I’ve had a hell of a day. Honestly, what a goddamn rollercoaster. Aiden got quiet after his explanation, which makes sense. He doesn’t love to talk the way that I do, and that was probably exhausting for him. It’s okay, though, because he already gave me enough to think about for like, weeks. Right now I feel like an investigator standing in front of a case board, drawing connections and then changing my mind, ripping them off and starting over. I could dissect basically everything he said today with a fine-tooth comb, but there are a few things that are absorbing the bulk of my attention.

Firstly, I got a little bit of history. Berlin. A sobriety program. An immediate flight back to Ketterbridge. Whenever I ask him about what he was doing during those eight missing years, he either doesn’t answer, or he says he was running. Today he said that the running was useless.

There’s a lot there. Bus and plane tickets, faded and softened by age, flutter through my thoughts like paper butterflies.

Secondly, and perhaps most importantly: he made Kasey into a ghost, completely by accident, because of me. I try to envision it: Aiden sitting up in an unmade bed in Berlin, thinking, for some fucking reason, of me. I didn’t ask, because I was afraid to make him clam up, but - me? Why, eight years after the last time we saw each other, would his mind ever drift to me even in passing?

I have to assume it’s related to the guilt that emerged when the alcohol dried up out of his system.

But… I’m thinking of Ralph, how he said that Aiden would never let anyone actually beat me up. That was all the way back in high school. Eight years later, Aiden wakes up in the middle of the night, knowing I’m about to be hurting, and puts a stop to it before it can even start, yet again.

I draw a connection on my mental case board, but it feels too preposterous. I rip it away.

A counterpoint to my own argument arises, unbidden: the guilt theory is strong. I know how terrible Aiden feels about how he used to treat people. I know how terrified he is to lose another person he could have saved. I remember exactly the way he looked, rigid and breathless on my living room floor, the night that Gabby was in trouble. Of course he might do some accidental magic when he lost someone. Especially if it was the first one he’d lost sober in such a long time. It might have very little to do with me.

But he himself brought it up, didn’t he? That it was to do with me?

Thirdly. He thought that I would blame him, maybe even find him unforgivable, because of what happened to Kasey. I guess he thought that I hadn’t considered this already. It had long since crossed my mind that if Aiden had been living in Ketterbridge when Kasey died, there’s a chance she might still be here. It’s indisputably true. Yet I can’t find it within myself to be angry with him, or to blame him. I don’t know exactly why. My mom would know some neat little Bible verse to explain it with.

“Kasey,” I murmur, and she stirs. We’ve been sitting on my couch in flat silence for a long time, both of us separately trying to process all this. “Do you blame Aiden? Like how he was blaming himself?”

“No.” Kasey shrugs. “I blame the black ice.”

“Yeah, I don’t agree with him on that one, either. I’m pretty sure it boils down to this: yes, Aiden can hear unnatural deaths coming, but that doesn’t make them his fault. This was all dropped on him when he was just a little kid. Why should he be stuck in Ketterbridge, and not get to travel or explore or - live his life? He shouldn’t have to sit around in Ketterbridge all day waiting for someone to need him. Like, he should get to have his own life.”

“I’m agreeing with you,” Kasey says, shifting to drop her bare feet in my lap. “You do realize that?”

I give her big toe a pinch, and she squeals and jerks it away. She can’t even feel it, but it must be muscle memory. One thing I’ve always loved about Kasey is how she’s terrifying for a five-foot-something person, how she’s always ready to throw down or argue with people or get them in line - or indeed, simply declare herself in charge, as she did at the Ghost Office - but that she’ll dissolve into giggles at the slightest tickle.

“Kase-face.” I open my arms, and she slides over to snuggle with me. “I’m really glad you don’t want Aiden to release you. I was so scared for a hot second.”

“Shit, I’m not ready to go yet. I had a lot of plans, nothing that would fit into twenty-six measly years. I probably can’t do most of them now, but... I don’t know what’s next after this life, or if there’s anything next, but I want at the very least a good long time to experience this one.”

“Good.” I fold my arms over her back. “I’m not ready to let you go yet. Possibly ever.”

“Mmmm. Same.” She lets out a little sigh, and I ease back to look her in the face.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Just… everything is so different for us now. Think about where we were in like, February.”

“I know.” And things will change again. Soon. Now that I've come clean to Aiden about Kasey, I feel like the time is fast approaching to tell him that I want to be with him. I’ve been thinking over exactly what words to choose, what will communicate everything. Well - not everything. If I told him everything living in my heart right now… talk about coming on too strong.

