Page 16 of Daydream

I’ve never known a woman to look so out of place in my bedroom. She seems nervous for some reason and looks like she’s thinking far too hard. Sometimes I struggle with conversations because humanbeings, especially the women in my life, naturally want to fill silences with something. I watch Anastasia and Aurora do it all the time; it’s like they’ve appointed themselves as guardians of the conversation flow and natural silences are counterproductive to their work. I don’t think Lola’s had a quiet moment in her life, but lately it seems to be because of arguments she has with Robbie. I don’t think they know I know they’re fighting a lot, but my room is directly above his.

I love the silence, but judging by the look on her face, Halle does not. “Is this your girlfriend’s stuff?”

“Someone stayed the night once and the next day got really sick. I didn’t have anything to look after her with and I felt really bad. Since then, I’ve kept stuff in my bathroom just in case,” I explain. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“I wasn’t sure, because I saw you with someone last night and…” Her voice trails off. “Yeah. Anyway.”

“Anastasia. My friend’s girlfriend.” I can’t help but smirk. “Were you jealous?”

My question finally adds a little color to her white skin as her cheeks flush pink. “No, of course not! I just… God, I am so hungover.”

“Of course not,” I repeat, holding out the Advil to her.

“This is a pretty cool thing to do,” she says, shaking two pills onto her palm. She digs into her bag and pulls out a water bottle, throwing back the pills quickly. “Thank you.”

The silence returns. Leaning forward, she swipes a book from my nightstand. It’s the same one I bought last week at the store. The same one I’ve hardly touched. “How’s your leadership reading list going?”

“I read two chapters and gave up. It’s about his whole life, which I guess is fair for an autobiography, but who has that much to say about their family?”

“Not a family guy?” she says, flipping the book over to read the back. “Sorry, that’s so personal! Ignore me, I didn’t think.”

“It’s fine. I love my family. My moms are the best people I’ve ever met, but I could cover it in half a chapter. Max.”

She laughs, and it’s exactly like I thought it would be. Light, pretty, musical. Everything about her is soft. “I have to stop myself from writing super long chapters all the time. So unfortunately, I can relate to”—she flips the book over—“four-time Stanley Cup winner Harold Oscar. I’m sure what he has to say is far more interesting, though.”

“You’re an author?”

“I’m trying to be, but there’s something not clicking right now. I think I’m still trying to find my style or something. There’s a competition I want to enter but I can’t decide what to write about. I’m, I don’t know, seriously lacking in inspiration I guess. Weirdly, a song came on at the party last night that clearly wasn’t supposed to be part of the playlist and I thought about a plot, but I don’t know if it’ll go anywhere. All my other ideas and drafts don’t feel good enough, so maybe something new is a better idea.”

“I get that. Sometimes I feel like that about a painting if it’s a new subject or technique I’m trying. Stuff we create is personal. You’re probably overthinking it.”

She smiles and rubs her fingers against her temple. “You’re probably right. But anyway, you’re an artist? That’s so cool, I didn’t know that.” She looks around my bare room. “Where’s your work?”

Good question. I shrug. “Never made anything I’ve wanted to stare at every day. I move on quickly.”

“Wish I could relate. I feel like I’ve been dragging around the same ideas for years. It’s a good thing I’m a better reader than I am author; I think I’d lose my mind.”

“I’m a much better artist than reader.” She laughs again. “I can’t concentrate on a book I’m not interested in long enough to get to the interesting stuff. I try really hard and before I know it, I zone back in and I’ve been pointlessly scrolling for twenty minutes. But I don’t even remember picking up my cell phone. It’s infuriating.”

Halle doesn’t give me the weird look people give me when I try to explain how frustrating I find some things other people find easy. She just nods. “My younger sister has the same problem. We found it’s because she has ADHD. I help her a lot with her English homework because it’s her least favorite subject, and if she doesn’t want to read the book it’s a battle.”

Battle feels like the right word for how I feel sometimes. “It’s weird, because I can google something and accidentally end up tangled up researching a different thing but read everything that’s ever been said about it no problem. But the one thing I need to do is impossible.”

Halle chuckles, but I don’t feel like she’s laughing at me. I like how easy she is to talk to. “Yep, Gianna is the same. Getting her diagnosis has given her more resources and support, but I dread to think what school would be like for her if we hadn’t pushed her doctors. I spent a lot of time looking up ADHD, and some people go their whole lives not knowing that they’re neurodivergent. Sorry, oversharing.”

“It’s good your sister has support now. I’m going to spend the rest of the day looking up these cookies,” I admit, taking another one from the container. “They’re too damn good.”

“My nana once visited for an entire summer to look after me while my parents were at work and my brother was at football camp. She monitored every step of the process to make sure I perfected it. She said I couldn’t give out shit cookies and then tell people it’s her recipe.”

“Please pass my thank-you on to your nana.”

“Oh, she passed a few years ago. I live in her house, so I have all her personal recipe books and things. I think the cookies are the only thing I don’t completely ruin.”

“She’d be happy with her cookie reputation,” I reassure her, taking another bite. “You’re doing a great job. It’s cool you live there, though, and have her stuff. My grandma was a fancy restaurant kindof lady, so I don’t have recipes, but I do have a list of approved places to eat across the world.”

My mama stopped talking to her parents thirty years ago when their “strict, conservative values” meant they couldn’t accept she was gay, so even though they’re still alive I haven’t met them.

My mom’s parents were both career-focused people who didn’t have her until later in life and they both passed away before I was fifteen. They did everything to make my mama feel loved and included in their family since she’d lost her own. One of my grandma’s favorite things to do was to take us all to eat at her top-ranked places and show off her family.

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