Page 80 of See You in Your Dreams

Her eyes take on a distant cast. “My own parents were furious when I didn’t pursue arespectablecareer with it. But I was always interested in the occult, so here we are.” She takes another sip of tea, shrugging. “I may not be a licensed therapist, but sometimes I’m the next best thing, offering people the light they need to guide themselves out of the darkness.”

It wasn’t that far off from how Dylan had described my own power. Thinking of my attempt to help Greta, I suppose I can understand why my aunt does what she does, even if there’s no actual magic involved.

Then, I recall the Greta from my nightmare last night, along with everything else that had followed. That’s what this conversation has been leading up to. It’s time I force those fears out into the light once and for all.

“There’s something else I need to tell you.” My voice drops to a mumble, a desperate desire to be anywhere else but here filling me.

Exhaling, I picture Dylan’s smiling face.I just need to get through this. Then, regardless of how it goes, I can see him again.

The thought bolsters my resolve and, voice cracking, I tell my aunt the rest. About how I’d shared my gift with my parents. About how the dreams had gone dark when Dad got sick. About the aftermath once he passed, the recurring nightmares that plagued Mom and me no matter my best efforts to suppressthem. And about that final dream we’d shared that had bled into my waking nightmare of coming home to discover her lifeless corpse.

“D-do you b-blame me?” My voice trembles while fresh tears streak my cheeks. Fear and anguish war in my breast. “For w-what happened?”

My aunt had paled while I relayed my story, but at that, her nostrils flare. “Of course not! Why on Earth would you think that?”

“B-because I k-killed her,” I whisper.

Her chair scraps against the tile as she surges to her feet. My eyes snap up to her, widening at her indignant expression. “Now you listen to me, Ash Ellington! What happened with your mom was a horrible tragedy, but none of it, not a lick, was your fault.”

“But—”

She raises a finger to silence me, and I cut off. “Hannah struggled with depression her whole life. Things were better for a time after she met Greg and had you, but those feelings never fully went away. She was on medication, but she never liked it—claimed it made her feel numb. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if she’d stopped at some point after your father’s death.”

Guilt warps her face. “I…I tried to convince her to seek help after Greg passed, for your sake if not her own, but she refused. We had a huge fight over it. That was the last time we spoke before…well, you know.”

My mind reels as I struggle to reconcile this new information. I could remember Mom sometimes seeming down or going quiet growing up, but I’d never given it much thought. Dad would always just say she was ‘in one of her moods.’ Had she really been struggling all along?

“Y-you stayed away,” I say, swallowing. “After Mom died, you hardly even approached me at the funeral, and you never oncereached out to me in the years since. Why did you stay away if you didn’t blame me?”

Tears stand out in her eyes. Her bottom lip trembles as she hesitantly steps around the table. “I didn’t stay away because I blamedyou, Ash. I stayed away because I blamedmyself.I should have done more to help her after our fight. I never should’ve left her alone so long when I knew something was wrong. But I was stubborn. And the way you avoided me at the funeral…well, I thought you might’ve blamed me, too.”

My memories of that awful day are vague. I know there’d been a packed service, lots of speeches and flowers and tears. But most of what I remember is the dull anger and fear burning inside me—the hate I’d harbored for myself ever since Mom’s death that I didn’t have the first clue how to process.

Until I met Dylan.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I seize the opportunity for a distraction. Checking it, I discover a text from Dylan and type out a quick response.

“You want to get something to eat before my appointment?” Aunt Claudette asks hesitantly, still standing in the middle of the kitchen. “We could go to the diner…talk some more?”

The impulse to flee from the heavy emotions suffocating the room propels me toward the door. “Sorry, can’t. I’m going to go meet up with Dylan.”

I reach the doorway, hesitating. Then, I spin and swoop into my aunt’s surprised arms, hugging her for the first time since…well, probably since I was a boy. “How about a rain check—maybe tomorrow instead?”

She squeezes me tight before letting go and stepping back, wearing a soft smile. “I’d like that very much. You boys be safe!” she calls after me as I tug on my coat and head outside past the tinkling windchimes and the watchful gnomes. “And say hi to Dylan for me!”

I meet Dylan at the diner where his mom works, though I don’t see her currently on shift. It’s my first time there, and the place seems cool enough—a somewhat dinged-up snapshot straight out of an old 80’s movie.

Spying Dylan’s familiar brown mop of hair facing away from me, I slide into the booth beside him. “Hi there, stranger. Long time, no see.”

His face lights up like I’ve given him the world when all I have to offer is me. Still, it seems to be enough, his lips pressing gently against mine. I return the kiss, one hand exploring his thigh while the other rests on his cheek. We pull apart several heartbeats later, and he fixes me with a grin.

“You know, most people sit on the opposite side of the booth.”

I feign surprise. “Ridiculous!” I drape an arm over his shoulder, tugging him snug against my side. “Then how would we manage to snuggle?”

He squirms to free himself, and I settle for holding his hand instead. “I think most couples save the cuddling for after they leave the restaurant.”

“Well, thenmost couplesare doing it wrong.”