Page 193 of Ex Somnis

The big white dish of mashed potatoes I pushed through the ricer twice so there isn’t a single lump anywhere in them, glossy with brown butter I babied until it smelled like hazelnuts. There’s a pan of ground beef, cooked evenly and broken down small, plain buttered noodles, and fries I cut by hand so every single one is the same width and golden color, because a surprise in your mouth is the whole problem, and I will not be the surprise.

Everything else I made loud on purpose. Roasted tomatoes, charred broccolini with too much garlic. A salad so bright it looks like it’s showing off. A jug of pan sauce I’ll pour over my beef and Ridge’s and Nevan’s, and a bowl of chili crisp that Nevan has already moved three inches closer to his plate like he’s planning something.

The point is for the safe food not to look like the accommodation. It looks like the heart of the meal, while the bright stuff looks like the extra, so Paul doesn’t feel like a man being handled.

He won’t say if it worked. He’ll just eat, and that’s how I’ll know.

“Sit, Lemon.” Nevan pulls the chair out next to him with his foot. “You’ve been vertical for nine hours. I counted.”

“You did not count.”

“I counted some of it.”

I sit, and my knees do the thing where they realize how long they’ve been working only once I stop using them. I have to press my palm flat to the table to feel something solid.

Tomorrow is the blue moon.

I don’t say it, but it sits at our table like a fifth dinner guest. An unwanted tagalong.

Ridge wheels in close to the table across from me, and my gaze finds his mouth for the hundredth time today.

That mouth is why I didn’t sleep right or slept too right.

Ridge catches me looking because of course, he does, as he puts a fry in his mouth. “The dinner is amazing, Chef. But I’m still thinking about the one you made me yesterday. You know I⁠—”

“Eat your dinner, Ridge,” Paul cuts him off, making Nevan chuckle and my cheeks heat.

God, it was so good.

Afterward, I curled into his side, meaning to stay awake, waiting for the others so we could all go to sleep together, but instead, I dropped straight down into a dream where I wasn’t lucid at all.

Wasted. That’s the word that’s been chewing on me since I woke up. We were supposed to practice. We were supposed to dream together, wearing Tessa’s face, and work out any issues before it counts. Instead, I probably dreamed something soft and stupid about flying muffins, while Ridge dreamed whatever Ridge dreams, and we surfaced this morning too well rested to try to go lucid in daylight.

So, we spent the whole day with Tessa.

Not the real one or the dream version. Pictures of Tessa. We printed out all the pictures I had of her and then sat, learning her like a part in a movie with how she stands with her weight on one hip and the gap between her front teeth she hates, and I love.

You have to know a face all the way down to wear it. That’s the whole plan, basically. Go in looking like her and reach her in the noise.

I felt good about the plan today, but now, sitting at a table with the men I love and the blue moon waiting, everything I have to lose starts to fill the spaces between us.

There is no guarantee we will all make it back here to do this again.

“Sometimes, we have to sacrifice ourselves for the people we love.”

Seraphine’s voice echoes in my mind, making me shudder.

“Jesus,” Paul murmurs, bringing my attention back to the table. He’s looking at a forkful of potatoes with an expression I can’t quite place.

“You don’t have to eat them if they’r⁠—”

“They’re perfect,” he says, cutting me off. His almost watery gaze finds mine as he eats the bite, and his shoulders come down half an inch. “Thank you.”

“There’s more if you want.”

“Of course, there’s more.” Nevan chuckles from beside me. “There’s always more when you cook, which I, for my part, appreciate the heck out of.” He loads his plate with a mountain of mashed potatoes, a fistful of fries, and then drowns all of it in chili crisp like he’s recreating a crime scene.

The contrast is so dumb and so on purpose that Paul actually huffs out something close to a laugh.