Your mother stood in front of you, trademark glass of champagne in one hands and struggling cat in the other. Her smile oozed sympathy. One problem that you’d always had with her was that she was never hiding her thoughts; they translated directly on her face. “How’re you doing, baby?”
“Fine.”
She gave you a look. “Really? Rosie sweetie, you’re scared. It’s on your skin.”
“That’s inane. I’m not.”
That earned her another look.
“Sweetpea, I’m just a dream version of how you saw me. Still banging, btw. But anyway, the point is, I can only say shit that you’ve already thought about before. Or I guess stuff you’ve thought about me thinking about? Idk. Dreams’re so crazy.”
You’ve never had a headache in a dream before, but you were feeling the beginnings of one now. “Great. So what you think I’m thinking about you thinking?”
She tapped her chin with a finger. “You’re scared of things you don’t know. Or can’t know. The unknowable terrifies you. And that p much sucks, cuz at this point you don’t even know yourself. You’re a mess.”
You fumed. That wasn’t true. What you said next wasn’t true either.
Your mother’s smile became sad. “Well, I love you, baby. Always have and always will. To the moon and back!” The cat mewled in desperation.
You withdrew from her, and woke up right on time. Which is to say, three in the