Gathered myself and drank some water. Up until now, I had managed to dance with everyone except Luca.

  He sat on a bench by the window, his shoulders slouched forward, his head low. The twinkle lights shimmered in the whites of his eyes, and he fiddled his thumbs.

  When he caught my stare, he stood immediately, his smile growing.

  As soon as I noticed he was about to approach me, I looked around to see if there were any open dancers I could introduce him to, but most of them were occupied.

  Welp, here goes nothing.

  Luca extended a hand when he was closer, and I took it, following him to the center of the dance floor. We stood under the chandelier, and Luca’s eyebrows were up high. The way he looked reminded me of when he held my hand last time. How he tried to play it off, even when I knew he wanted to hold it longer. No use ignoring it, I knew Luca liked me. It was as obvious as the day was light. But I’d never felt that for him. And it wasn’t how he looked—he looked okay—it was just who he was. Maybe that made me a terrible person. And maybe I didn’t deserve his friendship at all.

  “Hey…so, I know I can be too much at times, but I’m glad you reached out to me tonight. It’s been weird not having you here.”

  Yeah, shit. Of course it had. My heart pinched. Pressed my chin against my chest almost, and I waited for the DJ to choose the next song.

  “But anyway,” Luca continued. “I hope you don’t keep running away from dance. I think your mom wants you to be here. Because you’re great, and I know you’re meant for this. You always have been, Zharie.”

  I looked into Luca’s big brown eyes, not feigning a smile this time. He’d done it again, the whole mom thing. Damn you, Luca. This time it was so kind and so sincere. He was something else right now, but those words, that was what I needed.

  “Luca,” I breathed, still stunned by everything. “I really appreciate you saying that.” He was right, and I wished I hadn’t avoided this place for so long.

  All this change had been terrifying, but maybe Mama’s spirit lived in this place. Maybe being here was honoring her.

  Luca continued to smile, and he was huffing so hard I could feel some of his breath on my face.

  I looked away from him, waiting for the song to begin already. The intro was terribly long, and in it, the sound of a door creaking and then—wait, was that a howl?

  “Yes.” Luca answered my question without meaning to, and he effortlessly led me through the starter step. I could tell he’d been practicing, and then we passed each other as soon as the beat dropped. “This is one of my songs.”

  My throat tightened. It was “Thriller,” the literal song that haunted my dreams a couple of weeks ago. And as we danced, I remembered everything. The memories smashing into me, shaking me like a storm. I was in that clearing again. The flat land turning into blackness. The cold night. The mahogany blood pouring out of me. Emptying me. The death in the air. The cracking. Wet bones, wet bones, wet bones.

  And when Luca spun me, the people around us morphed into the undead, the unmentionables.

  I spun around chairs and then trees.

  People and then zombies.

  Darkness and then blood.

  They glitched in and out, and each time Luca passed me, I hurried to the other side of the slot with haste.

  Luca probably thought I was feeling myself, that my movements were a lyrical expression of the song, but really, fear poisoned me, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. It was the zombification of the universe around me.

  The room closed, the walls narrowing. Short, raspy breaths. A dragging and sliding. A thud. Another. And the people in the room. All dead and done. No more souls in their eyes. Meat sagging on skin. Bones fresh and pale. And worse, they danced.

  They reenacted the routine from the music video. All in sync and together. In a different light, this whole thing could have been comical—what could be better than literal zombies dancing to “Thriller”?

  But in this light, in this moment, I wanted to scream.

  Luca led me through a free spin toward the end of the song, and when I made it back to him, he had transformed into a zombie, too.

  The song ended, and I held my breath, my fingers crumpling away from him.

  Luca’s face, raw skin bloated and ripping away. So dead and thick, pieces of his cheeks sagged, pulling away from his eyes, blood squirting from underneath. He was one of them, except I was in his arms, his claws deep in my shoulder.

  He leaned in, the smell rancid, and the blood dripped on my chin in a splat, splat, splattering way. Snarled. Eyes opened, and I froze.

  Lips pressed against mine. His scabs scratched me, squishing me, a bruise forming.

