Eventually, though, she did go. And then I was alone, in my bedroom, with Barrett standing over me. I felt distinctly aware of how close his body was to my body.

The room was dark and quiet; the nightmare still lurked in the back of my mind like a specter.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I mean, yes, but . . . I can’t go back to sleep right now. It’ll just start right where it left off. I’ll end up screaming again.”

“Do you want me to get a chair and sit with you?”

No. I didn’t want him in a chair. I wanted him to sit next to me. I wanted him to put his arm around me and let me put my head on his shoulder. I wanted to put my hand inside both of his hands. I wanted him to slowly turn his face down toward mine, and I wanted him to kiss me.

I patted the bed, and he hesitantly lowered himself. I reached over and took his hand, which felt dangerous and wild.

He took a deep breath. “Do you want to talk about your dream?”

I shrugged.

“Was it about . . . your family?”

“No, it was . . .” It was about your family. “It was . . . vague.” I took a shuddering sigh. “I guess I forgot how bad they can be, since I don’t have as many as I used to.”

“That’s a good thing,” he said.

“I guess. In a way, it makes it worse, because I got used to them. Now I’m just going to worry every night that they’ve come back. And wake up your sister. And make your mom hate me.”

I expected him to say she wouldn’t hate me, and I was prepared not to believe him. But he didn’t say anything.

I closed my eyes. “I miss my mom.”

“What was she like?”

“Funny. And smart. And strict, but kind of a pushover, too. Like, if we did what she said most of the time, we could always get away with stuff the rest of the time.” Mom’s face appeared in my thoughts, her curly hair, her double-pierced ears that I found so embarrassing—like some part of her had never outgrown her edgy teenage years, even though she was a middle-aged dentist. The freckle that was centered above her left eyebrow and always made her look weirdly like she had a secret. “I miss her so much. I miss them all.”

“What . . . um . . . do you mind if I . . . no, sorry. Never mind.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I can tell you about it.”

“I don’t want to make things worse by making you think about it.”

“Barrett,” I said. “It’s like ninety percent of what I think about. It’s not worse to talk about it. Besides, I don’t remember that much. There’s a bunch that’s just . . . gone.”