Kasey is right: picking up on romantic signals isn’t exactly my forte. But normally I’m not this bad at putting them out there - or at least, not this nervous. I’ve communicated interest in a guy with something as little as eye contact and a nod across the bar, yet here I am thinking there aren’t enough words in my vocabulary to tell Aiden what he means to me.

Maybe it’s because what I feel for him is singularly unique. Rare, like a seedling grown from malachite.

“I have a rough plan,” I tell Kasey. “For talking to Aiden.”

She lifts her head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna start by telling him that he’s been an amazing friend to me since he came back. Go from there into asking him if he’d be interested in seeing anybody. Then-”

“You are way overthinking this.” Kasey rolls onto her side and presses up against my ribs. “Which is usually not the problem with you, by the way. You’re making this whole plan, but you don’t even know when this so-called right moment is going to happen. I’m telling you, you should just be honest with him, not sketch out this imaginary conversation-”

“Okay, well, I’m nervous as fuck, planning helps me cope.”

“Fine, but - don’t get thrown off if things don’t go to your plan.”

“Oh, I will get thrown off.”

“Oh, my god. I’m glad I won’t be there for this.”

My phone buzzes on the coffee table. I adjust Kasey so that I can reach for it.

Companion Plant 🍃 11:05 PM: Are you up?

Me 11:05 PM: No?

Companion Plant 🍃 11:05 PM: Cool, so Gabby and Kent landed on tomorrow night for that dinner. I forgot to mention but Gabby asked if you could come, too

Me 11:06 PM: I thought you were gonna roll early and give them some time alone?

Companion Plant 🍃 11:06 PM: Think I might have misread that. Seems like she wants more people there, not fewer

Me 11:07 PM: Weird? I thought that they liked each other

Companion Plant 🍃 11:07 PM: Will you come?

