Page 67 of In What World

It’s so nice to hold her, I don’t expect tears to fall until they’re trickling down the sides of my cheeks.

“Oh,” Marlowe says softly when she notices. “Don’t cry.”

“They’re good tears,” I say. “I’m just tired, I think.”

“It’s been a long time since we’ve slept,” she replies.

“I didn’t mean to stop this.”

“You didn’t,” she tells me. “I just happened to notice the pillow behind your head was damp.”

“Damn pillow,” I say.

She lowers herself onto me, like my own personal weighted blanket. The contact melts my anxieties, our breaths syncing as our hearts beat with each other.

“I could fall asleep like this,” I say.

“Me too,” she murmurs, her breath brushing my neck. “I’m really glad you’re here with me. I wouldn’t want to be lost with anyone else.”

This only makes the tears come faster, and I’m sure she can feel them pooling beside her head. But they really are the good kind of tears. Ones I’ve needed to cry for a very long time.

“Good night, my Marlowe,” I whisper.

Only on the edge of sleep do I realize I’ve called her mine. Instead of startling me, it makes me calmer. I wrap my arms around her tighter, and I let myself drift off.

23

Marlowe

I wake beforePriscilla. In sleep, she keeps herself contained, still in the same spot she was when I dozed off on top of her. It’s so different from how she lives her life, where she’s bold for the sport of it. Here, she is defenseless. Fragile.

I can’t bring myself to disturb her, so I plant a gentle kiss on her forehead, not worrying about the why, then creep upstairs to find the psychics are already awake with a breakfast spread of pancakes and eggs set out. Psychic Marlowe’s also made the tea we like, squeezing a lemon and stirring honey into it before she hands it over.

“Do you ever talk to Alice Yeung?” I ask.

“From high school?” Psychic Marlowe questions. “I see her around occasionally. I’m pretty sure she teaches at WRHS now.”

“She does,” Psychic Priscilla confirms. “And she’s dating another teacher there.”

“Is it a woman?” I ask.

“Oh yeah,” Psychic Priscilla tells me. “I follow her and her girlfriend’s joint account on Instagram.”

“I knew she was gay,” Psychic Marlowe mutters, a self-satisfied smile on her face.

Psychic Priscilla takes out her phone. “I can’t believe I haven’t showed you this,” she says to her Marlowe. She turns the screen to reveal a picture of Alice kissing Jeannie Gratto’s cheek.

Of course, I think, my own self-satisfied smile forming.

“I always thought Alice was cute,” Psychic Marlowe admits.

“Shut up,” Psychic Priscilla says excitedly. “I didn’t know that! I would’ve been sharing this information a lot sooner!”

“Ever since yearbook, when she and I stood up to Mr. Pritcher together,” Psychic Marlowe says.

“About the grass theme?” I ask.

“Oh my god,” she says. “He did that to you, too?”