How are you? I guess he does know how to text. I can't picture someone like him with a phone.
Fine. How r u? I type back.
Watching the stars.
Me 2. Don't you ever sleep?
I have no need of it. His text messages are just like his speech. Simple and to the point.
Oh. Right.
Why are you awake?
Couldn't sleep.
Why?
Lots of things. I kind of hate doing this via text. It means I have to type everything out.
Seconds later, the phone rings.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hello. I couldn't stand typing those keys anymore. It is really a cumbersome form of communication.” The way he says it makes me laugh.
“Yeah, I know. It feels impersonal, you know?” I put my feet up on the rocks surrounding the fire, hoping I don't burn my slippers.
“I do.”
“What are you doing right now?”
“Reading.”
“What you reading?” I feel like I have to interview him to get him to talk, like I should be recording all his answers on a legal pad in shorthand.
“Nothing.” There's silence while we listen to me breathe.
“I can't stop thinking about it. How I'm going to lose her.” It's just as easy to tell him on the phone, even when I'm not in the cemetery. Maybe it's the night. Maybe it's Peter.
“Everything is not lost.” I swallow a smile.
“That sounds like something she would say.”
“What else would she say?”
“It's always darkest before the dawn. That's her favorite. She has it painted on her bedroom wall.” Moths flutter around me, and I swat at them.
“What are you thinking?”
“That I don't understand how you can speak to me the way you do,” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“You tell me things I feel that you do not tell anyone else.” I hate how he guesses things about me so easily.
“I know. For some reason it's so easy to tell you things.” I also hate how I blurt out whatever I'm thinking when I'm talking to him.
“Because I'm not human.” Like I need a reminder. I can't freaking forget.
“It doesn't feel that way.” Yup, my slippers are getting a little melty. The rest of me is freezing, of course.
“But I am not.”
“I know.” Talking to him on the phone makes me even more aware that he doesn't breathe. I don't like being reminded of things like that.
My head snaps up as something rustles in the leaves, distracting me. Stupid squirrels. Tense, I glance back to the tent, but Dad's snore is going strong.
“I should go to bed.”
“I would not wish to disturb your sleep.” Only he can put it that way.
“Goodnight, Ava.” I breathe for a second before I say goodbye, trying to come up with something better. I can't.
“Goodnight, Peter.”
***
I sleep late the next morning. Both my parents are up and making pancakes before I roll my way out of the tent.
“Ugh.” I put my hand up to shield my sensitive eyes. I feel like they've been scraped by a grape peeler. The fire's already going and the scent of fresh coffee tickles my nose.
“Good morning, sunshine.” My mother looks amazing. Fresh as a daisy, wearing her everyday wig. My hair is already greasy, and I'm regretting not taking off my mascara. I wipe my hands over my eyes and they come away with black smears.
“Want some pancakes?” She looks up from the frying pan balanced on a metal rack over the fire. How she doesn't burn them, I don't know, but they always come out good. Mom magic.
“After I brush my teeth.” I walk down to the bathroom, which is in a big cement building a short way from our site. There are even hot showers, but they cost you a quarter for five minutes. I know I'm going to get desperate in a few hours and have a roll of quarters in my bag, just in case.
A couple of people smile at me on their way to the sinks to wash their morning dishes. I smile back, trying to be friendly. I scrub my face with cold water, trying to wake up. My eyes have taken the train to puffy town, but there's nothing I can do about that. Stumbling back to our site, I nearly get attacked by someone's cockapoo. There's a plate of golden pancakes waiting for me at the picnic table. My stomach snarls in response.
“So we've got a big day planned. We're thinking of taking this hike, since we've never done it before.” She points to the map, tracing the path we'll take with a marker. It looks twisty and windy and probably difficult.
“Sounds great.” I say around a bite of pancakes. I have to open my mouth and suck in air so I don't burn my tongue.
After piles of pancakes and a quick wash up, Mom is itching for us to get going on our hike. Even though Dad clearly slept, due to the snoring, he looks like he got less than I did. I slather my skin with sunblock and bug dope, ignoring him as he packs up the water and gorp and maps. By the time we're ready, I'm so slippery if someone tried to grab me, I'd slide right away.
I'm wearing hand-me-down hiking boots from my mother, since our feet are the same size. She's wearing a newish pair that Dad bought her a few months ago that she's been breaking in ever since. Dad's are so old they're falling apart, so he's taped them up so they'll stay on his feet. We're quite the ragtag bunch of outdoorsmen.
“So, Ava-Claire, your father and I were talking and wondered if you'd like to take a few weeks off from school. It's almost the end of the year and I could help you study for your exams at home. What do you think?” The sun comes through the leaves, lighting up her face in patches that move with the wind. Her skin is pale, but she doesn't look as worn out as she should. It's like these woods and this air revive her. Breathing life into a body that's been ravaged by something unnatural. I shift my bag on my shoulders, trying to get the straps to sit just right.
I think about what she's asking. It's not just if I want to spend time with her. It's if I'm willing to spend all my time with her. If I want to give up what little normalcy I have left, which is really the opposite of what we've been talking about all along. Dad's ahead of us and I can feel his disapproval. That's all it takes for me to say, “I'd love to.”
“I knew you'd say that. We'll talk about it when we get back,” she says, glancing ahead at Dad. She speeds up to walk with him, doing that thing parents do when they have a silent fight so the kids don't see. It's clear who the winner is when she kisses him on the cheek and he turns to smile at her. I speed up and go around them. I can't stand looking at him.
I look back at her, nearly stumbling. Dad helps her over a root, making sure she doesn't trip. The image hits me, making me almost fall over. They look so happy. So free. It's a Kodak moment of the purest kind. I wish I could be like that. The closer I get to losing her, the less free I become. Her laughter calls to me. I turn instead and try to swallow the tears that climb up in my throat.