There she was, sitting in front of you. That ever-radiant smile stamped so perfectly as her dimples created loving caverns along kind creases. Even when six some-odd years in the past, not a day had gone by the longer you looked into her brown eyes.
She was herself. She was beautiful. She was very much alive.
"Sasha?" you asked the ghost.
"Mhmm?" she hummed in reply, her mouth full and lips covered in pound cake crumbs.
"Can I ask why you said no when Connie asked you to marry him?"
Sasha threw herself back and roared, chewed-up cake flying in several directions. Her laughter shook the sewing studio's tallest table. She nearly knocked your precariously resting dessert spoon onto the ground. Legs kicked her dress like rippling waves on the shore the harder she cackled. She took a break to swallow some mashed-up dessert, only to return to thunderous laughter.
"You think I'd marry a man like Connie?!" she asked, wiping a tear away. "You have so much to learn about love, little one."
"But I don't understand! He's funny! He's nice! He's free!"
"He's also my best friend," Sasha sassed. She pointed her utensil like a dagger aimed at your heart. "He only asked because his mother said she'd disinherit him if he didn't propose to someone before running off to California. He knew I'd say no, so we hammed it up for the family and had a good laugh."
"But why wouldn't you want to marry someone you're already friends with?"
"Would you marry Eren?" Sasha asked.
"Mrs. Yeager said I could have her wedding ring if I did."
"Remind me to have a word with Carla later this week. Promising away rings and children without consulting me. Again," an old voice cut through the fun.
It was Father.
He was himself again, too. Bright and lively with warm-looking skin and even warmer eyes. Crows' feet kissed his corners from full days' worth of smiling while hard wrinkles shadowed his brow from decades of worrying.
"Oh, don't worry, I would never let her make such a big mistake," Sasha reassured your father before turning back to you and flicking her short-pronged fork like a wand. "When you grow up and actually fall in love with someone, you'll regret selling your heart away so young. Now, take a bite of that cake before I do."
You grinned and shoved the sponge into your greedy little mouth. Strawberries embraced your tongue in the sweetest hug. It was unlike the usual bakery cakes Sasha brought along. This one was lighter, the berries juicier, the cream fluffier, as it melted in your mouth.
"Your partner in crime must be halfway to Chicago by now," Father said. He spun around a mannequin with Sasha's red skirt settled snugly on the bottom. "Who will you drive your poor father crazy with now?"
"Well..." Sasha trailed off as her cheeks flowered in poppy petals. "It may be too early to say anything, but I met a man. At a party."
You jumped up from your seat in excitement, causing Father to flinch.
"You did?!" you cried. "Why haven't you said anything 'till now! What does he look like? What does he act like? Where does he–"
"If you slow down, I'll tell you," Sasha said. You leaned forward in anticipation, hanging on every impending word. "He has floppy blonde hair and pretty brown eyes. He's very nice, even more handsome, even if he takes himself a little too seriously, but I'm softening him up. And do you want to know the best part?"
"Is he a prince? An heir? Is he related to the Vanderbilts? Oh, tell me he's related to the Vanderbilts!"
"Better. He's a chef. The best I've ever met. He made these little lemon tarts for the party you would have died for."
"A chef, huh? How did your parents take it?" Father asked.
"Oh, I'm not telling them. I'm eighteen, after all. They don't need to know about my personal affairs until I need them to fund the wedding!"
"Who cares!" you yelled. "Are you in love with him?"
Sasha giggled as she bit her bottom lip, wrinkled her nose, and popped her dimples. Affection wore her so wonderfully.
She was the prettiest girl you had ever seen. Would ever see.
She was so alive. She looked so real. If you reached out and touched her, you knew she would feel warm.
Sasha was Sasha again. And Father was Father.
If only it weren't a dream. If only you never had to wake up.
Because, despite being asleep, you were fully aware that this was an old memory. No matter how badly you knew you needed to leave this place, you stayed. You would run off at dawn to collect your cedar and burn this dream away, but tonight, you would take in the familial bliss that had been ripped from you far too soon.
It was only fair after last night's darker conversation–just this one last sweet dream.
"Well, I wouldn't say I love him yet. But I really do like him." Then, Sasha whispered, "Don't tell a soul, but I visit him in secret almost every other night. He always brings a little treat: a pastry, a pie, a turkey leg. Whatever I want. And he never asks to share. Isn't that romantic?"
"But what does that feel like? Liking someone so much?"
"Hmmm..." Sasha tapped the tip of her nose. "I feel like... like I'm full."
"Like you're full?"