  And when he pushed his tongue past my teeth, I forced him away from me—a blow to the center of his chest.

  Wiped the imaginary blood from my mouth. “What the hell, Luca! Why did you do that?” The tears were back, and I didn’t try fighting them this time. I needed him as a friend, and he ruined that. All I wanted was to dance with Luca, the babbling Luca. But this? This changed everything.

  He barely moved; his breathing labored and pulsed, a puncture deepening in his throat. The blood crawled to the rest of his veins like an ink splotch on paper.

  Silence. And I waited for the song to change, waited for the people to glitch back to their normal selves, but no one did.

  Death was everywhere.

  They all stared at me, bumping into one another and slowly coming forward. Blinked, blinked, blinked, but it didn’t help. Stumbled back. Waited for them to change, for my mind to unbreak itself. This wasn’t how it usually worked, but I wanted it to. I wanted, so badly, for them to zip out of it. What if my brain had finally broken?

  One scurried to the side. Balancing on the tips of its toes. A snarl and a body so decayed, I could see through it. One fell to the ground, skin smacking the floor hard, its jaw popping out of place. Blood thickening in the slots of wood. And Luca came back to me. Purple-and-brown fingers stretched for my heart. The ringing in my ears growing until I screamed.

  Ran. Grabbed my stuff and ran as fast as I could out the door, my chest pounding. Kicked off my shoes, and my socks scraped the hot cement as the fireworks roared and exploded in the starless sky, making me run faster.

  A zombie behind me. I forced my body to work harder, to go farther, the streetlights flickering as I passed them, and the air stinging my eyes.

  I kept going until I couldn’t see the ballroom anymore, until the lights were sparse and there was no sign of anyone behind or before me. And then I leaned against a closed building, slid to my butt, and pressed my face into my palms to cry.

  My life kept crumbling. It would not stop. It would not give, and what if I had nothing left?

  But I needed to get out of here. Wiped the snot away and dug for my phone, my fingers shaking. I sniffled, and tears fell on the screen as I downloaded Uber. My ride found me in less than five minutes.

  It was an older Black woman with a navy Toyota.

  In the back seat, the world whipping around me, Luca called and texted me. No reason to respond, so I turned my phone off as it vibrated in my hand.

  Tonight was supposed to be my night.

  For those few hours, I felt alive again, I smelled the sunflowers.

  Now I was just numb.

  WHEN I GOT INSIDE the apartment, Auntie E was in the living room, standing by the only piece of furniture in there—the lamp.

  Fuckkk.

  “Where have you been?” Her arms were crossed against her, and she had on her blue robe, her hair still wrapped in a silk scarf.

  I sighed, dropping my keys into the bowl. When I put my bag down, the light flickered, and I realized I never asked for permission to leave tonight. But I didn’t think she’d be here. Didn’t think it mattered if I was here or there.

  “I—”

  “And why haven’t you been answering your phone? I’ve called and texted you. I thought someone snatched you up. Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

  My shoulders fell forward, and I shrank. When I was at the studio, it didn’t occur to me to check my phone. It had become habitual because whenever I was there, the only person who needed me had always been there with me. Now here we were.

  “Auntie, I’m sorry, I—”

  “Where have you been, Zharie? Where could you even be on a day like this—and for that long? And if you’re pregnant—” She paused, pointing her finger at me. “Damn it. You better not be pregnant. We can’t afford another life, Zharie! Shit!”

  I pressed my lips so hard, I tasted red, my eyes swelling. When I tried to speak, she cut me off again.

  “Tell me where you were!” She stomped her foot and slammed her hand on the wall. The light flickered again.

  I flinched, and the words struggled to come out. I didn’t get why she was so upset. Did I miss something? Was the house dirty? It had to be more than me forgetting to ask permission. My absence didn’t matter before, but the one time I turned off my phone….

  “Do you think this is a game?”

  “No.” I shook my head, feeling my eyes rounding, and I couldn’t look at her. Didn’t want to see her face, so I stared at her house shoes.

  “Well…” She waited.

