Wilting Flowers

36: The Dinner at the End of Your Life

"Poor boy doesn't know what to do with himself," He laughed. "'A whole girl in my house! What a shame!' Something, something about hell, throw in some fire metaphors..."

May did a poor job of stifling a giggle and it came out as a snort. "Exasperated sighing..."

Now Immy was laughing too, covering her face with her hand. "God—maybe let's not make fun of the reaper? Especially considering..." Especially considering he's probably having a complete breakdown as we speak.

"He hasn't gotten to that part yet, Immy," May assured her, sighing.

"Really? What..."

"You think you're dead," Mortuus explained. "Not yet."

"Then—where am I?"

"Your head." May placed a hand on her shoulder. "You couldn't have just up and died. You'd hate that."

"So... I'm making all of this up?" Immy looked around, more anxious than she was before.

"Yes. So you shouldn't worry," Mortuus comforted. "Your mind isn't very scary. At least, not for now."

The words didn't really process for Immy. In fact, nothing that was going on was processable.

She wanted to be home.

She wanted to be back in the kitchen at the party on Thursday, 'accidentally' smearing lipstick on Grim's face and laughing at how he looked flustered.

She wanted to be back in his lap, crying over the littlest things, letting him hush her with kind words.

She wanted to be back at the sushi restaurant, hearing him mutter sweet nothings.

Home wasn't even a place anymore.

She just wanted him.

"You love him," Mortuus commented.

"I know."

"No, you don't." He laid a hand on her shoulder and their eyes locked, his gaze firm. "You love him."

I love him.

"It's not—I mean—"

"We know you better than you know yourself, Immy," May sighed. "Welcome to your subconscious. Sorry your love affair was doomed." She looped an arm around Immy's shoulders and pulled her away from Mortuus and into the kitchen. "Come, the apple pie's almost done."

She wasn't sure when she'd started crying, but Immy first noticed it when a wail threatened to leave her throat.

"I know, sweetheart," May crooned, sitting her down in a chair. "I know it's unfair. I went through it too."

"I should've gotten—" She choked. "I should've gotten to tell him. I didn't even know."

"He knows."

She swallowed. "He does?"

May nodded. "He's known for a very long time."

The oven timer beeped and May rushed to it, putting two oven mitts on.

"Are you just saying that to make me feel better?"

She pulled open the oven door and took the pie out, her smile small now.

"It's your head, Immy. Find out."