Page 67 of Ex Somnis

She stares at me.

Tessa.

My person.

Twelve years.

Twelve-fucking-years.

She doesn’t let go of my hands, but I let go of hers anyway, because if I don’t do this now, I won’t. I turn toward my mother, and it hits all over again. Not the realization that she isn’t real. I already know that.

It’s worse than that.

It’s that my brain knows she isn’t real, and my heart doesn’t care.

She’s standing there in her soft cream cardigan, her hands folded, her hair sitting wrong in the same familiar way. Her eyes are warm, tired, and loving.

My chest caves inward.

God, I miss her.

I miss her so much.

“Mom.” My eyes fill with tears. “Can I have a hug really quick?”

Her whole face softens.

“Of course.” She opens her arms, and I go.

She’s warm and smells like her. My arms lock around her so tightly it almost hurts, and I press my face into her shoulder as tears spill hard and sudden down my cheeks. This is not my mother, but it is built from every memory of her still living inside me, and it’s still the best hug I’ve had in weeks.

A small broken sound leaves me before I can stop it.

I breathe her in desperately.

One more time.

One last time.

“Why quick?” she asks softly while her hand moves through my hair.

I close my eyes and take a shuddering inhale.

“Because I’m going to wake up now.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Lennon

I wake up in my bed.

For one perfect second, relief hits so hard it almost hurts.

Real sheets.

Real ceiling.

Real apartment.