“Yeah, it does. But, I don’t know, I guess I’m used to being lonely,” he said. “Just being what we are—being Atypical—it’s … it’s kind of lonely.”

“I know what you mean,” I said. “I think that’s why … I mean, I thought that the dreamworld was it, you know? I thought that that was what I was supposed to be doing. After all, why have this ability if I don’t use it? Being this way has to have some, I don’t know, some meaning.”

“I don’t think we have these abilities for any reason other than random genetic chance,” he said, biting into another Twizzler.

“Yeah, I know, I know. But still—it felt like the right thing. It felt like that’s where the answers were.”

“I get that,” he said. “I mean, I can read people’s minds, I thought that was the answer to everything for a while.”

“But doesn’t it help you connect?” I asked. “I mean, despite the loneliness, surely it makes things make sense. Makes people make sense.”

“Yeah, I guess sometimes it can,” he said. “But people think a lot of stuff that they don’t mean. That they don’t believe. And people sure as hell dream that stuff. It’s about your actions. At the end of the day, that’s what matters.”

“I guess.”

“That’s what makes you different from Damien, Rosie,” he said, that faraway look on his face.

“Ugh.” I groaned. “Stop reading my thoughts.”

“Am I wrong?” he asked, turning his stare to me. “Isn’t that what you’re afraid of?”

“Yeah, can we not rehash the very intense heart-to-heart we had that night?” I asked.

“Of course.” He chuckled. “Trust me, I don’t exactly want to relive that either.”

“Good.” I took another bite of a Twizzler and sighed deeply.

“I’m scared of missing connections,” I said. “Of missing my chance with someone.”

“I thought you and Emily had worked everything out,” he said and I sighed again.

“Yeah, we have. Or, at least, we’re going to keep working everything out,” I added, reminding myself that nothing was ever really complete, no relationship ever not in need of tending. My new therapist has been teaching me that.

“Then what is it?”

“What do you think?” I asked lightly, and Aaron nodded knowingly.

I don’t think he even needed to read my thoughts to understand that I was talking about Dad. And I didn’t need to go into his dreams to know that he felt the same. That we’d had our chances to really connect with our dad and we spent our teenage years being angsty and distant and then getting wrapped up in our own Atypical drama. And now the time was running out. We could do better now, but we’d never get back that time.