Page 84 of Ex Somnis

Shit.

She’s got all of us completely insane.

“See, baby boy agrees.” Ridge turns back to Paul. “I think I figured my shit out. Now you have to work on yours.”

“And how did that suddenly happen?” Paul scoffs.

“There are a lot of things that can happen in dreams.” Ridge grins, and Paul gives him a look that communicates volumes without using any of them. “Oh, get your mind out of the gutter, Dr. Bennett. I’m talking about stuff like tarot readings.”

That makes Jasper perk up.

Ridge slightly leans back in his chair, pointing the lollipop at him. “I accidentally ended up in one of your dreams once, little Shaw.”

Jasper’s eyes go huge. “You were?”

“Mm-hmm.” Ridge looks weirdly amused by this. “Do you like pickles?”

“What?”

“Pickles,” Ridge repeats. “Big fan?”

“Um.” Jasper glances at me briefly, like maybe I can explain literally any part of this conversation. “Yeah? I love pickles. What does that have to do with dreams?”

Ridge snorts softly. “You dream about pickles.”

Jasper frowns, looking offended. “No, I don’t.”

“Oh, you absolutely do.”

“I don’t dream at all.”

“Everybody dreams.” Paul leans back against the tree with the swings, crossing his arms.

“I know everybody dreams,” Jasper says, sounding annoyed now. “I just can’t remember them. Ever. Doesn’t matter what I do.” He gestures vaguely toward the mountain of crystals around him. “Tea, meditation, mugwort, affirmations, frequencies, whatever book tells me will unlock my subconscious. Nothing works.”

Ridge’s amusement fades slightly.

“That’s literally the only reason I got into astrology and tarot instead,” Jasper continues. “I always wanted to learn dream stuff because…” His voice catches, and he glances at me again. “Because it was Mom’s thing.”

Ah, shit.

“But no matter how hard I try, I can’t fucking remember any of them.”

“That’s weird,” Ridge says slowly. “Because your dreams are vivid as hell. You should at least⁠—”

The gate creaks again. We all turn to look and find Mabel coming through first with her hand on Seraphine’s elbow. My mother is wearing a long green cardigan, and her eyes are on the garden rather than the ground, which is sometimes a good sign and sometimes isn’t. I’ve been reading it for long enough that I can usually tell, but not always. Not today.

“I know her,” Ridge says quietly.

“Yeah,” I say. “Small town. That’s my mom.”

“No. I mean, I know her from a dream.” He glances at Jasper. “She was in yours.”

“People dream about their parents,” Paul mutters, visibly still thinking through what Ridge pushed at him earlier.

“No, not a dream projection. Her. She kicked me out of the dream. With considerable force.”

Before Jasper can answer, Seraphine looks up from the garden path and sees us, her gaze moving from me to him.