"Like I'm full! If I had to, I would never eat again. Obviously, he'd never ask that of me, but I would without a second thought. And I don't want anything else other than him. I would forgo all the money, all my clothes, and every piece of strawberry cake if it meant I could spend just a few more minutes with him. Hell, I'd rip out my heart and hand it to him on a platter if his was failing to beat."
"How could anyone make you feel like that?" you asked.
Eren didn't make you want to give up food or your clothes; you wouldn't rip out your heart for him. Mr. Arlert didn't make you feel that way either. You didn't think you could feel that way about anyone. Not prince. Or an heir. Not even a Vanderbilt.
But what about an artist?
"The right person makes you do stupid things," Father whispered wistfully. "Very stupid things."
"And he makes me do the stupidest things," Sasha jumped in quickly. "If Levi thought I was dumb during my lessons, I don't even want to know what he'd think of me when I'm with Mr. Niccolo. He's just such an amazing man. In fact, these cakes? He made them for us."
"He did?!"
"He did," Sasha confirmed in her sing-songy voice. "Oh, you have to meet him soon! I need to figure out if he's good with children, anyway. Can't marry a man who won't step up with child-rearing."
"One of your brighter ideas, Sasha. Now, look at the fabric. Is there anything you'd like me to change?" Father asked, spinning Sasha's red skirt for her to see.
"No, sir. You are the artist, and I am the muse. I defer to your judgment on all matters involving fashion."
"When do you think I'll fall in love?" you asked Sasha, not caring about the clothes.
"Not until you're thirty," Father answered for her without taking his eyes off his work.
"Thirty?!"
"Yes, thirty. Before you marry, you should have some secret savings to fall back on in case you ever need to flee. And you need my approval. No single man living anywhere near here could win me over in less than ten years. You have plenty of time."
"Oh, he's just being a typical father," Sasha reassured you. "Love can happen anywhere at any time. I found Mr. Niccolo in a random kitchen in Poughkeepsie. I'd say anything is possible."
"I hope he is handsome... and kind... and special..." Each one of your additions ratcheted up your excitement. "And smart, and silly, and tall, and—"
"Of course, your husband will be all those things and more. But the most important thing is that he's kind," Sasha said as she reached over to clasp your hand. "Finding a kind man is much harder than a good-looking one. Or a funny one. And if he isn't sweet on you, I'd chase him out of your life myself. Even if it kills me."
"Do you think she is trying to tell you something from the other side?" a voice whispered over your shoulder, and your dream dispelled into smoke.
You began to return to that blank space you had found yourself a few days ago as Sasha and Father disintegrated into nothingness. You watched in horror the more they drifted away with the uneven ticking of time. Watching them fade behind an invisible curtain felt like losing everything again.
Using what little control you had, you threw yourself across the vanishing table to reach for Sasha's skin. Ice crept through your veins as soon as you touched her cheek. Her eyes widened in shock. Sasha opened her mouth like she was about to speak but slipped from your fingers into the endless abyss before you could utter another word. Before you could ask her to stay.
Instead, this empty prison with its tall intruder had ruined your reminiscing.
"Oops. I seem to have burst your memory..."
You twirled around, searching for the voice that destroyed your fleeting moment of bliss. The sight of freckles burned your blood.
"You!" you yelled. You walked to that strange, freckled ghost and shoved your palms into his brick-hard chest. He barely budged an inch. You gave him another push to the same effect as the first. "What the hell did you do?!"
"That is not very nice," he told you lazily. "I thought you were afraid of the dead? Now you want them to stay? What changed?" You shoved into him again–harder than the first two times. "That hurts, you know."
"You aren't real, so who cares if it hurts you!"
"I am as real as you."
You stood straighter than a ruler and snarled, "No, you aren't. You're some voice living in my mind because this week has driven me mad."
"Migliaia di ragazze nel mondo, e lui sceglie l'americana arrabbiata..." the man mumbled as he shook his head.
"Great, now even my dreams speak in foreign tongues I can't understand!"
You turned and stomped in the opposite direction. There was nothing on either side of you. Just like the other night, a void consumed you. There was that same solitary comfort from before, but something about the air felt strange.
Like you weren't supposed to be there.
"I like my women feisty, but you give a new meaning to the word," your friend-turned-foe said as he caught up to you. "Where are you going? You can't go anywhere. There is nothing for you to see yet."
"I'm trying to get away from you! Eventually, I'll have to wake up, and at least I can be alone while I wait."
You lengthened your steps, but the stranger matched you.
"You are so nice during the day with gentle touches, soft words, and little treats. But you are so mean at night. Why is that?" he asked innocently.
