“Are you busy? I can call later,” I offer.
“No, no. I was just at a friend’s promotion party. I have time. What’s going on out in the sticks?”
Marissa may live in Texas, but she lives on the rich suburban side. For her, Fort Myers is assticksas it gets.
“I actually need some advice,” I admit, and she groans.
“I knew it. What’s going on?”
“Well,” I start, sighing lightly. “There’s this guy—”
“What?!I’m sorry, but you’ve never so much as looked at someone outside of sex. Are you saying you like him? Like,likehim?”
“Marissa,” I interject, clearly annoyed. “Can I speak?”
She huffs.“Yes. Sorry.”
“Anyway, as I was saying, this guy just moved to town. He’s…incredibly beautiful. And kind, too. But I…”
“But you what? What could possibly be hindering Rowie’s first crush?”
Ignoring her condescending tone, I steel myself for the truth I’m about to lay out in front of her. I’ve never said it out loud before.
“I’ve been having these specific dreams since I was little. And they always had the same guy in them.Thissame guy.”
It’s silent for a moment, and then she says, “Huh?”
“Yeah. As if he walked straight out of my dreams. And he wanted to interview me for the paper, so I finally gave in, but we ended up sleeping together. And Marissa—we cried. Like, the entire time.”
“I need more information before I comment on this,” she says, clearly straying closer to theyou’re crazyside of my internal debate.
My eyes trace over the four photos I have hung of Elijah on my corkboard as I continue. “I always figured these dreams werea coping mechanism or something. For the sadness. But then I met him—and I fucked him—and now I’m absolutely certain that they aren’t dreams at all. I think they’re memories.”
“Memories?” she questions slowly.
“Yes. As in, I think I’ve been remembering him this entire time for a good reason, and I loved him before. In a past life or something.”
Marissa releases a long breath.“Rowan… this sounds insane, you know that?”
“I know,” I sigh. “But I’m telling you, Rissa, we both feel this pull. This overwhelming emotion. I mean, I knew he had back dimples before he even lifted his shirt, all because I’ve fucked him in my dreams.”
Marissa bursts out laughing. It’s a frantic and frazzled sound.“Okay. Let’s say all of this is true, and youdohave a long-lost lover’s situation on your hands. So what? What are you looking for here?”
I close my eyes. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, actually. Validation? Comfort? For someone to listen to me speak?
“I guess… I guess I just want you to tell me I’m not crazy,” I finally say, and Marissa scoffs.
“I can’t tell you that. I’veneverbeen able to tell you that.” When I say nothing, she continues. “But I can tell you that if you feel this pull toward him—that if you look at him and all of your dreams come to life—then you should pursue him. Whether or not you ever figure this whole tortured lovers thing out, attraction like what you’re describing is rare. Grab it while you can, Row.”
I consider her words for a moment, and yeah. I guess it really is that simple, huh?
“So you think Ishouldn’ttell him I’ve been dreaming about him since childhood?”
Through a laugh, Marissa says, “Yeah, maybe not.” And then, “I’m going to come see you soon, okay? Wait to fall apart until I get there.”
I roll my eyes, though she can’t see me.“No promises.”
It’s early the next morning—maybe around 9 a.m.—when three steady knocks rain down on my door. I’m about to walk out of my back door, coat on and axe gloves in hand, when I stop.
