He leans forward slightly. “What happened?”
I draw in a breath, tasting the woody, smoky air. “I was in an escape room. There was a bunch of other people there, but I had no idea who they were or why any of us were there. And it seemed to be only me who could answer the puzzles. Except, they were impossible puzzles. None of them made sense. Every time I got one wrong, it went dark, and when the lights came up, one of the other people was gone. It was like someone was picking them off one by one until I was the only one left, and then the wall disappeared, and there was an audience watching me—a bunch of people I know, and all the people from the room—laughing at me. The door opened, so I ran out, but I ended up right back in the room, with no memory of before. And it happened over and over again.”
I woke up to my neighbor banging on our shared wall, shouting at me to stop screaming.
There’s an understanding in Nico’s eyes. “What do you think it means?”
“Probably that I should avoid escape rooms. Clearly, I’m not cut out for them,” I joke, and I don’t have to force it. I feel lighter than I did a few minutes ago.
A gasp of surprised laughter falls from Nico’s mouth,and, for a moment, he looks lighter, too. He shakes his head, a smile that almost reaches his eyes on his lips. He toys with his fingers for a second, like he’s thinking something over. “It was my mom’s birthday a few weeks ago. Birthdays are… I don’t like them. But I always make sure to send her something and call. I had a dream that I slept in and forgot, except I was still living in California. I rushed out the door to the mall we used to go to when we were kids to try and find her a last-minute present. It was one of those dreams that lulls you into a false sense of monotony, you know? I was just wandering around the mall. I bought her a necklace and a bouquet of poppies. But she hates poppies. They grew wild in our yard growing up, and Geor—my sister loved them. But my mom always called them weeds. When I went over to the house to give them to her, my dad was there, and my sisters. Both of them.” His voice cracks, and I have a sudden urge to reach for him. An urge I thankfully keep at bay.
“I watched them through the window for a while, laughing at our old kitchen table. When I tried to get in, the door was locked, and I didn’t have my keys. I always used to forget my keys. I got the spare under the plant pot, and let myself in, and… none of them recognized me. They acted like I was breaking in. My dad threatened to call the cops until I left, confused. I sat there for hours watching them through the window, just being a family. It felt like hours, anyway—I fell asleep at my workbench for twenty minutes.”
With what little I know about Nico, the meaning seemspretty obvious. But he asked me, so I repeat the question: “What do you think it means?”
His smile is pained. “I know what it means.”
I have no answer for that. There’s nothing either of us can do to ease the pain of our darkest nights, but I feel better getting it out. And I swear there are fewer shadows on Nico’s face.
“You know, poppies are my favorite flowers. They symbolize hope,” I tell him, if only to pick out something nice from his nightmare.
“Yeah?” he asks, the tiniest bit of light coming back into his eyes. I nod, and he sits back, humming. “I don’t think I have a favorite flower. But I guess hope sounds pretty nice.”
We fall into silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. We’re both clearly a little fucked up, and there’s a strange familiarity that stretches between us. Like recognizing like.
4
NICO
She frowns in her sleep.
Two deep lines appear between her brows when she dozes off around four. She clutches Amelia Bearhart like a vise, but aside from a single whimper an hour after she closes her eyes, she stays silent. When he hears her, Earl nuzzles his nose against her head and refuses to go back to sleep until he’s sure she’s okay.
Somehow, I drift off a little after six. I wake with a start to something wet touching my hand. Cracking an eye, I confirm it’s Grey’s nose, then glance at the clock on the mantel. Ten. I don’t remember the last time I slept past seven.
As carefully as I can, I extract myself from the blanket I’ve somehow managed to tangle around my limbs and stand, trying not to wake Este. The boys follow me to the door, their claws clacking on the hardwood.
There’s a bitter burst of air when I open the door. You wouldn’t know it’s mid-April. It’s like a winter wonderland when I shove my feet into the boots I keep by the door and follow the boys out.
I pull the door closed behind me, so Este doesn’t getcold. Between the shock of the chilled air and the couple hours of uninterrupted sleep I managed, I’m surprisingly well-rested. My body isn’t used to it—the sleep. It’s well used to the snow. This year has been relentless.
The boys love it, though. They bounce around, leaving paw prints in the fresh blanket of snow that fell overnight, more interested in playing with each other than I thought they’d be, considering I usually feed them at seven. I lean against the porch railing, watching them, and trying to remember the last time I was as excited about anything as they are about the snow every damn morning.
“Oh my fucking god. It’s freezing.”
I look over my shoulder to see Este in the doorway, wrapping her arms around herself. Yet she comes outside anyway, smiling as she notices Earl and Grey playing.
“That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” she says as Grey pounces at Earl from behind a little pile of snow, and the two roll around together, covered in white.
She leans beside me on the railing, and I make the first big mistake I’ve made since Este arrived.
I look down.
I noticed her baggy pink sweatshirt last night—it looks cozy. But I guess I was so focused on making sure she and the dogs were getting along that I neglected to notice her long legs. Her long, bare legs.
Were those under the blanket all night?
She’s wearing blue fuzzy socks and platform slippers. When she shifts, I can see she is wearing bottoms, but her sweatshirt is longer than her white sleep shorts.
