I wish I could go back in time to seventeen-year-old Rose, who wanted her mom to pay more attention to her, who was jealous of all the focused love Aaron was getting after his mind reading started and tell her that she’s wrong, having all of Mom’s attention is actually a terrible thing and she should enjoy her peace while she can.

“Mom, really, I’m fine,” I said in my best soothing voice as I dried the dishes she’d strong-armed me into helping her with. I thought that having a wrist brace would get me out of household chores but, according to her, “Drying doesn’t get the brace wet, and you only really need to move one of your arms.” So there I was.

“Are you still randomly losing consciousness?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then you’re not fine.”

“What power do you think I have exactly?” I asked as she handed me another plate. “You know that narcolepsy is, like, a totally normal human ailment. I mean, sure, it’s rare, but it’s not … atypical.” I winced at my own dumb, unintentional pun.

“Rose, do you think I’m an idiot?” She turned off the faucet and turned to me, leaning her hip against the counter and crossing her arms across her chest.

“What?”

“I know that you falling asleep randomly is not all that’s going on.” She lifted one of her eyebrows in the “I know what you did and if you admit it now, your punishment won’t be as harsh” look that she’s spent our entire childhoods perfecting.

“What?” I asked again, except this time the hair on the back of my neck pricked in the way it always does whenever my mom either a) has a vision or b) has caught me out.

“The other night, you fell asleep on the couch and it’s clear you were dreaming. Vividly,” she added significantly.

“Okay…” I said, focusing on putting the dried plates back into the cabinet, rather than take the risk of continuing to make eye contact with a woman who is literally psychic.

“Most people don’t try to physically run away while they dream,” she said. “It was like you were a puppet who’d had their strings cut. Limp but fighting.”

“You don’t have to make it sound so creepy,” I muttered.

“It was creepy!” she said, not making me feel better about this situation at all. I knew exactly what she was talking about. I’d fallen asleep watching TV—it had felt like a natural dozing off more than dropping into a dream—and I’d had the same nightmare about being chased by a snake that I’ve been having.

“I’m just worried about you,” she said softly and that was when I realized I hadn’t said anything in a few minutes, lost in my own memories about the recurring nightmare.