Twenty-Four #2
I blink back the burning pressure behind my eyes.
“I’m not really sure how to process it. At first, I was angry that they didn’t love me.
That Dad didn’t love me, I guess. I already knew Mom didn’t.
But I can’t force him, or anyone, to care about me.
It’s not like I ever showed any of them that I cared about them.
” I shake my head, throat thick. “My whole life, I acted like I didn’t care about anyone.
With your parents, you show your love by calling them, keeping communication open.
I never did that. Not for my family, not for Cash, not for you.
Cash was the only one who saw through me and kept caring, even when I put up walls. ”
Esther hums her disagreement. “When you’re a kid, you shouldn’t have to prove your love to your parents, and you shouldn’t have to question if they love you.”
I’m not sure how to process that either, so I stay silent. Mom cared more about my utility than love. I was her babysitter, her servant, her scapegoat—not her daughter.
When I don’t reply, Esther asks, “You know he was trying to set us up?”
“Cash was?” He’s the only “he” that makes sense, but I had no idea Cash had ever taken an interest in my dating life, or lack thereof.
“Yup. He kept talking you up to me, saying I’d understand when I met you. And he was right.” Esther lets out a quiet laugh. “You were everything he said you were. Smart. Fierce. Stunning. Intimidating.”
I hum skeptically. “I highly doubt Cash used those words. He used to tease me that I was like a feral kitty cat when I was young. All hisses and claws, because I didn’t know what to do with kindness.
” A quiet laugh escapes me. “It pissed me off so much back then, but he wasn’t wrong.
” What I wouldn’t give to hear him say it again.
Esther’s laugh is stronger this time. “Yeah, that was my own interpretation, not a direct quote. He said—verbatim—that you have a way of looking into someone’s soul.
That you carry yourself with quiet confidence, and you’re one of the smartest people he’d ever met.
He loved how open and honest he could be with you.
How you take no bullshit from anyone, even if you rarely confront them directly on it.
That you wield silence and sarcasm like a weapon.
He was a little tipsy when he said that one.
” Esther giggles. “He showed me that picture of you two at your defense, and my jaw hit the damn floor. He made fun of me for it for weeks.”
“Oh, please stop. You’re way too sweet.” I laugh, burying my face further into her neck. If I had blood, I’d be blushing. As it is, the searing heat of Esther’s touch feels cool and placid, in comparison with the rush of my heart.
Fuck Dr. Lucy Monae. She was an utter fool for letting every opportunity slip by.
If I’d reached out to Cash sooner, what would he have told me about Esther?
What would our first meeting have been like, if it were facilitated by Cash and his teasing, instead of Gilda, with all three of us in the depths of mourning?
I frown. Knowing me, it would have gone much the same, only I would never have seen Esther again, because Cash would have been alive, and I’d still be an adjunct at the university.
“So, are we Tied because I’m the only one you cared for? Or because I was the only one to care for you?” Esther asks, adding, “Sorry, that’s the saddest question I’ve ever asked.”
I take a breath before answering, trying to catch the floral scent of her hair.
“I don’t know. I’ve wondered that too. I didn’t know you cared about me.
So I’d guess the former—you’re the only one I cared about.
” Hard as it is to admit, it’s true. Esther can have some vulnerability from me. She’s earned it.
“I always wondered how to talk to you,” Esther murmurs.
“I wanted to tell you how sorry I was that Cash died, but I wasn’t sure if it’d be appropriate.
That didn’t seem like the right thing to say when we’d never spoken before.
” She lets out a dry chuckle. “Then again, nothing I wanted to say to you seemed appropriate.”
Her teasing gets me to crack a smile. “I know exactly what you mean. I wanted to talk to you, too, but never knew how to start, because why would you want to talk to me?” I shake my head.
“Cash was the first person who really encouraged me. He made me go to therapy and got me a TA job. He had me submit my first lit reviews for publication, when I was still in undergrad. He wrote letters of recommendation for me to get into grad school. He helped more than any advisor should and never asked a single thing in return from me, other than just caring about myself enough to try. So it’s nice to know that you saw him the same way. ”
Esther hums. “He was great. He was the only one who treated me like a person when I started. Like, I get why Gilda insists everyone call me Dr. Voigt but…”
“Everyone else is on a first-name basis.”
“Right.” Esther takes in a breath and pauses before adding, “When you were alive, I used to have these dreams. It’d just be us on dates somewhere, like a picnic or something.
And I’d ask you all of these questions, and you would never answer.
I wanted to talk to you in real life so bad, but if you don’t even answer in my dreams, why would you talk to me in real life? ”
Surprised, I pull away from her neck. Her brow is furrowed, her blue eyes clouded.
Her dreams sound like mine, where she’d ask me things, and I’d just kiss her, because I didn’t see the point in telling her about myself, not when it was just my imagination asking.
Perhaps what I dreamt when I was alive is somehow connected to her memories?
How could she have been in my dreams?
This feels like our first call—like the impossible was merely improbable the whole time, and we’re on the precipice of discovery.
This time, I jump from the ledge with both feet. “The eggplant parm you made on our first date was amazing. I still think about it sometimes.”
Her thick eyebrows shoot up, but she simply asks, “Was our picnic on a cloud blanket?”
“In a field of purple glitter grass.”
“And the waterfall was all bubbles.”
“You called it a waterfloat because you have a thing for terrible puns.”
With a laugh, Esther leans up on her elbow. She must be trying to look at me out of instinct. “The whole time, we had the same dreams?”
With a shrug, I nod. “I didn’t think that was possible, but I didn’t think ghosts were real, either.
” I nestle back into her neck, perfectly positioned for me to cuddle under her and press my nose against her tattoo.
Somehow sharing dreams is harder to wrap my head around than being a ghost, but no escape from hard thoughts has ever been so lovely as the crux between Esther’s neck and shoulder.
Worth every moment of pain. “I’m sorry for not answering your questions.
I didn’t think anyone would care, not even the cute masc in my dreams making me dinner. ”