  “I’m not pregnant. I’m not even sexually active.” And I was annoyed that she would assume that’s what I’d been up to. Was she afraid I’d be like Mama, start my own family young? And maybe I should have. It worked out for Mama. We had each other. We never needed anyone else. But if Auntie were around, if she’d talk to me, give me the chance to take up her space, she’d know most of my free time was spent locked in this stupid, empty apartment.

  I pressed my nails into my palms as I spoke. “I was out dancing.”

  Her arms fell to her side. “With what money?”

  “My money.”

  “From where? You don’t have a job, Z.”

  “From the sale. My money from the sale.”

  She closed her eyes, her nostrils flaring. “Zharie…that money…how much of it did you spend? You can’t just be using it on dance or whatever you want!”

  Stood up straight, fingers still pressing into skin, breaking now. “Why not? It’s mine!”

  “Are you serious? How the hell are we supposed to survive, Z? This world ain’t all about you! I wish I could do what I wanted, too! Do you really wanna continue taking cold showers and having little to nothing to eat? We have bills to pay! I’m already struggling as it is. Do you think I’m picking up extra shifts for fun? Do you think my schooling is free?”

  “No, but—”

  “But nothing. I’ve heard enough. You’re selfish, Z. Twiggy spoiled you, and it shows.”

  “Don’t talk about my mom.”

  Auntie E scoffed, almost laughed. “Girl, calm down. You ain’t ’bout to do nothin’.”

  I stomped my foot. She didn’t know what I could do. “Ugh!” I yelled, and I grabbed the closest thing to me—the key bowl—and threw it on the ground as hard as I could. It cracked against the floor, bounced, and just barely missed her.

  “Don’t you dare touch another thing,” she said, the words barely escaping her teeth.

  I yelled again, loud, the sound ripping from my throat as I stomped down the hallway. “I hate you!” My voice broke. “I hate living here!”

  I kicked the bedroom door open, and it slammed against the wall, bouncing back slightly.

  Auntie E yelled back. “I hate having you here, too! And don’t you even think about—”

  I slammed the door. Kicked it again.

  “Zharie! If you break anything in there, you’re paying for it!”

  I could barely hear her words over my own rage. Another kick, and then another. Coming again and again. I kicked everything in sight—my shoes, clothes that weren’t put away, the brown box still in the corner.

  It was Mama’s box. Unopened. Unmoved.

  Slammed into it, crushing the items inside, and dust rose as I banged it into the wall. The sides broke open; the contents fell everywhere.

  “Why did you have to leave?!” I yelled, every horrible memory from the last year seeping out of my eyes and onto my shirt. Mama on the couch, blue lips. Mama on the floor, rotten. Packing my things. No chance to say goodbye. Zombies everywhere. Auntie E. This apartment. Bo, dead Bo. Rico, Andrew, Mika. And Charlie. Charlie and Luca, all my hopes. All of it, taken away, all because she died.

  “None of this would have happened if you were still here!” I screamed it louder, hoping that Mama would hear me from wherever she was. Hoping that it would somehow make her come back. It wouldn’t matter if she was a zombie, if she didn’t have a soul in her eyes. Just please. Please, come back.

  The door busted open, and Auntie E flipped on the light. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” She huffed, rushing to me, trying to grab at my arms.

  I kept kicking, yelling, screaming.

  “Z! Stop!”

  I couldn’t stop until the box was destroyed.

  “Z!” She yanked me away from the box, and I pulled myself from her grasp, fixed my shirt. And I was on fire. I knew I was. But the flames didn’t kill me. “You stop it, now!”

  I closed my eyes. Dropped to my knees. The world was so black and blue. And I couldn’t breathe. My chest shook, my head to the floor now, and I couldn’t breathe. The universe hated me. I knew it was true. And if it was so disgusted with me, why didn’t it take me like it took everything else?

  This wasn’t fair. If I could go back…I’d give anything. Please. Anything, my soul.

  “Clean it up, Z! Clean all of it up!” Auntie’s voice rang, and she didn’t stay. Even though she paused. Even though her voice cracked just then, she left, closing the door on her way out.