"I'm not mean unless someone deserves it."
"Sometimes you are nice when people do not deserve it, too. Can you slow yourself? You will wear out my soles."
You didn't listen. You pushed your muscles to their limits, but an icy grip yanked you backward and pulled you in. Your back shivered from the cold of the man's chest. But your face spiked in temperature as his arms glided over your arms.
"We are going to stop and chat. No more running," he said.
The stranger turned you around by your shoulders and took your hands in his. He slowly lowered himself to the ground and pulled you down to kneel before him.
He sat so politely despite your abrasive attitude. His smile was annoyingly bright the longer the silence dragged on between you.
Seconds and hours passed while you shared the increasingly dense air. He made no moves and drew no breaths to speak. He only blinked with upturned lips.
You could wipe that smile from his face with the smack of your palm.
"You wanted to chat, didn't you?" you finally asked when eternity and brevity became too long and too short. "So, start chatting."
The stranger hummed as he studied your face a little longer. "You know, I've planned hundreds of things to tell you, but I can't find the right words now that I'm in front of you. Isn't that strange?" He laughed sweetly as his eyes closed and crinkled at the corners. His whole face bloomed with heat, but you saw the coldness.
"I'll talk, then. Why do you appear in my dreams?" you interrogated. "This is the second time in a week. Are you on some sort of mission? Am I losing my mind? Are you a dream walker?"
"A dream walker?" His long brows furrowed in confusion. "I have never heard of this. What is it?"
"Someone who can enter into other people's dreams. They cross planes and control their realities. Does that sound like something you do?"
The stranger hummed, his lips pouring in interest. "That sounds like... Nevermind. But, no, I am no 'dream walker' and carry out no missions. You may be losing your mind, but that has nothing to do with me, bellissima. I am only here because you are confused and need guidance from a friend with a different opinion than everyone else you've aligned yourself with."
A friend?
Before the end of this summer, you need to work on your festering rage. You became more like Eren with each passing day.
"Who are you?" you asked softly, feeling awful for this blind rage.
"I know that you like to keep your relationships formal, so you may call me Mr. Bott." Mr. Bott stuck his hand out for you to shake it, which you slowly accepted. "We will become very well acquainted over these next few weeks. I promised I would take the utmost care of you when...."
His eyes widened. He bit down on his bottom lip to hold back his tongue.
"When what?"
"You will see." Mr. Bott's face darkened like the flicker of a candle, only to brighten a heartbeat later. "Do you have a favorite flower?"
"What?" The sudden redirection caught you off guard.
"A favorite flower! Everyone has a favorite flower! I am a lover of irises myself. Purple is such a rare color in nature. What is yours?"
"I... I don't have a true favorite. I grow tiger lilies in my garden. I... I suppose I like them."
"Tiger lilies? Which are those in your garden?"
"They're orange. With little spots on the petals. There's nothing like it in the States."
"Interesting. I will be sure to pass that along."
The stranger reached for his suit jacket, pulled it open slightly, and pulled out a golden pocket watch. It looked identical to the one Mr. Kirstein used in the woods.
"Look at the time!" Mr. Bott gave you a sympathetic smile and said, "If you stay any longer, you will miss the beach! I must apologize for what I am about to do. I swear it will only hurt for a second at most."
"Hurt?"
The pinching of your nose snapped your soul back into your body. You sat upright and reached for the pulsing tip. A sharp pain spread over your face, and a tiny meow whimpered from beside you. You glanced down to find your kitten rubbing her cheek into your forearm in some form of animalistic apology.
Lucy bit you square on the face. She was no better than Martin when it came to little tortures.
"What the hell was that for?" you mumbled, massaging the tender skin.
Peeking further down, you were still in your clothes from yesterday–a headache pulsing in the back of your skull from last night's drinking.
But, strangely enough, you were also in your bed, tucked into warm sheets, with no idea how you got there. Maybe all the alcohol diluted your memories, and you walked upstairs in a delirious state at the end of the night.
Sunlight crept from under the edges of your curtains, and its beams colored dust like diamonds through the air. Judging by the brightness, you were at least an hour or two past sunrise.
Which meant you were late to meet Hitch at her house. Which meant Hitch was now waiting for you to depart for the beach. Which meant you would be chewed out upon your arrival.
Shit.
Your trek to the cedar grove would have to wait until after today's trip. The longest you had gone without cleansing after dark dreams was a few hours. Now, the universe expected you to go the entire day. That realization manifested as pain in your ribs, lungs, and throat.
