Page 43 of If Only In Our Dreams

Trixie was as soft-hearted as a person could be.

Gentle. Kind.

And I’d never seen her wear anything that hadn’t been ordered from an occult catalog, wasn’t blacker than the night sky, and covered in lace. I could admit seeing my children dressed the way they preferred sent a pang of longing for their mother through me whenever I let it catch me off guard.

She’d been my best and only friend when I’d moved to the city.

We’d bonded over our love for books and our aversion to public transportation. And despite the fact I’d never made a real friend before, we’d quickly—and effortlessly—become two peas in a pod.

It helped that Trixie was as gay as I was. We’d had a lot of mirrored experiences as teens, thoughshe’dkept the eyeliner, and my style now leaned more toward Tom Ford.

Trixie had been the one to tell me I should contact agents. She’d been the one who read my first book and quietly proclaimed—over tea one day in her favorite tea shop, because she was a tea drinker—that if I didn’t send it off to be published,shewould.

My platonic soulmate.

In all the years I’d known her, we’d never fought once. Not even when we were planning to have children. Not even when she’d been pregnant with our twins, and I wouldn’t stop hovering. Always panicking, always overbearing.

She was my biggest fan. And I was more than a little happy that she’d finally broken into her dream career in L.A., but that didn’t mean I didn’t miss her, especially at times like this.

I ran my hand over Jane’s fuzzy head, and then Rosie’s, sighing softly as I crouched down on the ground beside theirbed, moving slowly to make sure I wouldn’t cause my back to spasm.

Trixie would know what to do in this situation.

I wanted to ask her for advice.

But I was more than a little worried she knew Robin personally as they ran in the same circles. And I didn’t want to betray his privacy like that. Not that I ever thought she’d do something as awful as spread my concerns over his health—or rumors about us.

She would never.

It was simply the principle of the thing.

As someone who was incredibly well-known, there was very little privacy Robin had left. I wasn’t about to betray that, not even to my best friend.

Jane made a snorting sound, and I bit back a laugh, fingers combing through her silky curls as she snuffled against the mattress.

I didn’t want to disturb them, so I remained quiet, soaking up their little sleep sounds and finding peace in them like I always did. When it was far too late to be up any longer, I rose with a pop, biting back a groan as my back twinged—just like I’d hoped it wouldn’t—and I made my way to my own bedroom to do the physical therapy I’d been neglecting.

Robin was on my mind as I brushed my teeth.

He was on my mind as I set my alarm—bright and early—for Sunday, my designated day with the girls.

He was on my mind as I pulled on sweats and slid beneath the covers.

And when I dreamed, I thought of green eyes.

Chipped nail polish.

Bruises.

And laughter.

And the fact I didn’t want to half-ass this thing with him at all.

“Don’t forget to breathe!” I cheered, stopwatch in hand, as Rosie huffed and puffed. Her little chubby limbs worked double time, hands clutching tight to the spoon she was strangling, and the egg it balanced atop it. The snow had melted earlier in the week, leaving grainy brown patches, here and there, the soggy-soaked leaves beneath it squishing beneath her booted feet.

It’d been a lovely Sunday so far.

We’d had pancakes this morning—with chocolate chips—my specialty. We’d watched an hour of Jane and Rosie’s favorite cartoon—LilPoe. It was a child-like retelling of a lot of Poe’s work. Their favorite was theCask of Amontilladoepisode with the wall. And we tended to watch that over and over andover,on a never-ending loop. They knew every single line and would shamelessly quote it while staring at the screen like it was hypnotizing them.

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