This water wants to kill me.
I stopped having it when Jackson and I were together. That summer, I had three months of pure, uninterrupted sleep.
Sleep in which my only dreams were of his strong arms around me, his full lips tracing lines along my ribs, inhaling my scent, making the tiny hairs on my body rise. His mouth would close in a pucker over my straining nipple, and with a gentle tug, a flash of heat would register straight to my core. I would wake up so wet for him, I’d slide my hand between my thighs for
relief.
Those dreams were luscious and decadent and wickedly sinful.
Those dreams were my life.
He left, and the nightmare returned.
To this day, every few months for no clear reason, I’m panicked out of a deep sleep by the force of rushing water. I wake up only to find I’m in my bed, in a wide-open space, completely dry.
* * *
It’s early Sunday morning, and my small oven blasts heat in my face when I pull open the door to slide the cupcake tin inside. Every fan in my non-air-conditioned apartment is on high, but still a bead of sweat traces down my neck. I’ll have to shower before I dress for church.
I’ve been up since six working on Coco’s purple monster number three. I started by mixing yellow cake with blueberries and the slightest pinch of cayenne pepper for the monster bite. I’ve made a deep purple buttercream frosting by mixing confectioner’s sugar with red and blue food coloring.
I try to imagine what it would be like if she were here right now. She’d love adding the colors and watching it all slowly thicken and turn purple… I can’t wait for those days to come.
When my aunt died and left me this place, I’d gotten to work renovating what was once attic storage as fast as my budget and time would allow. The upstairs had been in worse shape than the downstairs, but after nine months of elbow grease, it’s a clean, partially painted, partially furnished enormous studio apartment.
Honestly, it looks a lot like my “store” downstairs.
“I’ll have things to sell, Betty Pepper, don’t you worry.” I twist my long, heavy hair onto my head and shove a pencil in to hold it.
In the late summer, it can be hot as blazes up here, even with all the fans blasting. Still, it’s only truly unbearable for about a month. Then, with the French doors open across the front balcony and the small windows open in the back, I catch the sea breeze, and every night I fall asleep to the sounds of the surf crashing just a few miles away.
Coco can spend the night here once it cools off, since I have a radiator for heat in the winter. It’s just during these summer days she does better staying in my old room…
Pictures of us together mixed with her preschool drawings are pinned all over the walls. My favorite is a framed one of the two of us on a swing, our long hair blowing back in the breeze. Her brown eyes look so much like mine…
“You’ll be here with Mommy soon,” I say, tracing my finger down her chubby cheek. “Just a few more weeks.”
A glance at the clock sends me hopping. I dash to my small bathroom area and take as cool of a shower as I can stand.
Church starts at nine, and the days of me sleeping in, blowing off that weekly ritual are gone—it’s one of the conditions of my mother keeping Coco in a plush, air-conditioned home and paying for her preschool.
Even more motivation to work faster. I step out, wrapping an old white towel around my body. My phone buzzes, and I scoop it up quickly when I see the name on the screen.
“If Sunday is the day of rest, why does church start so damn early?” Tabby is not a morning person.
“I’ve been up since six.” I turn to the side in front of a full-length mirror in an antique picture frame leaning against the wall.
“You have a sickness.”
“I’m admiring my tattoo,” I say, getting closer to the glass and tracing my finger over the colorful blue-green mermaid scales on my hip.
“Has Marjorie seen it?”
“Of course not.” Tapping my finger on the speaker button, I put the phone on my dresser and grab my thong. “Does this mean you’re coming to church today?”
A loud groan fills my room. “It’s my ten percent agreement with Uncle Bob.”
“Explain to me how that works again.” Throwing a blue rayon sundress over my head, I grab the phone and dash to the kitchen.