But, for some unspeakable reason, spending time with that stranger, or Mr. Bott as you now knew him, put your mind at ease. Something about his presence guided you out of bed and to your closet. Putting your faith in the universe instead of your fears, you stripped yourself of yesterday's soiled clothes for something fresh and beach-worthy.
Lucy lingered while you changed, rubbing her cheeks into your ankles. When you finished adjusting your dusty-red skirt, you cradled the baby in your arms.
"I'm not angry with you, my love," you sighed to your sweet babe as you stepped down the stairs and fought the urge to yawn. "Just no more biting, alright? I heard you bit your Uncle Eren again, too. I'd prefer it doesn't become a habit. He's my dearest friend, and I won't have your–" You had to stop yourself from saying Father. "–Other owner polluting your sweet mind with bad tricks."
Almost as though she understood you, she purred in response and buried her whiskers into your bust.
Speaking of that other owner, you needed to collect him and get moving before your relationship with Hitch became irreparable.
You hit the bottom step and turned into the foyer to slip on a pair of boots. You dropped Lucy to the ground and let the girl scamper into the parlor to scratch up the sofa or chew on the carpet—whichever kept her distracted. You made your way to the exit, but a yelp jabbed your ears as you touched the doorknob. Your eyes flew toward the sofa.
Mr. Kirstein was sitting straight up on its cushions, his eyes smoky and exhausted. He rubbed his nose, just as you did a few minutes ago, glaring at the little kitten sitting on his thighs. Mr. Kirstein picked her up by the armpits, leaving her little legs to dangle.
"Pourquoi t'as fait ça, Lulu? Tu ne devarais pas faire mal à Papa. C'est le travail de maman." The deepness of his already low voice sent butterflies through your lower abdomen.
"Mr. Kirstein?" you tried to alert him of your presence quietly, but it did very little to keep him from startling. If you weren't careful, you'd give your poor guest a heart attack before the end of the summer. "Sorry to scare you, but we need to leave. Immediately."
Mr. Kirstein scrunched his eyes closed and laid back down. His eyes slowly flickered open until he was hazily staring at the ceiling.
"I will meet you outside," he mumbled as Lucy kneaded yesterday's suit.
* * *
Last night's quiet intimacy went unspoken throughout the walk to town. Neither you nor Mr. Kirstein shared a word after the short exchange in the parlor.
The strangest part? You had never felt so comfortable saying nothing to someone in your entire life. If it weren't for birds tweeting, squirrels scampering, and Lucy purring, there would only be perfectly synchronized footsteps and soft breaths.
Silence was supposed to be unpleasant. Awkward. Off-putting. But not with Mr. Kirstein.
You wanted to tell him about your dream. Not just about Sasha and Father but about the stranger, too. However, Mr. Kirstein's constant yawning and the blissful tranquility kept your voice from breaking up the perfection. You could tell him later after asking him to accompany you to the cedar tree to collect clippings.
Before going to the Freudenberg's home, you had to wrangle Eren and ask Carla if she could babysit Lucy again. If you had more time, you would have swung by to ask Levi or Zeke, but your late start to the day had royally screwed you.
So, when you moseyed up the familiar porch and heard bickering billowing from the open windows, you knew you would be even later than anticipated.
"Mom! You can't expect me to go out like this!"
"Stop being a brat! You look fine. If you had let me cut it last week as I asked, I would've had more time, but you always have to push things off and make everyone rush after you! It's infuriating!"
"You've gotta fix it, then! Y/n is going to—" You knocked on the old wood as soon as your name came up in conversation and immediately regretted not waiting until your best friend finished his whining. "Great. She's here. Goddammit."
Stomping drew closer until the front door opened with Eren behind it. You had to fight everything to keep from laughing.
"Don't say anything," Eren growled the longer you stared at him with a quivering lip. "Because I was doing nothing and waiting around for you, Mother decided it was the perfect time for a trim."
And Carla had trimmed.
Eren's shoulder-length hair had been clipped up until it fell barely a half inch below his ears. His locks sparkled with water as little pieces framed his face so prettily that you could have mistaken him for a freshly washed woman. His mother even gave him a slight side part to drive home the cuteness of the cut.
You held the giggles and said, "You look beautiful, Eren."
Your kitten-carrying companion wasn't nearly as emotionally restrained as you. Mr. Kirstein's laughter echoed over the houses and trees the longer Eren stood stiff in the door frame.
"Mommy still cuts your hair?" Mr. Kirstein cackled.
"Laugh it up, you chowder-headed ass. At least my mother can stand to look at me without gagging. I doubt your mother can claim to do that."
