“It’s this thing we have… it’s like a game. If you could have one super power would you want to be able to fly or to be invisible?”
“Fly,” I answer without hesitation.
“Exactly. Marcus and I said the same thing. Only he knows how I feel about relationships and commitment, and god help us marriage.”
Shaking my head, I hold her hand. “Not good?”
“Horrible.”
“I don’t think it’s so bad.” And I have no idea why we’re still whispering.
“It’s because I’m completely fucked up in the head.”
“No you’re not!” My voice returns to normal volume, and we both look around the room.
We’re alone, and Amy proceeds in a regular tone of voice as well. “I kind of am. I always get this irresistible urge to run whenever things get too serious. You probably can’t understand that at all.”
I shake my head no. “I’ve only ever dreamed of finding my soul mate, getting married, and having a family.” Looking at my hands in my lap, I suddenly feel very simple and unsophisticated. “I guess that makes me sound stupid.”
“It does not. It means you’re wonderful, and my big brother’s incredibly lucky to have found you.”
I smile and reach for her hand. “Marcus is lucky, too. You love him. You can do this!”
Her eyes drop and she rubs her stomach. “I just wish I didn’t feel so panicky. Sometimes I can’t breathe thinking about it…”
My mind drifts to Stuart and all the words he’s left unspoken between us. All the things I know he’s not saying. “You should tell him that. Even if you have to tell him you need more time, you should tell him why. He’ll love you for it.”
She smiles as if I’ve told her something she couldn’t figure out on her own. Then she points to my cup. “Aren’t you going to do yours?”
Shrugging, I touch the rim of my cup. “I hardly ever do my own.”
“Do it! Maybe it’ll tell you if you’re going to have a boy or a girl!”
I give her a little grin and take the other saucer, placing it on top of my cup. Then I flip it over and cup my hands around the upside down demitasse giving it a few rubs before lifting it.
What do you have for me universe? I clear my head and look at the mess of grounds a few moments. As I expected, nothing comes. We wait a few moments, and Amy watches me.
“See? It doesn’t work on me.” I wrinkle my nose and look away.
“Well, it worked for me.” She stands and takes her cup and saucer to the sink along with the coffee press. I stay at the table, listening to her clean the items, and my eyes go back to the grainy heap on my saucer.
In a flash, I see the blinding whiteness. The cold metal is all around me, and I can’t move. I’m restrained on a bed, and the bizarre rhymes echo in the background. The voices have stilled. They’ve gone quiet, but figures in white gowns move like zombies. They walk all around, but I can’t move. I can’t get up. I can’t breathe as panic starts to rise, as I start to scream. A bright silver tray appears, coming closer, coming over me. I blink, and I see a face…
“Oh, god!” I gasp, pushing against the table and jumping out of my seat.
“Mariska!” Amy races to me, clutching my hand and trying to hug me. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
I can’t stop looking at the grounds. My insides are jumping and panicky, and I’m afraid I might vomit. My whole body cramps, and I bend forward, holding my stomach. “Get them away,” I say frantically, pushing at the saucer. “Wash them away!”
“What?” Amy looks around, and her eyes land on the saucer. In one
quick move, she takes it off the table and to the sink, washing it hard and scrubbing it with the dish brush.
I’m holding the table so tightly my knuckles are white. My brain spins with the nightmares, the course of events, and the increasing frequency. I don’t have my dream journal. I didn’t write them down, and now I can’t remember all the details. I have to remember them. I have to know why.
Holding my stomach, I stagger into the living room and lie down on the couch. All I can see over and over is the face reflected in the silver tray—the ratted hair and sunken features, the expressionless eyes. It was my face.
13