Page 67 of Ghosted
My mom opens and closes her mouth before saying, “Hold on. Did you say you weredrugged?”
I wince because I had sped past that part on purpose. “Yeah, but it wasn’t a big deal!” I say brightly. “Anyway, Mom, Dad, meet Dean Crawford, my erm boyfriend,” I finish weakly. I don’t know how to feel about the title, but it’s the closest thing to describe what he is to me.
They both paste on smiles that look like terribly done papier-mâché, all wonky and distorted. My dad shakes himself a little and looks to both sides of me. “Nice to meet you, son,” he says.
“You as well, sir,” Dean says, stepping forward a little as if to shake my dad’s hand before realizing that that isn’t a possibility. “Damn. I used to be way better at meeting the family. This whole being dead schtick is for the birds.” He scowls.
I relay his niceties, leaving out the last comment for myself.
“So, everyone but us knew about this?” my mom asks, sounding for all the world like she might start crying.
I reach out and put a hand on her shoulder. “It wasn’t on purpose, Mom. I just see Aunt Clarissa more often, and we got to talking. And Wren is Wren. Keeping anything from her is pointless. I’m sorry.”
She smiles and seems to blink away the sadness of my not confiding in her. “It’s alright, Bug. You’re almost thirty. It’s silly for me to think that you have to tell me everything.”
“Maybe. But I should have told you about this,” I say, threading an arm through Dean’s.
She shrugs good-naturedly, and I can see the visions of grandchildren flashing and dying in her eyes. I was never sold on the kid thing, but now that the person I’m with physicallycan’thave children, it’s pretty much a done deal. She leans in to hug me, but pulls back in surprise.
“Did I just touch him?” she asks, astonished.
My head rears back in shock. “I don’t know, did you?”
I look up to see Dean’s wide eyes. “Try again. He’s over here,” I say to my mom, gesturing to my left side.
She tentatively reaches a hand out and pokes him in the chest. They both gasp, and my mom pulls her hand back like she’s been shocked.
“How?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“You’re probably acting as a conduit,” Wren says around a glob of nougat. She studies the space between Dean and me, zeroing in on where we’re touching. “Your connection to him is much stronger than any other spirit you’ve interacted with because you’ve spent a lot more time with him. And you two have an emotional connection. Or, maybe it’s just all thepracticeyou’ve been getting.”
“Woah,” Dean says. I agree.
We spend the next few minutes seeing if Dean can touch others, and if they can feel it. It only works if we’re touching each other.
“Well I’ll be damned,” Aunt C says. “You’re learning all kinds of new things.”
I can tell from Dean’s expression that he’s starting to get drained, so I decide it’s time for us to beg off. “And for my final trick, I’ll go upstairs and get eight hours of sleep,” I say with a bow.
Wren snorts and teases, “Yeah, right. Only if he lets you.”
I send her another scathing glare. “Okay!” I exclaim, hoping to redirect my parents' attention away from that little comment. “Let’s call it a night. It’s getting late.”
My mom gives me a shrewd look. “Fine. But we’re going to have a family dinner soon, and you will bring Dean.” It’s not a question, but a demand.
“Deal,” I say, offering her a smile. She pulls me in for a suffocating, but somehow still comforting, mom-hug.
I say bye to everyone else, flipping Wren off behind my mom’s back for good measure. She draws her thumb across her throat in response, and I roll my eyes, tugging Dean outside.
“Your family is great. Really intense,” Dean says as he follows me inside my apartment.
I laugh. “Yeah. Intense is one word for them.”
“But they’re good people. I can tell. They care about you.”
“Luck isn’t on my side for much, but I did win the family lottery,” I say, pushing the hood off my head in the warmth of my living room.
“So,” he says, stepping in front of me. “What are you supposed to be?”
