Us Against the World

41. The Risk

I don't dream a lot.

Ever since the accident, I've dispelled any type of dream from entering my mind. Admittedly, I've had to use copious amounts of Melatonin to achieve my goal, but it's helped. For almost six years, I've slept dreamlessly and soundly (well, as soundly as I could when I had a sister to raise).

The pit of black that whisks me around melts away and I'm in my kitchen, but it's different, which is unusual since I rarely change anything in our home. The apartment is furnished with cleaner clothes draped along the couch, a fixed television, and more family pictures than I can count. There are toys on the ground and a few strollers. From the kitchen, I can hear lively, animated chatter.

Wait, kitchen?

Then I realize. This isn't my apartment. This is my home, the place my parents worked tirelessly for months to be able to rent. I had to sell it after their death to start getting some money, but here I am, in the musky living room of my only home, alone while a party rages in the inner rooms.

Intrigued, I follow the sound. My footsteps are noiseless and I seem to be able to pass through objects, which while might sound cool, gives me the shivers and is very weird; like an ice block melting on my skin and then reforming once I leave the object.

In the kitchen are my parents, both of them holding each other with wine glasses in their hands and laughing. My dad is chubbier than when I last saw him. He has a potbelly and a completely, snow-colored beard. Spectacles adorn his balding head and his laugh is deeper and jollier, like Santa Clause.

My mum is still skinny, if not, skinnier. She's dressed in a comfortable blue kurti and a pair of jeans, wearing her slippers and socks as she always does. Her face is eroded with wrinkles, but the motherly gleam that she gets whenever she catches Chandini and me getting along is still there. She says something and laughs, gesturing to the table.

I follow her gaze. First, I see Chandini. It's obviously her, what with her beautiful skin and body, long curly hair, and pointed face. She looks older, more mature, and a tad less arrogant than the Chandini that I know. Her lips are smeared with lipstick and what I think is cake, and she turns to kiss the man beside her. He's a handsome, dark-skinned man with fluffy curls and a chiseled jawline. Beside him stands a clone of Chandini; a beautiful child who looks no older than nine or ten. They're a spitting image of my sister, but while she laughs loudly and jumps around everywhere, the child stands quietly by who I'm assuming to be Chandini's boyfriend, watching their mother frolic and enjoy herself.

What's going on? My brain feels fuzzy and there's thick bile stuck in my throat. I hack like a cat, but the only thing that comes out of my mouth is a small cloud puff. I frown. What the hell?

Blow out the candles! I hear someone call. A man; statuesque and immaculately dressed. He stands taller than my dad and around the same height as Chandini's boyfriend, perhaps a bit taller. His unruly, curly hair frames his strong jaw and kisses the tip of his smile. He's handsome and fit, and there's something familiar about that man that I can't put my finger on. He's like an older version of someone...

No...My blood freezes. Is that...Ezra? I edge toward the table. Yes, it is. But what's he doing here? How has he met my parents...

I meet my answer when I force myself to move beside Ezra (seriously, it's like I'm walking in water). The woman that he's calling to holds a young child in her arms, a boy around one or two years old. Her stomach is round again, no doubt carrying another child, and she jostles the baby in her arms before leaning toward the cake in front of her. Taking a long, comical breath, she and the baby both blow out the candles, and the whole kitchen erupts into cheers and clapping. The woman - a dark-haired beauty with a cherub-like face - smiles and gives the baby to Ezra. Then, she cuts a piece of the cake. There's pink frosting on the inside and she gasps, whirling toward Mum and Daddy, then the baby and Ezra. She's beaming, tears racing down her cheeks.