Me: I’ll see you at nine.
Tilly: Goodnight, Angelo.
Me: Night, Tilly.
I turn off the screen to my phone and sip the whiskey until sleep finally takes me again.
Tilly hands me a cup of badly needed coffee. “Did you get any sleep last night?” she asks as she sits down across from me.
“A little,” I tell her, completely honest about my usual sleeping pattern.
“Dreams?” she asks.
“You have them?”
“About Mitchell?”
“Yeah,” I say, surprised she knows exactly what I’m talking about.
She nods and wraps her hands around the warm mug. “I used to have them often, but lately, they’re few and far between.”
“I had one of Marissa last night.”
“Ah,” she murmurs. “That’s why you couldn’t sleep.”
“I never really do. Well, not for long at least, but last night, she came to me.”
“What did she say?” Tilly gazes at me from across the table. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
I shake my head. “Usually, we talk about the kids or it’s a memory from our past, but last night was different.”
“Different how?”
“It was as if she was saying goodbye.” I glance down, staring at the wedding ring I haven’t been able to take off my finger. “I can’t shake the feeling that I’ll never see her again. I always had my dreams.”
Tilly reaches across the table and touches my arm. “I dreamed of Mitchell last night too. It’s been months since I’ve spoken to him.”
“Are we normal?”
She nods. “Completely.”
“Why did we both dream about them last night?”
Tilly shrugs with a pained smile. “Maybe because we both felt guilty about what happened.”
“I didn’t feel guilty kissing you, Tilly. Nothing has felt that right in so long.”
“We feel guilty in our joy, Angelo.”
I turn my hand over, capturing her fingers in mine. “You did make me happy,” I admit, caressing her skin with my thumb. “Happier than I’ve been in a long time.”
“Me too.” She glances down to our interlocked hands. “It’s easy to be with you. You don’t judge me when I talk about Mitchell, and that’s refreshing.”
“I’ve experienced what you did, Tilly. I’ve lived through the sadness no one else can understand.”
“I never dated because I didn’t want someone to feel they were competing with Mitchell,” she tells me, finally bringing her eyes back to mine.
“Many would find the memory too hard to compete with, but it’s not a competition. If it were, it would be unwinnable.”