"Chowder-headed? Is that all you give me? I expect more."
"Mr. Kirstein, mind your manners," you warned your guest softly, not wanting things to progress further.
Eren stole a disgusted breath from the air. You mentally prepared for the verbal and potentially physical brawl storming behind his green eyes.
"What the hell is he doing here anyway?" Eren asked.
Before you could explain, Mrs. Yeager appeared behind her son and gave his ear a hard yank downward. Eren groaned at the sudden force while one of his eyes winced and the other twitched.
Mrs. Yeager got in his Eren's and began barking, "So not only do you criticize how nicely I cut your hair, but then you planned to walk out without taking all the sandwiches I painstakingly prepared for you?" The mother thrust a picnic basket into Eren's stomach and gave him a light shove onto the porch. "Just go before I take a page from Levi's book and kick you out."
"Oh, Mrs. Yeager?" you quickly asked before she could shut the door behind her troublesome son. You carefully stole your kitten from Mr. Kirstein. "I was wondering if you could watch Lucy again. If not, I can run her over to Zeke or–"
"Oh, give her here," Mr. Yeager whispered. You handed over the baby, and she rocked the cat. "She's no trouble, even if she runs away from me."
"Thank you so much. You have no idea how appreciative I am."
"Of course. In exchange, you must keep my ungrateful son out of trouble for the day. It's a fair enough trade. If anything, I have the better half of the deal."
"I can keep myself out of trouble," Eren grumbled. "And I'm not ungrateful..."
"Oh, Eren. stop pouting." Carla took hold of the dark wood and nearly closed the door for the final time. She said from just behind a crack, "Have fun, you two. And I suppose you, as well... Mr. Kirstein."
Carla sent you on your way as the door blocked her and your kitten from view.
The final destination was Hitch's house. You had nearly five minutes to devise the best possible excuse to explain your lateness, but you doubted any reasoning could be sufficient.
You led your two boys into town while people began their morning shopping. Little kids weaved through busy streets while older women haggled for fresh loaves. Chickens in cages loudly squawked as families decided which ones to cook for that night's dinner. Sloppy men whistled and catcalled ladies far beyond their reach. The ringing of bells and the snorting of pigs filled your ears until thoughts were nearly impossible to form. Your brain became even more frazzled once your companions decided to converse with one another.
"So, mommy even makes you lunch?" You heard from behind. "That is so sweet of her."
"Shut the fuck up, Ponyboy. Keep talking, and I'll force-feed you sand."
"Someone small and scrawny like you could force-feed me nothing."
"Small? I'm almost the same height as you! And if memory serves, I shoved your sorry ass far enough the night of Hitch's party. Want to recreate that?"
"Gladly. I will squish you like a blueberry between my fingers."
"Oh yeah? Let's see about–"
"Will both of you shut up!" you finally exploded as you whipped around. "God, stop measuring dicks and just focus on walking!" You spun back around and kept stomping towards the Freudenberg's home.
"I bet mine's bigger," Eren mumbled. Your vision distorted into shades of poppies and vermillion.
"Only in your dreams, little man. You might be an idiot, but you are not wrong for comparing me to a hor—"
This time, you screamed without turning around, "Shut it!"
And, as expected, Hitch did her own screaming when the three of you reached her house. You apologized profusely, but she heard none of it.
Eren kept trying to offer her a sandwich, thinking that low blood sugar was causing her to act out, which made things infinitely worse because Hitch then decided that he was calling her fat. The pregnancy had taken hold of her hormones because she even teared up while she yelled, which was so unlike her.
After ten minutes of bewailing, a few bites of one of Carla's sandwiches, and a few sweet words and backrubs from her husband, Hitch managed to calm down enough to usher the little group into the carriage. She told the coachman to start the two-hour journey to the beach. However, the further you drew away from town, the more pressure you felt on your skull and throat.
You could not explain why, but despite the cloudless sky and perfectly normal trees, you knew it would rain later.
Italian & French Translations:
Migliaia di ragazze nel mondo, e lui sceglie l'americana arrabbiata = Thousands of girls in the world, and he chooses the angry American
Bellissima = Beautiful
Pourquoi t'as fait ça, Lulu? Tu ne devarais pas faire mal à Papa. C'est le travail de maman = Why did you do that, Lulu? You shouldn't hurt daddy. That's mommy's job.
Author's Note: THANK YOU FOR OVER 200 VOTES!! It's lowkey hard to believe sometimes that people actually read my funky writing style with a buttload of typos and actually vibe with it, so thank you all for holding out <3