Me 11:08 PM: Depends, what is Kent cooking? Is he taking requests? I have a list

Companion Plant 🍃 11:08 PM: Dinner is at 7, don’t be late.

~~~~

A miniature version of Angie opens Kent’s door when I knock. It takes me a minute to realize what’s going on.

“Ellen?” I stare down at her, surprised. “You look different.”

“I’m a veterinarian now,” she says, stepping back to show me the kid-sized scrubs she’s wearing. “And I had dad take out my braids.” She touches a hand to the little cloud of black hair around her face.

“From sheriff to vet!” I step inside and close the door after myself. “Sweet. Where did you find scrubs that fit you?”

“Dad helped me find them.”

“Where is dad?”

“In the kitchen.” She leans forward, beckons me closer like she needs to share a secret. I bend down, and she whispers in my ear: “He’s all crazy today!”

“Crazy how?”

“Jamie!” Kent leans out of the kitchen, and my eyebrows shoot up. He’s wearing a pretty nice outfit for an at-home dinner, over which he has an apron. “Please get in here and help. Wait, take your shoes off! I just vacuumed. Don’t touch anything.”

Our Nerf-battle couch barricades have all been removed, the cushions fitted back into their respective places. Ellen’s toys, normally scattered everywhere, have disappeared. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Kent’s house look like this.

“You do realize that Gabby has been here before twice, right?” I kick off my shoes and line them up with the others. Following Kent back into the kitchen, I notice that he’s gotten a haircut and trimmed his cropped beard. “Damn, Kent. You look great!”

“Stop.” He adjusts his glasses.

The kitchen smells particularly good, and several pots on the stove are steaming away. I can hear the sizzling of cooking meat, the low rumble of something boiling. There’s a stack of three cookbooks on the countertop, all with shiny, brand new covers.

“What’s all this?”

Kent glances over, busy at the stove.

“I thought I would cook some Spanish food, but then I realized I’m probably not going to do better than Gabby’s family. She talks about their cooking sometimes… So I got that Japanese cookbook, thought I’d try something new, but I don’t have half the tools in there, and then I remembered she said something about missing this French restaurant in New York.”

I pick up the Spanish cookbook, then the Japanese one, then the French one, which is the only one stuck through with lots of post-its. I flip to a random page marked with a post-it and find a scribbled note in Kent’s hand: too late to get wild cèpes? Thumbing to the next page, I discover another note Kent wrote himself: make sure baguette slices are served warm.

He and Gabby are both post-it people, it would seem. A few piles of flour on the counter indicate that he baked the baguettes himself.

Kent quickly strips off his apron and hangs it over the back of a chair.

“What did you need help with?” I ask, setting the cookbooks back in their stack.

“Which of these should we put on the table?”

He has four flower arrangements in glass vases set out on the countertop.

“Um…”

“Not this one. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Kent snatches a vase from the end of the row and slides it away.

“Okay.” I run my eyes over the flowers. These aren’t arrangements we normally sell in the shop, but they’re in our branded vases. Did Kent make these himself? “I like this one.” I scooch it forward: a riot of brilliant colors formed from birds-of-paradise and ginger lilies, edged in glossy green leaves.

“Are you sure?” Kent asks, peering at me through his steam-fogged glasses.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Great.” Kent opens a random cabinet and unceremoniously stuffs the other three flower arrangements inside. He closes it up and hands me the winner. “Go put this on the table.”

I’m suddenly thinking about what Aiden said, that Gabby had wanted more people here, not fewer. She didn’t want it to just be the two of them. Does Kent know that?

“Hey, Kent.” I pause awkwardly in the doorway, the vase still in my hands. “Are you sure that, um-”

Aiden interrupts by choosing this moment to step in through the back kitchen door. He’s still in his work clothes, but a little unbuttoned, his sleeves folded up. I hesitate, my eyes caught and held by his tousled post-work appearance. I hate how much I love this look on him.

“For god’s sake, I’ll just take it myself!” Kent says, looking ready to stomp his foot in frustration.

“I’m going, I’m going!” I hurry out to the dining table and set the flowers in the middle. By the time I come back, Aiden is extracting a baking stone with a row of steaming baguettes from the oven, and Kent has disappeared.

“Where’d he go?”

“To make sure he didn’t have flour on his clothes, I think.” Aiden sets the baking stone on the countertop and pulls off his oven mitts. His bronze cheeks are turned a little pink from the heat.

“Why do I suddenly feel underdressed?” I’m wishing I’d thought to wear something fancier than my usual black jeans and flannel. Dinner at Kent’s place isn’t normally - all this.

Aiden moves around the kitchen island and takes a look at my outfit.

“I think you look nice.” He threads oven-warmed fingers through my hair, gives it a ruffle. I want to lean into his palm like a contented cat, but I hold still until he steps away.

“Hey,” I ask, as he snags a grape from the bowl on the kitchen counter. “Are we at all concerned that like - Kent is doing this whole thing when Gabby maybe… doesn’t… I mean…”

The doorbell rings. Aiden and I exchange a glance.

“Is Kent still upstairs?”

“I’ll get it!” Ellen calls from the living room. I exit the kitchen just in time to see her pull the door open.

“Oh! Hi there,” Gabby says, blinking down at the petite veterinarian. “You must be Ellen.”

Ellen is suddenly shy, staring wide-eyed at Gabby. I can understand that. Maybe I was wrong in thinking Kent shouldn’t have gone all-out like this. I half-expected Gabby to arrive in a sensible work dress, the kind she usually wears, but not so.

She’s wearing a silky, floor-length skirt in a sea-green color, emblazoned with patches of gold foil. On top of that, a crisp white crop top, loose, like the skirt. Her hair is in a high ponytail that falls halfway down her back, and she’s got a pair of golden tassel earrings to match.

“You’re pretty,” Ellen mumbles, and Gabby’s lips turn up into a smile. She drops to a crouch before Ellen, looking very much like a princess you might find at Disneyland.

“Your dad has told me so much about you. I was hoping we could be friends.”

“Okay,” Ellen blurts immediately, and I can’t help but let out a little laugh. Gabby glances up and spots me. She gets to her feet with a jingle of thin gold bangles.

“Jamie! Which I’m guessing means that Aiden is here, too?”

Aiden steps out of the kitchen and stops just behind me.

“Hey, Gabby!”

“Yep, that’s what I thought.” She pauses, her eyes skipping over our shoulders. Kent is on the stairs, stopped in his tracks, looking at her. “There you are,” she says, smiling brightly. “It smells so good in here. What are you making?”

Kent seems to snap awake.

“It’s a surprise.” He bounds down the rest of the stairs and stops before Gabby like he’s not sure what to do. She rocks up onto the balls of her feet to give him a kiss on either cheek.

“Thanks for having me. Work has been crazy, I really needed a break. Tell me there’s a bottle of wine somewhere in this house.”

“Oh, I’ve got options,” Kent says, drawing a laugh from Gabby.

“Dad, can I have some?” Ellen asks.

“Yeah, dad, can we have some?” I call, and Kent whips around to make a shut-it face at me.

“Everybody get in line,” he says. “Gabby gets the first glass.”

“My kind of man.” She pinches his cheek and heads off towards the kitchen.

Kent follows after her, wearing the biggest smile I’ve seen on him in years.