Page 37 of Ghosts Don't Cry

She pours, and we sit. The lasagna is perfect as usual. Layers of pasta, sauce, and cheese, with the crispy edge around the corners that I’ve always loved.

“Natasha’s daughter started kindergarten. Have you seen her?” Natasha is one of Mom’s neighbors.

“She’s in the Butterfly room with Claire. I’ve got the Starfish kids this year.”

“Oh, that’s right. How’s that little boy doing? Tommy, is it? The one who was having trouble settling in?”

“Better. We found some things that help him. He has his own quiet corner now, and we’re working with his mom on a routine.”

She nods, like it’s the most fascinating thing she’s heard all day.

The clock on the wall ticks. Outside, a car passes, music thumping through closed windows. Mom twists her wedding ring. A habit she developed after Dad died. She does it when she’s anxious. Eventually, she sets down her fork.

“Lily.” Her voice is soft. “We need to talk about this.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Yes, we do.” She takes a breath. “I know you’re not okay.”

I can’t swallow past the lump in my throat. “I’m fine.”

“Sweetheart—”

“IsaidI’m fine.” The words come out sharp.

She’s quiet for a long moment, studying my face. Reading all the things I’m trying to hide.

“You look like you haven’t slept. Your eyes are swollen. And you’re pushing food around your plate instead of eating. You’re not fine.”

“What do you want me to say?” My fork clatters to the plate. “That seeing him again destroyed me? That I can’t stop thinking about it? That seven years later, I’m still—” I press my lips together, blinking hard.

“Still what?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“It clearly matters.” She reaches across the table, but I pull my hand back before she can touch it.

“Can we please just eat?”

“Lily—”

“What do youwantfrom me?” The words burst out before I can stop them. “Do you want me to say I’m over it? That I’vemoved on? Ihavemoved on. I have a career. I have friends. I have a life that has nothing to do with him.”

“Then why are you falling apart?”

I don’t have an answer. Or maybe I do, and I just don’t want to say it out loud.

“I’m worried about you, honey. Last time broke you into pieces. It took you years to put yourself back together.”

“I know.”

“So what happens if you let him back in and he does it again?”

“I’m not letting himback in! I ran into him on the street. That’s all.”

She doesn’t look convinced. “Is it?”

I stand up, needing to move, and walk to the window so I can look out at the garden.