got Max out of the Veil without telling him.
He doesn’t even have to open his mouth.
“Before you say anything,” I say quickly, “you might want to ask yourself why you didn’t tell anyone that Max was waiting in that house for eternity.” I finish my sentence with a sip of coffee.
Jacob raises an eyebrow, stares at me. “Interesting way of saying hello.”
I lean against the doorframe, holding my fluffy bathrobe closed around my pajamas. “What do you want?”
“Not much better,” he says carefully in his English accent. “But expected. I take it you had a good vacation up in Seattle?”
“Wouldn’t quite call it a vacation. More like a rescue mission.” I take another sip, anticipating a lecture.
“Right,” he says and then looks over my shoulder into the house. “How is your father?”
“He’s fine,” I say cautiously. “Why?”
“Maximus told me he’s been going through a rough time,” he says. “And as such, I was wondering if perhaps he needed a helping hand or shoulder to lean on.”
I frown, scoffing. “Your shoulder? Yeah, you’re just overflowing with empathy, aren’t you?”
He presses his lips together for a moment and then shakes his head. “Anyway, we’re having a small party for New Year’s tonight. We’d like the both of you over.”
“You want my dad at your party? I’m not sure he’s open-minded enough for that.”
“Maximus told me your father thinks he’s a ghost, so perhaps he’s more open-minded than you think.”
“Wait, is he a ghost?”
His mouth quirks up into his crooked smile. “Not quite.”
“Not quite!?” I exclaim.
“See you at eight tonight,” he says, throwing his ugly scarf over his shoulder. “Make sure you bring some appetizers. It’s a potluck.”
Then he walks off down the path.
Potluck? Great. There’s at least an inch of snow on the ground, which might be doable in some other part of the country, but it rarely snows here in Portland, and when it does, the city comes to a standstill. There’s no way my father or I will be going out to get some party trays.
I close the door and pad down the hall to my father’s study, where he’s been all morning.
I knock on the door and poke my head in. “Dad?”
He looks up from a book, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “Yes, pumpkin? Did I hear someone at the door?”
“Yeah, it was Jacob. From next door.”
He stares at me for a moment before saying, “Everything okay? Or is this part of your, uh, supernatural schooling?”
I can tell my dad still doesn’t quite believe me on that whole thing. I don’t blame him. He’s so rooted in logic that I’m surprised he’s taking the whole “everyone in my family sees ghosts including me” thing so well. Or, well enough.
“He wanted to invite us over tonight for New Year’s Eve.”
“Oh,” he says, looking surprised. “I forgot that’s tonight. Where has the year gone?”
“They really want us over,” I tell him. “We just have to bring a party platter, and with all the snow I don’t think we can drive out and get anything.”
He gives me a small but reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll make something.” Then he sighs. “But you bring it over. I don’t think I’ll be going.”
“Oh, come on,” I tell him. “You need to get out of the house and talk to people.”
“I agree with you, but the neighbors are…a little odd.”
“They’re fine,” I tell him. “You know they’re fine. You’ve had them over plenty of times. It’s just because you think rock and roll is Satan’s music.”
He’s not impressed. “Don’t say that lightly, Ada.”
I roll my eyes. “It will do you good. They invited us both. You’re going. Eight pm. Wear that green sweater. It’s festive.”
I leave but hear him call after me, “It has reindeers on it!”
“It’s still the holidays!” I yell back, smirking at the picture of my dad in his hideous Christmas sweater my Uncle Al gave him as a joke years ago. Actually, my dad being super Catholic used to make us celebrate the holidays all the way until the Epiphany on January 5th, but he dropped it ever since Mom died. It’s hard to get him to even celebrate Christmas nowadays.
The rest of the morning and afternoon go by slowly. I text with Perry for a bit over their plans for the night, which is going to a bar with their friends. Had Jacob not invited me, I would have felt a little jealous with my lack of social life. I then text my friend Patrick from design school to see what he’s up to, knowing I’ve completely dropped the ball on keeping up with my friendships ever since Jay dumped me.
Then the thought of Jay, and the dream, make me head back to bed just before dinnertime, having a little cry and sleep before my father wakes me up to eat.
We have a light salad, considering we’ll probably be eating a lot of junk tonight at the party, then as my father heats the appetizers in the oven (cheesy spinach and artichoke dip…except replace the spinach with kale because that’s all we had), I get myself ready. I should use this as an excuse to dress up, since I can barely put on pajamas most days, and J-Lo’s matching sweatsuits circa 2003 have been the epitome of effort for me. But I opt for leather leggings and a perfectly kitschy red oversized Home Alone Christmas sweater so my dad doesn’t feel out of place.
At eight we get on our coats and head over to the Knightly’s, my dad nervously cradling the dish in his hands, while I’ve got a bottle of Prosecco I rescued from the back of the fridge and a bag of tortilla chips.
The door opens before I can knock. It’s Dawn, smiling brightly at us. Her red hair is pulled up high into a messy topknot, and somehow she looks younger tha
n ever, definitely not the sixty-something she’s supposed to be. It helps that she’s wearing a shimmery silver long-sleeved dress with bat-sleeves, though there are combat boots on her feet, like she pulled a page from Perry’s stylebook.
“Happy New Year!” she exclaims to us, her dark purple lipstick clashing wonderfully with her hair color. “Come on in!”
“Happy New Year,” my dad says, awkwardly trying to handle the dish and shake her hand.
She just takes the dish from him. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Jacob told us to bring food,” I tell her, stepping in the house and looking around. “Hope it’s enough.” I expected to hear music and see a bunch of people, but so far it’s quiet and empty.
“Jacob said that?” Dawn says, rolling her eyes. “Think the man is just trying to get some extra food to be honest.”
“Are we the first ones here?” my dad asks, also looking around.
“First ones?” Dawn asks, then notes the expectant looks on our faces. “Oh, I see. You thought it was a big party. Sorry to disappoint you. It’s just us. And now you. We keep our celebrations…small.”
I get it. I should have noticed there were no cars outside, and there have never been any other cars outside except Jacob’s beige Mercedes from the seventies. The Knightlys keep to themselves because they’ve got way too many secrets that no one else would understand. No one normal, anyway.
I nudge my dad with my elbow since he’s still standing there looking around. “Oh, well that’s good. I don’t think I could handle a crowd of strangers right now,” he says.
Dawn gives him a sympathetic head tilt. “I know how you feel. Well, come in. We’ll put this to good use,” she says, lifting the dip.
“And this too,” I tell her, holding up the bottle of Prosecco. “Want me to get some glasses?”
“That would be groovy,” she says, nodding to the kitchen while my father takes the bottle from me. “They’re just in the top shelf by the fridge.”
I go into the kitchen and grab the glasses just as a shiver runs through me. I look over my shoulder, not surprised to see Max walking in.
He stops by the cupboard beside me and eyes my sweater. “I feel like I missed a memo about wearing ugly sweaters.”
