Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 101168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Edgar did a double take. “You told your therapist about…the ghosts?”
“Well, yeah. I could hardly explain anything about my life without that bit.”
Edgar had always imagined telling a therapist you saw ghosts would be a one-way ticket to a mental hospital. “Mom always said…” He trailed off when he considered the source.
“I know.”
“Did your therapist believe you?”
“Yeah, of course. I mean, I don’t know if she personally believes that ghosts are real. But for the purpose of our sessions, she takes that as fact. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be able to help me.”
“I never thought about that,” Edgar said. He’d just pictured the pitying look someone would give him the moment they realized he was tragically delusional.
“Also, a lot of people believe in ghosts. You know how I feel about the secrecy shit.”
This had been Allie’s perspective since they were teenagers: that talking about it normalized it and encouraged other people to talk about their own experiences. Secrets were an unnecessary burden. She’d been right: whenever she brought the topic up, there would be someone who said they believed, had experienced something, or knew someone who had. Nothing like what the Lovejoys experienced—mostly shadows in their peripheries or dark figures at the ends of their beds. But knowing she wasn’t alone had helped Allie, so Edgar would never argue with her. At her urging, he’d even tried a few online forums, years before. But unlike Allie, it had made him feel even more alone to understand the gulf between his experiences and those of even other people who’d seen ghosts.
And that isolation had only gotten more habitual.
It doesn’t have to be like that anymore. It’s not going to be.
Edgar put a hand on Smoosh’s belly, soothing himself with the warm, dependable rise and fall. The baby cooed, and Edgar turned to see them awake and looking at him.
“So I’ve been thinking,” Allie said. “About a name.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Mama chose Lenore for herself because it sounded a bit like Nora.” Nora had been their mother’s given name. “So I was thinking of the name Nour. It honors Mama in both ways. And it means light.” She paused for a moment. “I guess I feel like this little weirdo has been a light for me, showing me what I want for the future. For me and for us. And illuminating a lot of shit I’ve struggled with for a long time. I feel as though I can see what I should do more clearly now that they’re here.”
Edgar swallowed around the lump in his throat.
“Bah, cornball alert,” Allie said, rolling her watery eyes. Then, after a moment, “But, um. What do you think?”
“I think it’s beautiful,” he said. “And I think it’s good you’ve picked something, because my first thought when Poe called them Bones was that it was cute and maybe I should start calling them that too.”
“Dear god, I’ve acted just in time. Although actually, I think Bones is a pretty wicked name too.”
“Don’t tell Poe,” they both said together and laughed while Nour bobbed their little fists at the nearest cat in pure joy.
29
Jamie
“I told you, I don’t drive!” Edgar said, as he swerved and barely missed hitting a parked car.
Edgar, dressed to the nines, had agreed to lift his moratorium on driving this once so he could pick Jamie up from work and speed them to the art museum while they changed their clothes.
“Yeah, but,” Jamie said from the back seat, where they were wriggling into their pants, which looked amazing but were inconveniently snug for changing in a car, “I assumed that was in case a ghost startled you, not that you were a menace more generally.”
“I’m sorry. I’m nervous!” He blew out a breath for the dozenth time since he’d picked Jamie up and shook out his hands.
“Listen,” Jamie said. They reached around the armrest and squeezed Edgar’s shoulder. “I wish I could say they’re gonna love you or not to worry about it, but the truth is they’re assholes, so just…try not to take anything they say or do personally. Okay? And I’m sorry in advance.”
Edgar snorted as if that were inconceivable, and Jamie crossed their fingers that their family was on their best behavior. Or at least so preoccupied with the rehearsal that they didn’t pay any attention to either of them.
Edgar screeched into a parking spot, tires spraying gravel into the lush grass.
“Jesus, remind me to procure a Dramamine from Great-Aunt Marge in case you have to drive home.”
Jamie extracted themself from the back seat and opened the driver’s side door for Edgar. He looked amazing. Jamie hadn’t had a chance to fully appreciate him while they were running toward the truck trying to shave precious seconds off their commute. But now? He was clean-shaven and his brown hair curled over his forehead, grown out enough since Jamie had first met him that they could now twine it through their fingers when they were watching movies together and wrap it in their fist when he begged them to.