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Chapter SIX

In my dream, I'm sitting at the table in my kitchen when my mom walks in. Her hair is loose on her shoulders, shining in the morning sun. She goes to the sink to put water in the tea kettle like it's the most normal thing in the world.

"You're alive!" I say, and leap out of my chair to give her a hug. She's solid and strong, like always, and her arms lock me close. I feel her kiss my hair.

"I came to see you," she says. "Are you okay?"

I think about telling her all the things that have gone wrong, but I don't know where to start and it feels so good to hug her. "How long do you get to stay?"

"I'll make you breakfast, how's that?" She pulls back and looks at me, and her eyes are a much better blue than mine. They remind me of somebody, and I can't remember who.

She clatters around my kitchen, which miraculously has everything she needs-eggs and a waffle maker and bacon and milk. "I think you need to find your dad," she says.

"I have a dad," I say. "Henry. You always tell me that."

"Your other dad."

I just look at her, unsure what to think.

"You're lonely." She glances at me. "Aren't you?"

I don't have to nod. In these dreams she always knows everything.

Then breakfast magically appears in front of me, golden waffles smelling of vanilla, and a scrambled egg and three strips of meaty bacon. I gobble it all down, so hungry I forget that my mom is there to see me. When I finish, finally full, I look up and she's gone.

Then I'm falling. Falling a long, long way, back into my bed. I wake up, tangled in the covers. A breeze is blowing in through the small windows over the bed, and it brings the sound of birds in the branches of the tree outside. I lie on my side, head aching a little from the blows and all my stupid crying the night before, and stare at the other window, where a row of coleus and wandering Jew cuttings are lined up in small crystal bottles I've found at garage sales and Goodwill. Henry keeps his eyes open for them now, too. Light breaks through them into shards, making shapes on the ceiling and walls.

Mom.

My heart is hollow with missing her, with the sense of her arms around me. In the quiet morning the pain is too deep for tears. I feel lost and alone. My body feels bruised and battered.

I wish my mother really was here.

I get these dreams a lot, where she comes to visit for a little while. She always hugs me. She always cooks for me. She often says that I shouldn't worry about her, that we all live forever and we'll be together again.

I had psychology my senior year, and I know what the dreams mean. My subconscious is trying to comfort me, and it's not a big surprise I have the dreams when I've had a bad day. But I also like to think they're real in a way, that she really is coming to see me.

After a while my bladder is screaming. I pad through the house in my t-shirt and underwear, getting a pang when I pass the spot where my mom stood to cook for me. I also wish I had a fridge full of bacon and waffles and eggs. There might be a yogurt and some milk in there if I'm lucky. I will have to spend some of my minuscule pile of cash on some groceries. As I pee and brush my teeth, I try to think of the best way to maximize the amount. Ramen noodles. Somebody always has ten for a dollar. A box of powdered milk for my tea. Eggs from somewhere.

It's going to hurt to miss that meal from Billy's every work day.

I make a cup of tea, trying not to think about Rick or the fact that there are no messages on my phone. I don't have time to worry about him, anyway. I have to get to the library and grab a computer before the rush starts, find out who might need waitresses. There are places I'd like to work that go on my mental list, and I'll see what else there is.