Chapter 3 Seize the Daydream #3
I carry the coffeepot over to the island and settle down again in front of my beloved frosted animal crackers. Penn approaches slowly, eyeing me skeptically from across the island.
“So. Tell me,” I say between bites. “What’s happening around here?”
“You mean other than your rather alarming breakdown?”
I smile and shovel in another handful of crackers. I can’t believe I stopped eating these. They pair perfectly with coffee, the taste almost orgasmic.
I must have let out a fitting sound, because Penn reddens again.
“What does Bridget do?” I ask. “And where’s Ryan?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know where he is, but I’m calling him.” He pulls a cell phone from his back pocket and presses it to his ear, pacing as he adds, “This isn’t funny anymore. You’ve officially freaked me the hell out.”
“I’m fine,” I insist. “Just let me enjoy this, okay?”
Penn stops and stares at his phone. “No answer. I—” He cuts himself off, mystified while he watches me drink straight out of the coffeepot. It’s harder than I anticipated. Hot coffee dribbles down my chin and into my cleavage.
“Shoot,” I grumble, setting the pot back down. If only I were still wearing my scarf. Dabbing at my chest, I assure Penn, “I haven’t been possessed. Really.”
“Jury’s still out,” he says, unconvinced. “I have to stop by Curly’s, but I can’t leave you alone like this.” Penn moves to the pantry and returns with pretzels. “You need to eat something that isn’t fifty percent sprinkles. And drink some water. Where’s your phone?”
“Great question.”
With another eye roll, Penn yanks out his phone again. After a moment, a ringtone with my favorite NSYNC song echoes from the entryway.
I laugh as he sets off to find it. “Classic.”
Penn returns, holding up a phone covered in a glittery turquoise case, a charm of colorful beads hanging from its corner. He slides it across the island, and I do a double take.
For years, my phone’s wallpaper has been a selfie of Connor and me standing along the Chicago River at sunset. The background on this phone is different: a picture with Bridget, the Eiffel Tower stretching high into the cloudless sky above us. We’re hugging and laughing.
I’ve never been to Paris.
“Call me if you need anything,” Penn orders. “I’ll keep trying to get a hold of Ryan, and I’ll stop by The Disco Diner to tell Theo I’m filling in for you today.”
“Theo Ford!” I shout, slapping the counter. “That’s perfect.”
Penn rounds the island, towering over me while he cups the back of my neck and presses his other hand to my forehead. I can’t believe how warm his skin feels. How realistically my body reacts to it, goose bumps rising along my arms.
He pulls his hands away and sighs. “Water. And food. And take a nap while you’re at it. I’ll check in with you soon, okay?”
I offer him a salute.
Penn lifts keys from his back pocket and swings them around one finger. Then he points at me and says, “Don’t die, Wynne.”
I nod. “Good advice.”
With one last, weary exhale and a puzzled glance over his shoulder, Penn leaves.
Perhaps it’s the quiet, or the lack of a Penn-shaped distraction, or the coffee and frosted crackers catching up to me all at once, but as I stand up, determined to explore the mansion, my miserable headache returns. Along with a bout of nausea.
I follow Penn’s instructions and nurse a glass of water while I meander through the downstairs rooms, which are only partially furnished—and strangely so.
This place must be what thirteen-year-old me pictured as a fancy mansion, because while it’s large and luxurious, the design details are still very much the rendering of a seventh-grader.
I tour an office lined with tangerine bookshelves and the striped, upholstered window seat of my teen dreams. There’s a yellow sunroom with wicker furniture and pink plaid pillows, while the airy living room boasts nothing but a big denim sectional, as if my imagination got tired.
Outside, sure enough, there are two pools, one large and with a slide, the other a slim, glittering lap pool.
Upstairs, I pass the unfinished bedroom, the pink-and-purple bathroom, and my bedroom, walking toward the rainbow-colored wooden stairs at the far end of the hallway. They creak as I climb up to a small, round turret room.
It’s magnificent.
The black ceiling is dotted with tiny twinkling lights that look like stars. One wall holds an aquarium filled with—I barely need to count—thirteen fish, and floor pillows as vibrant as Starbursts surround a gigantic purple beanbag that’s calling my name.
I slouch into it, yawning. Whatever spikes of energy I felt from all the sugar and excitement have officially crashed. Or maybe my dream body is spent after keeping up with such a remarkably realistic fantasy.
I’d like to keep exploring, but I can’t resist closing my eyes—even though I know that if I drift off, it will mean the end of my most memorable, hilarious dream. I’ll just have to quickly share every wild detail with Bridget when I wake up. She’s going to love it.
I sink deeper into the beanbag, and my breathing slows. I fall asleep.
Next thing I know, I’m awake.
And I’m still in the beanbag.