❝Life is pain, highness. Anyone who tells you differently is selling something.❞
-The Princess Bride by William Goldman
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As night fell upon Western Vermont, I sat on my back porch's roof and waited for the sky to come alive. These evenings were perfect for stargazing, but tonight was special. The Perseids meteor shower was reaching its zenith, an event anybody this far out into the boondocks could see perfectly if they only looked.
In August in Ashdown, days were hot and humid, but they always faded away to cool, comfortable nights. Most of my friends could care less about my interest in the night sky, but luckily, Will was always as fascinated by the Perseids as I was. Ever since we were 11, we had been going up to one of our roofs with snacks and blankets to watch the tears of spacetime fall to the Earth, and this year was no different.
Around dusk, my boyfriend appeared in my backyard, one hand stuffed in his AHS Jackals hoodie and the other holding a picnic basket. The moonlight made his skin glow like silver, and even from here, I could smell his scent of maple syrup and pine - or maybe that was just the countryside.
"You ever think about how reminiscent this is of the treehouse scene in High School Musical 3?" Will called up to me by way of greeting. "Next thing you know, I'm going to start playing basketball and you'll become a mathlete."
I stuck my tongue out at him. "All right, Troy. Should I start calling you 'Wildcat' from now on?"
"Being a Jackal is good enough for me, thanks." With a grin, he asked, "Can I come up?"
When I gave him the answer - which was, of course, yes - he made his way across the dew-soaked grass to my back door, eventually winding up in my bedroom. The way my house was built, there was a roof jutting out from the second floor on either side, and the back's proximity to my picture window made it easy to get a good view of the Perseids.
Usually, the Nyquists' ranch was the setting for our August adventure through the galaxy, but as Will crawled out of the window to the slope and settled down beside me, he said, "Sorry we couldn't do this at my house. My parents were just going off on each other. Sometimes I think they forget I'm even there."
I frowned, and said, "Are you okay? Do you think-"
"I'm fine, baby, trust me," Will interrupted, his hazel eyes filling with hope. "Besides, at least when they're fighting, Mom doesn't helicopter. Usually she gives me a 20 minute lecture on not falling off the roof and breaking my neck, but I left today with no issue."
That was Will, always seeing the silver linings, even when there was no sun to create the light. He slung his left arm around me and started to open the picnic basket with his right. Quickly, I leaned forward to help him, pulling out the same food we had every year. It was like tradition, our rooftop picnic, and I could recall the menu easily - maple sugar candies, honey Chex mix, and fresh watermelon. It wasn't anything special, but we'd chosen it in middle school, and we didn't have the heart to change it now.
"Astronomers say that this year, the Perseids are supercharged," I told Will, one hand reaching for the stash of sweets. "Which means that skywatchers may be able to see 150 to 200 meteors per hour, instead of the usual 80."
Will and I looked up at the sky, but the meteors were nowhere to be seen - yet. Stars speckled the indigo sky, and the rim of the Milky Way galaxy glowed faintly around us. The moon was in its first quarter, half lit up and hanging like a beacon on a cloudless horizon. Somewhere below us, crickets and the occasional sound of a car passing created the soundtrack of the summer, a symphony to my ears.
"Maybe they won't come out because the night's already too lit up with your beauty," Will joked, lowering his eyebrows and giving me a smile dripping with saccharine. "If we got another star, we'd be blinded."
I threw a maple sugar candy at him, though he quickly caught it. "I told you, they're not stars! They're-"
"I know, I know. They're meteors, debris from disintegrated comets and asteroids that burn when they enter the Earth's atmosphere." This time, Will gave me a genuine smile, and said softly, "Believe it or not, baby, I do listen to you." With that, he popped the candy in his mouth.
Begrudgingly, I grinned back and precariously crawled closer to him. Curiously, I asked, "Do you think I could make some sort of job out of my fascination with space?"
Will considered it, gazing out at the cornfield before us. To the left sat my old oak tree and the treehouse that started everything, now beginning to fall apart after years of rain and snow. Far across the amber waves of corn just waiting to be harvested sat his own treehouse, and behind that, the place he called home.
