Dream On(4)

“Oh, I’m real, honey,” says a deep voice.

My eyes pop open. The mover, Mr. Cat Daddy, is still staring at me, bushy eyebrows raised. “Dresser?” he asks.

My cheeks flame. “Upstairs bedroom. First door on the right.”

“Want me to take that up too?” He nods at my box.

I hug it tighter to my chest. “No, thanks.”

Shrugging one massive shoulder, Mr. Cat Daddy pulls the dolly up the cracked stone stairs leading to the century-old Ohio City Victorian that’s officially my new home. Just before he reaches the porch, he steals a wary glance at me over his shoulder. Irritation bursts through my nostalgia, burning away the last fragments of imagined memory like smoke.

“I’m not crazy,” I call after him.

“Whatever you say, lady.” He disappears through the front door.

With a huff, I march up the steps toward the house. The soles of my white Adidas thud against the porch as I stride over to the radio. Balancing the box on my hip, I switch the station. “I Got You, Babe” cuts out and a jaunty, bass-heavy pop song takes its place. I nod.

Much better. This is a day for new beginnings.

The cobalt-painted front door is already propped open and I step inside. But before I can climb the stairs to deposit the box in my bedroom, Brie strides into the foyer. My heart lightens automatically. Ever since I met Brie on the first day of seventh grade and we swapped lunches—her nanny-prepared ham and Gruyère for my generic PB and J—we’ve been best friends. Now we’re twenty-six, and we’re finally, finally moving in together now that I’ve more-or-less fully recovered from the accident and her last roommate moved out.

Her gold glasses sparkle, highlighting her light brown eyes. “Cass, there you are! Can you please tell your mother to chill out? Marcus stopped by a few minutes ago to drop off your key, and she’s been haranguing him ever since. For a landlord, he has the patience of a saint, but I can practically see him contemplating tearing up our lease.”

An ear-splitting squawk steals my attention, and I register the African gray parrot perched on Brie’s shoulder. I take a hasty step back out of habit. “I didn’t know Xerxes was here. I thought you said he was living with your parents.”

Xerxes rustles his gray wings and edges sideways along Brie’s shoulder, long red tail feathers twitching. “Squawk! Damn it, Char. Damn it, Char. Screw you, Bill. Screw you. Screw you. Squaaaawk!”

She winces. “He was.” Reaching into the front pocket of her vintage overalls, she pulls out a sunflower seed. Xerxes nibbles it gently. “I liberated him last month. I told you, remember?”

“I—” I swallow hard. Did she tell me? I can’t remember. Before the accident, my memory was airtight. I could rattle off case law like LexisNexis and recite my grocery list by heart. Now, if I don’t write something down—tasks, appointments, reminders, names—it poofs out of my head like a cloud of steam wafting from a hot shower. I blame Devin. Maybe if he wasn’t taking up space where he doesn’t belong, my brain could function normally again.

I shove my short-term memory issues out of my mind before my stomach twists itself into knots.

“You know what?” Brie smacks her forehead, her voice overly bright. “I didn’t tell you. I was going to, then some work stuff came up and it slipped my mind. I’m so sorry, that’s my bad.” She shifts her weight from one sneakered foot to the other.

I sigh. “You definitely told me, didn’t you?”

She opens her mouth then freezes, her eyes flicking left and right. Brie’s never been a good liar.

“Pi,” I invoke.

When we were twelve, we made a pinky promise to always tell each other the truth. “But how do I know if you really want to know the truth?” Brie had asked. “Like sometimes my mom asks my dad how she looks, and even if she looks ‘meh’ she wants him to tell her she looks good.”

“What about a code word?” I had suggested.

“Yes! How about ‘pi’?”

“Like, apple or blueberry? Oooh I love blueberry pie. Or is it short for ‘pinky promise?’?”

“I was thinking more like the circumference of a circle divided by its diameter. Pi is always 3.14. It’s constant. You can’t change it—just like you can’t change the truth.” Brie’s always been brilliant, with a head for math. No wonder she grew up to be a literal rocket scientist.

“That’s perfect,” I’d said. “So if one of us says ‘pi,’ the other one has to tell the truth, no matter what?”

No matter what.

Brie’s shoulders slump and Xerxes flaps his wings in indignation at being jostled. “I told you about Xerxes.”

“More than once?”

Grimacing, she nods.

“Most recently?”

“Last week.”

I blow out a long breath. “Damn it.”

“If you’re not okay with Xerxes being here, I can take him back. I know you two have had your… differences.”

I snort. “Pi.”

“Okay. He hates your guts and would love to peck out your liver while you sleep.”

“Damn, Brie. I didn’t know he hated me that much!”

“Oh, it’s bad.”