Page 36 of Tell Me I'm Not Dreaming

SILAS

S ilas checks his phone as Bridget uses the ladies’ room at the gas station they stopped at. They’re making really good time. There’s a flea market and craft fair he wanted to hit up that’s only about an hour away. They can spare a couple of hours.

While his phone is charged, the reception is spotty, so he’s surprised when it buzzes. It’s Danielle. She sent him a video of Summer. He hits play and hopes for the best.

Danielle has the camera facing Summer while she sits on her mother’s lap.

“ Sum-sum, say ‘Hi, Pop-pop. ’”

Summer gurgles something that sounds like, “ Irrrllll. ”

“Come on, sweetheart. Say ‘hi .’ How about ‘ Pa-pa’? Can you say pa-pa?”

Bridget comes back to the car, carrying two Gatorades and some snacks. She opens a bag of chips.

Summer smiles into the camera, and Silas angles it so Bridget can see the little one.

“ Come on, cutie, say ‘ Pa-pa. ’”

Summer says something that sounds a lot like, “ Ba-ba .”

“ Good job, Sum-sum !”

Silas pauses the video and turns to Bridget. “Did you hear that? She said papa. My little angel said hi to me.” Silas beams.

Bridget boops her nose through the phone.

“She is so cute. I want to nibble her cheeks so bad. I miss that. You know, sometimes, I really miss when they were little. I was LJ’s and Tanya’s whole universe.

That girl used to make me tell her story after story during bedtime.

And she was one of those kids who always asked, ‘And then what happened?’ even after the book was done. ”

Silas laughs. “Yeah, that sounds like Tiffany.”

“You ready to get back to our travels?”

“Let’s do it.”

They enter the outdoor flea market and look around, talking and joking. As usual, they talk about a range of topics.

After an hour, they get lemonades and take a seat on a bench.

“Okay, I have another topic for you, Mr. Magrady,” Bridget says.

“Hit me,” Silas encourages.

“Okay, now, I’ll admit the ladies and I had some edibles before this lively discussion took place. So, fair warning.”

Silas chuckles. “Your warning has been heeded, go ahead.”

“First, do you believe in aliens?”

“I don’t think we’re alone in the universe.”

“Okay, so with that in mind, do you think aliens know who Michael Jackson was?” Bridget asks, then sips her lemonade.

“Hell yeah, they do. I mean, how could they not? If they’ve heard of humans, then they definitely know who he is.”

“We all agreed that Martians probably listen to the Thriller album on the regular. This led to many discussions, including celebrities who we think have alien DNA. But the big question became, why do you think aliens haven’t come to Earth, yet?”

“How do we know they haven’t?”

“Point taken, but why haven’t they announced themselves if they’re already here?”

“Would you? Look at how humans behave. Hell, parasocial relationships alone would be enough for me not to want to fuck with humans. That shit’s weird.”

“I know, right! Imagine having a whole one-sided relationship with someone that’s completely in your head. That’s what it boils down to. Folks thinking that because they interact with someone’s art or content or whatever, that they know them.”

“What’s the worst thing you’ve experienced from someone thinking they know you because of your books?”

“A woman showed up at a signing at a bookstore when I was in Oregon. She shouted in my face that I needed to kill King Rodrick and that she couldn’t understand why I was being ‘such a bitch about it.’ She learned that day that I’m not the one or the two.”

Silas laughs. “I want to know the thought process. What do they think yelling at a stranger will accomplish?”

Bridget laughs with him.

They finish their lemonades and walk around some more. Bridget excuses herself and goes in search of the ladies’ room.

Silas looks around as he waits for her, and he spots a first edition of The Adventures of Melody Lee .

Holy shit!

He approaches the man running the booth. “Excuse me, sir. How much for the first edition of the Melody Lee book?”

“That’s not for sale. I mean, it is, but someone has already reserved it.”

“How much has the buyer offered you for it?” Silas asks.

“A man tracked me down when I posted a picture of the books I carry on IG. Paid me three hundred on Cash App and said he’d come by with the rest of the money today.”

“How much more does he owe you?”

“Another two hundred.”

“I’ll give you a thousand for it right now,” Silas says without batting an eye.

“Sold! My Cash App is $fleamarkethank.”

“Bet.”

The man places the book in a bag and hands it to Silas. He returns to see Bridget looking around for him. He smiles and hands her the bag. She smiles back, opens it and looks inside. Then she looks up at Silas with tears in her eyes and kisses him.

Within seconds, his tongue is tasting hers, their lips seemingly unable to disconnect.

Bridget breaks the kiss and looks at him with a sweet vulnerability in her eyes.

He takes her face in his hand. “Wow. All that because I bought you a book,” he jokes.

“How much did you pay for this?”

“Don’t worry about that, beautiful. You really wanted it. That’s all that matters.”

“But you’ve already paid for our hotel rooms for this trip, you keep insisting on paying for our food and you won’t let me pay you for gas.”

“Cause what the fuck do I look like doing that? Bridget, I’m a man. A grown-ass man. I’m not about to make you pay for anything as long as I’m around. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” she flirts.

“Don’t go making my dick hard. We’re in public.”

“What if we weren’t?” Bridget counters.

Silas takes Bridget’s hand and leads her to the exit.