The truth was, I don't think either of us actually considered those houses our homes. For me, home was football games at the Ridge, musical practice in the auditorium, the view from the ferris wheel at the annual carnival. It was the feeling I had in my gut when I laughed too hard, the pride I felt when the crowd would stand and clap on opening night, the smile on everyone's faces every time the Jackals scored another win.
Home was whenever I was happy. And happiness was whenever I was with Will.
After a moment, my boyfriend suggested, "What if you worked for NASA? I don't know what you would do... but there's tons of space centers in the south. Kennedy in Florida-"
"Johnson in Texas!"
Will crinkled his nose. "I thought we established that Texas wasn't our first choice."
"I still don't see the problem with it." As I leaned into his soft maroon hoodie, taking in the perfume of the freshly-washed linen, I felt his chest shake when he laughed.
"If that's really where you wanna go, baby, I'll take you there." He kissed me on the head, then shifted so that his cheek was pressed into my hair. "You know I'm happy as long as I'm with you."
"Mhm," I replied. "I know."
After a moment, Will sat up to reach for a slice of watermelon, and I watched him, but then - the meteor shower began. Immediately, I nudged him in the arm, and we both looked up as the first "shooting star" fell to the ground, a ephemeral streak of light so rapid that it was gone within a second.
Will and I grinned at each other, and he murmured, "You have a wish in mind?"
We always wished on the second meteor, another unchangeable fragment of the years. For fear of them not coming true, we never told each other our wishes, and this seemed to work, because my past 5 prayers had all come to light. Something about the Perseids always gave me good luck.
"Of course," I replied.
And then, just like that, our wishing star shot across the everblue. Quickly, I thought, I wish Will and I could be together forever.
Vague, and unlike my previous desires. The first year, I'd wished for a role in our school musical, Beauty and the Beast Jr., which I got in the form of Chip the Teacup. In 2014, only a week before Will and I got together, I silently dreamed that we'd turn into something more.
God only knew if this year's would come true.
Hold on a second, I thought to myself, That's not right. I know it didn't come true. Will and I aren't together, not physically. Not after everything.
This is a dream.
"Lila?" Will asked softly, but then his voice changed. Ashdown fell away around me, until all I saw was black and glittering phosphenes. The voice, now feminine and youthful, again whispers, "Lila?"
My eyes snap open, and it's 2017. I'm lying in bed, and based on the moonlight streaming in from the window, it can't be later than seven o'clock. I'm less curious about the time, however, than I am about why my sister is standing over me, whispering my name.
"Kat?" I croak. "What the hell are you doing? It's the middle of the night."
"It's 5:30, Lila," she says flatly, "And I'm trying to wake you up!"
"Why? I've still got like, an hour and a half until I usually get up."
Part of me wonders why I keep having my few good dreams interrupted by my sister. I try desperately to hold on to my flashback, wishing I could finish watching the stars fall with Will, but it disappears just as quickly as I woke up. Like sand falling through my fingers, uncatchable, unreachable.
Oh, how terribly fitting it is that I can never remember my good dreams, but I can never forget my nightmares.
Unaware of my frustration, Kat says, "Mama was crying. I could hear it through the door."
I frown, flinging my blankets off and kicking my legs over the side of the bed to land on the cold, hardwood floor. Now, I can see I'm wearing my old NASA shirt, which must've been the reason I dreamed of the meteor shower. This year, when the shower came, I stayed inside and watched Dance Moms all night instead. I didn't see a single meteor, not even the wishing star. What was the point when my most hopeful wish never came true?
To Kat, I say, "Are you sure you heard right? Why would she be crying?"
Mentally, I scan through the important dates she could possibly get upset over. Her and Papa's anniversary was in April, his birthday in January, his death date in June. October 12th shouldn't mean anything to her, unless she's hiding something from us.
Or something newly tragic has happened.
