"Do you believe in ghosts or supernatural beings?" I asked Meredith. She was lying on my thigh at midnight while I rested my head against the oak tree, pondering what Mrs. Nathalie had told me. I just couldn't forget that word—Ethereals. I have a good memory, so why couldn't I remember where I had heard it before?
"That's one question gone," Meredith replied, tilting her head slightly and gazing upward. She wore white pajamas with red spots and a pair of white gloves. Her gloved hands held my right hand as her index finger slowly traced patterns on my palm.
"Yes, I believe ghosts are real," she said with an assured tone. "I believe there are other worlds apart from this one." She looked up at me as she rested on my thigh and smiled, her canine teeth adding to her natural charm.
"Does that answer your question?" she asked.
I nodded slightly and adjusted my glasses, though I had more questions I wanted to ask. I didn't know why, but ever since I met her, I'd felt a strange change in my body. I could sense people's auras more strongly than before.
My thoughts wandered—to my cancer, Mom's passing, and the pendant with its strange design. Whenever I looked closely at the centerpiece of the pendant, I could see what looked like a tiny swirl of blood within it. Maybe, just maybe, I could figure out why Mom died so early. Could it have something to do with the pendant? Or could it be that she was part of a cult or worshiped something?
I had one more question left.
"Do you have secrets you wouldn't share with anyone? Not even me?" I asked.
I looked down at her face. She seemed startled by my question. Slowly, she lifted her head and sat upright. Snuggling closer to me, she wrapped her arms around her knees, pulling them close to her chest.
"I can't lie to you, Jaze. I have many secrets I haven't told you yet," she said, her eyes gazing forward, almost as if lost in a trance.
"Meredith, it's fine. We all have secrets. Forget I asked," I replied, smiling at her.
"But some secrets aren't meant to be hidden from those we love," she said softly. Her crimson eyes glimmered under the moonlight, and her hair swayed gently in the breeze.
I reached out and held her hand resting on her knee, adjusting my glasses as I did. "That's the first time you've used the word love," I said, my voice trembling slightly.
My heart raced. This was the moment I had been waiting for—the night I'd finally tell her I loved her. The word love had been trapped in my heart for so long, and tonight, it was ready to be spoken.
She leaned in closer, her eyes locking with mine. Her gloved left hand touched my face, her warmth and tenderness almost overwhelming me. What I wouldn't give to kiss her in that moment—but I knew I couldn't. At least, not yet.
"I love you, Jaze. I love you in every sense of the word," she said softly.
I adjusted my glasses, my hands instinctively resting on her waist. "I love you, Meredith," I replied with a smile.
She gently laid her head on my shoulder, and together, we gazed up at the sky.
"Call me Merry," she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she held my hand. "Mother calls me Merry. Call me that when we're together."
"Merry," I repeated, savoring the sound. "It suits you."
I caressed her hand gently, feeling the warmth of the moment settle between us.
*
I gently opened the door and tiptoed into the room. The darkness enveloped everything, and I hoped Dad was fast asleep.
"Son!"
The light suddenly blared in my face, and I froze halfway up the stairs, petrified.
"Hey, Dad!" I exclaimed, panic evident in my voice. "You're still awake? I, um... thought you were asleep."
"You thought I was asleep? Boy, are you seeing someone or what?" Dad asked, already fuming.
"No, no, come on, Dad! I just went out to sit near the oak tree and feed the cat. I thought she was hungry, that's all," I replied, nervously fiddling with my glasses as my eyes darted to the floor, anxious about his reaction.
He stood up from the couch and walked toward me, suddenly sniffing my clothes like a deranged animal.
"Dad, what are you doing? Are you crazy?" I retorted, stepping back and clutching my jacket tightly.
"What's that smell? Huh? You said you weren't seeing anyone—then what's that smell, boy?"
"I can't do this," I muttered under my breath, skittering to my room and slamming the door behind me.
I pulled off my jacket and flung it onto the window sill. "What the hell is his problem?" I huffed in anger and sat on my bed. Slowly, I placed my hands over my face as memories came flooding back.
A wave of guilt washed over me. Could I really move past Mom? Could I love someone while still living with the pain of losing her? Tears streamed down my cheeks, blurring my vision through my glasses.
"Son, I'm sorry about the way I acted. It wasn't right," Dad's voice came from behind the door.
I heard him sit down and lean against the door, sighing deeply.
"I didn't ask because I wanted to remind you of your mother. I asked if you were seeing someone because I'm your father. Sometimes I can be forceful, harsh, or—what did your mom call it—a brute. But I love you, kid. I know I'm terrible at showing it, but I really do."
His voice was filled with sorrow, and it caught me off guard.
"The truth is, I haven't moved on from your mother—my wife. You know, 'The deeper the wound, the longer it takes to heal.' That was one of her favorite lines from a poem. We've been through a lot, the two of us. But we're men. We'll heal, slowly."
Dad had never spoken to me like this before. His words struck a chord, and for the first time, I could feel his pain.
I stood up, walked to the door, and sat down on the other side, leaning my head against it.