  I crumpled over, sobbing like there was no tomorrow. Everything I loved, ruined, gone.

  I had no one. Nothing.

  And I hated this life. What was the point of it anyway?

  IT HAD BEEN AN HOUR. Maybe. I didn’t know.

  Tried not to move. Wanted to stay still, to not move forward, to be frozen. But my body twitched, a sharp pain growing in my lower back. When I opened my eyes, they felt swollen, probably colored scarlet, and it wasn’t till I looked around that I really saw the damage I’d done.

  There were three dents in the door, the wood splitting by the knob. The wall by the window was scuffed with dark marks, and the drywall had cracks that looked like spiderwebs. And Mama’s box was bent and sunken in.

  Haze devoured my insides, torment sinking deep.

  The items that used to be in the box were scattered around the room, most of them broken or cracked. I felt my eyes well up, my bottom lip heavy, and I got to my knees to look at my destruction.

  Mama’s jewelry box and her seashells. The hand-carved wooden box was busted, the metal clasps torn off, and the shells scattered across the floor. I scooped them into my hands, felt them in my palms. Different sizes and colors, some cracked now, chipped away. Mama got them from the beach in California before I was born. She always said she wanted to take me to the same beach so we could squish our toes in the sand, treasure hunt the day away, but we never went.

  My old Bear. Light brown and scraggly, a button eye hanging by a thread. I didn’t know he was in there. Grabbed him quickly, placed him to my nose, against my cheek. Used his hand to wipe away a few tears. He smelled faintly of our old home—sandalwood and citrus. I tucked him under my arm after—didn’t want to ever let him go again.

  A picture frame, the glass broken, the edges falling apart. The photo inside was of Mama and me on the day I was born. Her hair was in shambles, and she had on a hospital gown. I was bundled like a burrito, wrapped in a white blanket. She held me close to her chest, and despite the fact that she was looking down, I could tell she was smiling. She told me her life changed forever after that.

  Mama’s favorite book. It was A Walk to Remember by Nicholas Sparks. I used to make fun of her for liking it, told her she could do better, but she said I didn’t get it. Maybe I would when I was older, so she hid the book away from me, somewhere tucked high in her room. The pages were bent now, the cover torn, and there was a yellow envelope poking out of it.

  I opened the book to grab it, and the envelope—along with a small folded piece of paper—fell onto the floor.

  In the book, Mama had highlighted a paragraph on this particular page:

  “I don’t think that we’re meant to understand it all the time. I think that sometimes we just have to have faith.”

  I went for the folded paper first. It looked old, real old. It crumpled when I opened it, and I could see that the edges of it were rough, like they’d been ripped away from something. The back of an old flyer maybe? The paper didn’t say who it was from, just a note scribbled inside. The words almost faded:

  I’ll always dance with you. Always. I’m forever yours, Twig.

  Hmm. Furrowed my brows and turned it over again to try and make out what the flyer had been for previously. All I could pinpoint was a tiny dance icon.

  Set it down and went for the envelope. When I turned it over, I saw the return address was from California. San Diego, California.

  What? The sperm donor lived in California.

  I opened the envelope and pulled out a white piece of lined journal paper. There were watermarks on parts of it, the ink bleeding.

  When I unfolded the letter, I found this:

  What? I reread it again, quickly. Mama was having an affair with the sperm donor? For how long? When? I flipped the envelope over, finding the date it was stamped: October 25. Nine days before her death.

  Mama never lied to me. Never, ever. But was this why she never dated? Because she was secretly dating my birth father?

  I swallowed hard, sinking into the floor, my chin pointing toward the ceiling. It felt like my life was imploding, my organs twisted, turning teal.

  Closed my eyes, skimming through all my memories of her in my head. She never dated anyone. She always said it was hard to date in the industry. She also said it was hard to date outside the industry. She stayed busy, worked late. She lived in her phone. It stayed locked. I tried, but I could never crack the code. She was up late, traveled often. Sometimes to California. Sometimes for multiple days at a time.

 

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