Kat and I tiptoe out of my room and circle the closed white door to Mama's suite. Indeed, I can hear her talking gently to someone on the phone, but I don't sense any crying. It's hard to make out what she's saying through the thick wood, especially because she's speaking in Spanish, but I can just barely translate the words, "Will she.... Okay.... How long... Alright... Thank you, Kos."
Kos. She's talking to my Uncle Kosmo, nightclub entrepreneur and Miamian extraordinaire. Kosmo's still in his late 20s, a free spirit if I've ever met one, and he hardly ever calls Mama unless there's a dire emergency. I glance at Kat and see she's wearing the same expression of confusion and curiosity that I am.
Mama stops speaking, and I'm forced to assume she's hung up, but Kat doesn't believe it. She leans in closer, accidentally pushing the door open with a creaking moan. Now, I can see our mother sitting on the side of her bed, her head in her left hand and her phone in her right. She's wearing a fluffy white robe that's just barely brushing the floor, and her golden brown hair is tied up in a bun, but a few waves fall out when she looks in our direction.
"Girls," she says softly, "Hey. You're up early."
"Why aren't you at work? Don't you have the 6 o'clock shift on Thursdays?" Kat questions.
"I, um-" Mama gulps, shaking her head. More strands of hair fall out, framing her face. "I got someone to cover for me. Uncle Kosmo just called me, and-"
She looks away, her deep brown eyes filling with worry and glancing at the floor. I watch her, waiting, and my heart starts to race. What could possibly be wrong? I think to myself. It has to be something with her family. Something with Cuba.
And then my heart takes a pitfall, derailing from my ribs and nearly leaping out of my chest, when Mama speaks again: "They just found out Abuela has Stage 4 lung cancer. She... she doesn't have much time left to live."
Oh my god.
I grasp for thoughts in my mind, but any sense of coherence is suddenly scurrying away. I can't lose Abuela too, not after everything. I've only met my grandmother thrice, due to the fact that Cuba and the U.S. don't exactly get along, but in my life, she's shown more love to me than most of my classmates that I see everyday.
I think I'm gonna be sick, but not in a mental way. This isn't like the lantern festival. The world isn't crumbling around me, and I can see my surroundings clearly. Still, my stomach feels nauseous, and all the skin on my body has gone cold.
"Oh my god," Kat says, her chest heaving sharply. "I'm so sorry, I-"
She starts to step forward, as if to comfort our mother, but Mama waves her away. Now, I can understand why she was crying, and I believe it. The redness in her eyes is bright in the moonlight. "It's... it's alright, mija. I knew it was coming eventually, and I must learn to live with it."
Mama looks out the window after tossing her phone onto the bed, making a small thump. I feel helpless, and I know I should say something, but no words are coming out of my mouth. How can I comfort someone when I can hardly comfort myself?
"Are you okay?" Kat asks.
"I will be, eventually. I have a whole childhood of memories to look back on," Mama sighs weakly. "I just wish you girls could've met her one last time."
My sister and I glance at each other, lips simultaneously pressing together into matching scowls. If everything goes according to plan, I will see Abuela again, in the same capacity that I'll see Will and Papa and Abuelo. But Kat... she looks ruined. For once, it's not bitterness or confidence that fills her coffee-bean eyes. It's sadness.
Visions of bright colors and the smell of violets and the sound of melodic boleros dance in my head, but vaguely remembering my mother's homeland is not enough. It will never compare to the feeling of springtime in Havana.
As I think of my grandmother, I try to remember positive things. Her smile, the way she laughed, the delicious food she was always so intent on me eating. But the thought of death chasing her just like it's chased me keeps scraping at my mind. I can't help but wonder what reaper is responsible for her soul. And if my reaper can somehow take us to her before it's all over...
I need to talk to Mor.
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A/N: This is really short (for my standards). Originally there was going to be much more to this chapter, but I'm saving it for the next chapter, so it's not too long. Because of that, this chapter's almost just filler and character development, but I promise, it'll all make sense in a few days (whenever I update again...)
P.S. This book is currently #501 on the paranormal rankings! That's awesome, because I've never had a work with a ranking before. Thank you all so much! Please vote, comment, and stick with me!!
xoxo, Athena
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