Page 52 of Deja New
“Okay. What?”
She repeated herself.Better get used to that. You’re going to be talking about this a lot.
“You’re pregnant with my mother-in-law?”
“Yes.”
“Your mom’s coming back.”
“Yes.”
“Through you.”
“Yes.”
Then he just sat. And sat. It didn’t surprise her—she’d had the luxury of taking a week to adjust to the bombshell—so she stayed quiet.
Finally, he looked up. The concern ladder was back on his forehead.Where’s a chipmunk when you need one? Can I catch one? And train it to walk on Archer’s forehead? Why am I now obsessed with chipmunks?“How do you— I don’t doubt you. But how do you know? And use small words, on account of my brain dumbness.”
She smiled, as he’d intended. Because he didn’t have “brain dumbness.”*
Ugh, really not a fan of that phrase.
Archer was one of the few people who couldn’t see his past lives, one of the few she couldn’t read. He was an utter blank, but in the very best of ways, like a canvas that could be made into anything. Meaning he was either a brand-new soul
(“At least I’m not a rerun like some people,” he teased.)
or he’d lived so long and so well he had earned a clean slate. Archer didn’t know, or care, which it was. She didn’t know—ironic, and she was well aware that made him fascinating to her—and cared, a little. Out of intellectual and spiritual curiosity, if nothing else.
“I know it’s Mom because our baby is dreaming. But they aren’t my dreams.” She paused, trying to find the words to explain how sometimes You Just Know without coming off like a condescending jackass. “I’ve seen other people’s dreams—their lives—when I’m awake. That’s always true, you know that. I can see them even more clearly in therapy sessions after a dose of Reindyne. But never like this. Never while sleeping. In all my life, I’ve never dreamed anyone’s lives but my own.”
“So you knewaboutyour mom’s past lives but neverexperiencedthem. Which is how you recognized her in our daughter.”
“Yes, exactly. And it’s a problem. It’s a problem on top of a huge pile of problems.” She sighed. “One I’m not equipped to endure, much less solve. I never thought I’d find someone who would adore my extensive weirdness—and I’m not talking about the Insighting! I mean my weird B-list Hollywood career. My mom-baggage.”
“Youneverthought?” He shook his head. “Because that’s insane. I thought you were wonderful even before I fell in love with you. And don’t take this the wrong way, but right now I want to focus on the impending reappearance of the star ofMy Daughter, My Whore. But I want to come back to this. Because you could have had a family with anybody you wanted anytime you wanted.”
Wrong. But I love that you think so.“Well, like I said, I wasn’t sure I’d ever find someone I could stand who could stand me, much less start a family with them. I knew I was in over my headbeforethis week—”
“But lots of couples feel that way.”
“Have you already forgotten the Walgreens pee-stick freak-out?” Given his shudder
(“If I have to pee on every pregnancy stick in the store, I will! This has to be a mistake,and I’ll prove it! I would also like two candy bars! Anything but Milky Way!”)
he hadn’t. Though he would have been within his rights to repress the hell out of it. That had been an eventful weekend.
“But this?” She gestured to her stomach. “It’s unprecedented. I’ve been all over the literature, and there’s nothing documented. I’m not arrogant enough to insist no one ever gave birth to a parent or grandparent before—I’m a firm believer in ‘there’s nothing new under the sun.’ But if someone did, they either didn’t know or kept it quiet.”
“So...”
“We’re on our own,” she finished.
He picked up her hand, kissed her palm. “See, that’s another thing you’ve got wrong. We’re not on our own.”
A sweet thought. Inaccurate, but points for trying.
“But, hey,” he continued, now mouthing at her fingers like a gigantic minnow looking for algae. She giggled (how did something so silly make her laugh every time?) and her fingers twitched against his lips. “At least tonight when you wake up from one of her dreams, I’ll still be awake on account of my own impending nervous breakdown. We can keep each other company!”
She burst into tears and when his face sagged, she held up her hand (the one he wasn’t nibbling on) to reassure him. “Happy tears,” she managed. “God, I love your irreverence.”
“Iampretty irreverent,” he said modestly, and she laughed. The “laugh until you cry” cliché had never worked for her. The reverse, though?
Perfect.
