Chapter 3 Seize the Daydream #2
I lift a container from the top shelf. On an orange sticky note, in the slanted cursive I haven’t used for years, are the words: Thursday Mac and Cheese. Briefly, I wonder what the food-poisoning rules are in dreamland. Better not to risk my luck.
“Aren’t you supposed to work today?” Penn asks. “What time are you going in?”
“No clue,” I chirp as I meander into a walk-in pantry. The shelves are packed with clear bins full of snacks: Fruit Roll-Ups, Goldfish, popcorn, trail mix. “Ohmygod,” I whisper. “Frosted animal crackers.”
Elated, I carry the bin to kitchen island number two and dig into my favorite childhood treat, relishing the salty-sweet crunch I haven’t tasted in years.
Penn stares, dumbfounded. “Is that your breakfast?”
“Sure is,” I say through a mouthful of sugar. “Why not?”
The coffee maker in the corner beeps, and I pump my fist. Shout-out to Dream Me for putting on the timer. I wonder if Dream Coffee will taste even better.
Penn and I move toward the coffee maker in tandem, but he beats me there, pressing into me to box me out while he rifles through one of the cupboards.
It’s familiar choreography.
Growing up, Penn all but lived at our house, like an overeager neighbor in a nineties sitcom.
He was raised by his mom, and since Diane worked odd, early-morning hours as a local newscaster, Penn stayed home with his grandmother.
By fourth grade, though, he was taking care of Nanna more than the other way around, and she passed a few years later.
After that, Mom stocked Penn’s favorite foods in the pantry, and Dad gave him a key to our house.
As Penn combs through the quirky cup collection, I spy the Cubs mug Mom used every morning, plus a silly one Ryan bought Dad for Christmas when we were in elementary school.
Penn chooses the latter and blocks me from grabbing my own.
I let out a loud, pointed harrumph that he pretends not to hear while he pours himself a cup, acting like he owns the place.
When he’s done, Penn leans against the counter and watches me. Not even the hot-pink Caffeine Queen mug can hide his stupid grin as he says, “If I stay here, do we get to wear matching pajamas? I think I’d look great in purple silk.”
I pretend to gag myself, and he laughs.
“C’mon,” Penn jeers. “It’ll only be a few weeks. Three, four max. And I’ll be a great roommate. Promise. I’ll take out the trash. Wash the dishes. I’ll even bring that tie-dye Jeep to the car wash for you, and I’ll help you at work. Liven up the place.”
I freeze, mug halfway to my mouth, sure I’ve heard him wrong. “Tie-dye Jeep?”
“Don’t give me that look. This is a good deal. I know a thing or two about managing a restaurant from running Curly’s, and I have ideas for your little roller-rink restaurant. We can—”
My laugh bursts out of me like a popped balloon. “Oh my God.” I put down my coffee, pleasantly dizzy as another layer of understanding settles over me. “A roller-rink restaurant?”
Penn shrugs. “Roller disco. Rink-slash-diner. Whatever you call it.”
A tie-dye Jeep.
A roller-rink restaurant.
This mansion.
Something tells me if I look around, I’ll find two pools and thirteen pet fish.
“It’s the game,” I exclaim to the wildly lifelike Penn vision in front of me. “That’s what this is. That’s why you’re here. I’m dreaming about the MASH game.”
Penn all but slams his mug on the counter. “Jesus Christ, Ruby. Not this again.”
He steps closer. His eyes bounce between mine as he puts two fingers to my chin, shifting it from side to side while he examines my face. The sensation of his warm skin touching mine is remarkably lifelike.
My pulse quickens. I whack his arm away.
“How much did you drink last night, birthday girl? Are you still drunk?” Penn asks. “Are you ill?”
I nod. “In many ways, yes, I assume so.”
I look around, tickled by my brain’s creativity, and it hits me: I can do anything here. Say anything. It doesn’t matter. I’m just swimming around in whatever freaky brain space brought that old MASH game to life—some hazy realm fueled by tequila and who knows what else.
I unwrap the itchy scarf from around my neck and toss it aside.
Penn’s gaze drops. He goes scarlet.
I grin. It’s fun messing with Dream Penn.
I have no reason to care what he thinks of me here. I don’t need to feel embarrassed by my lingerie loungewear.
None of this is real.
Once, I dreamt I was crying and woke up with tears running down my cheeks. Maybe this is like that, all my senses functioning while I sleep. Soon I’ll wake up and snap out of this. In the meantime, I can’t let the tall, bewildered hallucination in front of me ruin all the fun.
I pour myself more coffee, filling my mug to the brim. Usually, I’m careful about how much caffeine I consume, jittery after one serving, but I can chug the entire pot if I want to.
Actually, that’s exactly what I’ll do.
Better seize the daydream, as they say.