He gave a big sigh, his chest puffing out against his ratty hoodie, and I couldn’t help the tiny smile that crept onto my face. He is SO dramatic.

“You can change dreams, right?” he said.

“Yeah…”

He nodded, jaw clenching, refusing to make eye contact with me. When he didn’t say anything in response, I assumed he wanted me to keep going.

“I mean, it’s not as simple as just going in there and waving my magic wand,” I said, “but yeah, I can change things. It’s … awesome.”

I couldn’t help the grin that broke out and was surprised to see Damien’s expression mirror mine. His smile was … odd. All teeth, his lips tight, like he was imitating what he was seeing on my face, not actually smiling.

“It sounds awesome,” he said, and I blushed at his approval. “And I want to see it in action.”

“But if you don’t remember, then what’s the point?” I asked, my voice cracking unexpectedly on the thought. Damien, more perceptive than my doctors sometimes, noticed.

“What’s going through your head, Dorothy?”

The nickname and the intense amount of focus he was giving me just made me blush harder.

“Just…” I sighed. “I realized that maybe that’s what I’m doing with my dad.”

It was easier to admit than I would have thought. Sitting on a cold park bench, talking to this odd, sharp-edged man who didn’t seem to mind all that much that I’d dived into his head already, was asking me to do it again, and having him call me nicknames and look at me like he cared, felt like new, uncharted territory in a freeing way. Like I’d accessed some place between the real world and the dreamworld. It made it easier to be honest.

“What do you mean?”

“Avoiding him because I’m worried he’s not going to remember the time we spend together,” I said quietly. “Like … what’s the point if he’s going to forget? If he’s going to fade away.”

“The point is now,” he said, like it was obvious. Maybe it is to everyone else. “The point is for you guys to have those moments together, in the present.”

“Yeah.” I nodded like I understood.

“You’ll remember, Rose,” he said, and something in his voice made me turn to look at him. He had an intense look in his eyes—something like fear—as he talked. “Even if they forget, you’ll remember.”

“They…?”

“Never mind,” he muttered. “Point is, you should be spending time with your dad. If I had had parents who loved me the way yours clearly love you—”

He stopped himself, clamping his mouth tight like he was physically trying to keep the words from coming out.

“Is there something you want me to see in your dreams?” I asked abruptly, trying to put the pieces together.