“No, no, not like that,” he said softly. “I just meant … it seems like maybe you’re not going to be diving into our heads quite as much.”

“Oh.” I breathed, relief filling me up. “Yeah, I guess so.”

I hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t thought about my visit into my mom’s dream the other night as some kind of goodbye tour, but he was right, I didn’t want to be in their dreams anymore. I wanted to give them space. I told him as much.

“But I’m still going to dreamdive,” I went on. “I’ll just … create my own worlds. It’s not quite as fun, but…”

“No, I understand.” He nodded. “And I also understand why you want to spend so much time here. It’s extraordinary.”

We sat there, taking in the unimaginable world that we, somehow, had imagined. The canyon was deep without limits, light and shadow playing over it in mesmerizing shapes and movements, but it never gave me the feeling of being too deep. I was never worried I would fall into the abyss. Instead, looking out over it felt like understanding the beauty and simplicity of infinity.

“Maybe it’s like this,” he said.

“What?” I asked, my voice barely a sound on the breeze. But I knew he’d hear me all the same. This was our world, our rules.

The most perfect cloud floated above our heads.

“What comes after,” he said, serenely staring at the cloud as it gently skated by.

The word “after” hung between us like a physical thing. And then it was a physical thing. The light in the air came together to form the word, shimmering and so much less threatening in appearance than in concept.

“I think that’d be nice,” I said finally.

I don’t know that I believe that completely. As enticing and mesmerizing and beautiful as the dreamworld can be, I’m stable enough now to admit how genuinely terrifying the unpredictability is. Even though I’m almost always aware I’m dreaming, almost always in control, there’s something huge and yawning at the center of every person’s dreaming landscape. The entirety of their existence, bottomless, lightless, unreachable to them and even to me. I didn’t like to think of staring into that expanse forever.

“Rose?”

I turned to look at my dad. He looked younger, younger than even a few moments ago. Vibrant and full of life, his dimples deep, his eyes bright.

“Don’t go,” I whispered. Tears swelled at the corners of my eyes, as wet and real as they are in my waking life.

I’d never cried in a dream before. I’d had the feeling, but tears never came, not until now.

“I’ll stay as long as I can. But let’s just focus on right now. Let’s wake up and make blueberry pancakes.”