Page 8 of In Somnis

“There,” I mutter, satisfied. “Emergency burger sauce.”

When it’s done, I spoon the concoction onto my patty, spread it with the back of the knife, and take a huge bite. “Much better.” I hum around the mouthful.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him lifting the top of his bun, and when I turn to look, he’s already watching me, one brow raised.

I grin. “You want some too?”

Taking what’s left of the sauce, I spread it onto his burger with a flourish. He takes a bite, and at first, his expression doesn’t move, but then he gives the smallest nod of approval.

I smile to myself, feeling warm in a way I haven’t in days. It’s a small thing, but my heart does something complicated about it anyway. This is what I do when I don’t know what else to do.

When my dad died, I baked for a week straight. The freezer was full, the neighbors were fed, and I made myself hate muffins for an entire month. Then, when my mom got sick, I cooked everything she ever loved, even if she couldn’t.

Feeding people is the only language I’ve ever spoken fluently. It never fixes anything, but it gives my hands somewhere to go.

So, yeah, it’s still not a great burger—not even close—but it’s better now.

I wipe my fingers on a napkin. “You’re probably still wondering about the whole ‘dream’ thing.”

He doesn’t confirm or deny. He keeps chewing, and the talking keeps me upright.

“My mom died a week ago.” His eyes flick to mine, a softness crossing his face, and I nod. “Thanks. She was the best mom, and I miss her a lot. That voicemail you heard? That happened at her funeral. And that night, after I listened to it about five times in a row like a masochist, I fell asleep on my couch and had this… I don’t know what to call it. A nightmare that turned into the opposite.”

I take another bite, chewing while I figure out how to explain this without sounding completely unhinged.

Or more unhinged.

“I’ve been having the same nightmare for months now. Nothing special, really. Mostly darkness, headlights, running toward my parents, but never reaching them. Except this time, my shitty ex and my former friends showed up, too, laughing at me.” I swallow hard. “Probably because of that damn voicemail. But then Tessa appeared and just… pulled me out of it. Saved me from the nightmare by pulling me into a new dream. We ended up in our old dorm room at culinary school, she made me tea, and we talked.”

He’s watching me now, actually watching, not just side-eyeing.

Most of the time, when people really look at me when I’m talking this much, it means I’ve crossed the line from charming to exhausting. But he keeps listening, even if I don’t know how to explain what it felt like to be in that dream. How it wasn’t fuzzy the way dreams usually are.

I know what dreams with her feel like. I’ve had them for twelve years, little scraps of Tessa, more or less hazy, sweet, but mostly hollow when I wake.

This wasn’t that. This was more.

She wants me to come find her.

“She told me I wasn’t alone. That I still had her, and that I could come to her.” My voice drops. “We haven’t seen each other in over a decade, but I dream about Tessa sometimes. Have for years. And I never realize I’m dreaming when I talk to her, only right before I wake up. But this time?” I shake my head. “This time it felt real, more real than real. Like she was actually there, telling me to come find her.”

The waitress drifts over with a water pitcher to refill our glasses. “How’s everything tasting?”

“Perfect,” I say automatically, even though my burger is definitely not. “Thank you.”

She nods and disappears again.

“Anyway.” I talk around another bite while digging my phone from my purse. “I have to figure out where I’m actually sleeping tonight.” I scroll with my still clean thumb. “There’s this apartment building in Vernonia… that’s the town where Tessa lives, but it’s a minimum three-month lease. And honestly? I don’t even know if I want to stay three days. I might wake up tomorrow and decide to drive straight back to Boston. Then what? I’m stuck paying rent on a place I won’t be living in. But every hotel and Airbnb is booked solid for at least another month, and the only other option is buying a house, which is…” I laugh, “… even more of a commitment than I’m ready for.”

He chews slowly, eyes fixed on his plate now. If he’s annoyed with my chatter, I can’t tell.

“I mean, I sold my house, so I have some money. That’s not the problem.” I take another bite before continuing to talk through my conundrum. “It’s just… okay, so I was supposed to move in with my boy—” I catch myself. “Ex-boyfriend. Right. Ex. Anyway, his place was tiny, so I put everything in a storage unit. Like, everything. My furniture, my kitchen stuff, boxes of books, all my lemon-themed décor he hated, and clothes. God, so many clothes.” I gesture vaguely with the half-eaten burger. “I was supposed to show up at his apartment with two suitcases of essentials and slowly move my life in over time, you know? Compromise.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “But now, I literally have those two suitcases. And if I rent this unfurnished apartment, I’d have to buy forks, pans, a bed, furniture… all of it. Who does that for a place they might leave in a few weeks? My stuff is three thousand miles away, and I don’t even know if I’m staying here long enough to justify shipping it across the country.”

The glow of my phone screen lights my fingers as I scroll again. “So yeah, my options are to either rent this place for three months and live in an empty apartment, buy a house, or… not sleep anywhere.”

Sleep. God, I need sleep.