Daydream: A Novel (The Maple Hills Series Book 3)

“STOP STARING AT ME.”

Halle doesn’t sound like my Halle when she snaps at me for the tenth time today. Her voice is rough, nasally, too, congestion making her sound like she’s trying to talk with a marshmallow up her nose.

When her head tilts up from its normal position of facedown in the pillow, the tip of her nose is pink, eyes watery with dark marks under them.

“You need to go to the doctor,” I tell her for the tenth time. One each for every time she’s told me to stop staring at her. “Why are you being so stubborn?”

She sniffs loudly. “Because you told me I had to start saying no to people. So, no.”

“I also said I didn’t mean say no to me.”

“I have a little bit of a cold or something. Whatever wiped everyone out two weeks ago has clearly finally reached me. I’m fine, Henry. It’ll pass, I promise.”

“Did all your sneezing give you a concussion? You started the epidemic that wiped everyone out. You’ve been sick all month; it isn’t normal. You need to go to the doctor.”

After telling me I was wrong all day on New Year’s Eve, Halle started complaining about feeling unwell on New Year’s Day. She said it was because she’d worked so many hours then stayed up late with me. She said it’d be worth it when she gets paid and can buy new clothes for her vacation. An unfortunate reminder for me that the vacation is still happening.

College restarting brought hockey with it, and despite my insisting she stay home to rest, Halle dragged herself to our Saturday game after we lost our first game of the year the day before. I’m pretty sure she slept on Poppy’s shoulder the entire time and didn’t see one second of play.

Calling her my lucky charm has made her superstitious, which, as our luck in her presence continues, the team is kind of feeding in to as well. We’ve played away for the past two weeks, and instead of using her time without me to sleep, she helped answer a cry for help from Enchanted when their weekend guy called in sick.

I pointed out that she probably gave it to him, which was not gratefully received.

“The doctor will tell me to rest,” she mumbles into the crook of her arm, not bothering to look at me. “I’m not vomiting anymore. And I’m not pregnant, if that’s what you’re worried about. I think my body is just rejecting me having such a stellar work ethic.”

I slow-blink at her even though she can’t see me. “I hadn’t even thought about that. I don’t think a symptom of pregnancy is looking like you’re on the brink of death.”

“You clearly haven’t seen Breaking Dawn.”

“You think I lived with Anastasia and Lola and didn’t have to watch Breaking Dawn? Be serious. I’m worried about you. I fell into an information wormhole on WebMD and I’m struggling to be cool with you not being looked at.”

She pushes herself up from my bed and sits on her heels facing me. She’s so beautiful, even when she’s snotty and gross. “I’m a vision of health and wellness.”

“Let me take you out then if you’re so healthy and full of energy.”

The way she looks at me is the most alert she’s looked in weeks. “Huh?”

“I want to give you a new experience. Let’s get ready and go, Cap!”

“Henry, we don’t need to do that anymore. You’ve escaped Thornton and I haven’t written a word in weeks. Forget about it.”

“No, I want to give you an experience. Let’s go.”

Reading body language is not always my strong suit, but Halle’s practically writing this one on the wall for me to read. She’s tired. She’s achy. She low-key hates me for putting her in a situation where she has to admit defeat or do something she doesn’t want to do. Breathing out a heavy sigh, she surrenders. “Fine. Let me get ready.”

EVEN IF HALLE DIDN’T LOOK like she should be painted into The Triumph of Death, I’d be able to tell she isn’t healthy based on one thing alone: she isn’t asking me where we’re going.

By the time we’re pulling up in front of my parents’ house, she’s asleep. Which is telling, considering it’s not that far from her house. I don’t like waking her up when she’s sick, but I’ve overthought every single possibility for the past three weeks. I’ve ended up fixated on every sniff and cough, trying to determine exactly the tone of the cough so I could match it to the chart I found online.

Watching her try to act like she was totally fine while she had some kind of stomach virus and threw up repeatedly was the weirdest experience of my life. I don’t understand why she won’t take care of herself properly. Nobody was going to die if she didn’t do the thing she’d said she’d do for them. Everyone would have understood, but it’s the most impossible task to her just to admit that she needs a break.

When I went to Halle’s work to deliver her more medicine, Cami said Halle’s scared if she stops doing all the things she normally does it’ll make her mom fly out to try to look after her. Given her mom is still holding out for Halle Ellington, and I exist, more mom time isn’t something she wants right now.

“We’re here, sleepy girl,” I say, nudging her gently.

She frowns, looking around to work out where we are. Rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands, she leans to look out of the window properly. “Are you making me join a sorority? I thought about it freshman year and decided it isn’t an experience I want. So can we go home now?”

“This isn’t a sorority house. Come on, let’s go inside.”

I don’t give her a chance to argue with me when I climb out of the car and head up the driveway. I hear the car door shut and her feet hitting the concrete. “Henry, wait up! Where are we?”

Using my keys, I open the door and usher her in. “My house.”

As soon as I step through the threshold, I can smell soup on the stove. I called my mama while Halle was getting ready and asked if she would just take a look at her to make me feel better. We argued about whether this constituted as bringing a girl home, and eventually settled that it doesn’t, because I’d never bring a girl home while Mom was at work.

Halle grabs my hand, stopping me from progressing farther into the house. “You brought me to meet your moms! I haven’t even brushed my hair today!”

“That’s not my fault; I did tell you to get ready. I thought it was supposed to look like a nest. It’s that thing. A messy doughnut.” The color is returning to her cheeks, even if it’s from anger. “And it’s only one mom. The other one is at work.”

“You’re seriously doing this to me? Seriously?”

I’m beginning to think I might have fucked up. “I just want her to take a look at you and promise me you’re not dying. Because even though logically I know you’re not, there’s a tiny little voice in my head that tells me that you might be. But you”—I lower my voice so it doesn’t echo through the house—“won’t. Get. Help.”

“This just gets worse. Okay, okay. I’ll do it for you. I’m sorry that you’ve been worrying about me.”

“Don’t do it for me, do it for you. Care about the fact you’re sick. That’s all I want.” Wrapping her hands around my waist, she buries her head in my chest. I hope her nose isn’t running. I kiss the crown of her head, and the nest tickles my nose. “I like this, but every day we get closer to your germy ass making me sick.”

“Are y’all coming to say hi or are you going to make a run for it?” Mama shouts from the kitchen.

“Your mom has a southern accent,” Halle says, looking up at me with big eyes.

“Do you not listen to me? I told you she’s from Texas.”

She laughs, closing her eyes as she shakes her head. “I know, but for some reason, I just expected her to sound like you, but, I don’t know, more feminine. It’s silly, I know.”

“My mom has a Boston accent because she’s from Boston. Just to clear up any confusion when you meet her.”

“Got it, smarty-pants. Okay, if she hates me, you have to convince her to give me a second chance because I’m not at my best,” Halle says, buttoning up her cardigan and straightening her dress. She unbuttons her cardigan again. “I don’t know what I’m doing; I’m too hot and flustered.”

“Come on. She’s going to love you,” I say, taking her hand.

Thankfully, Halle doesn’t make me drag her into the kitchen with me, but there’s definitely a hint of reluctance in her walk. I keep hold of her hand so she can’t run away, and as suspected, Mama is adding herbs to a soup pot next to her work laptop and a glass of wine.

“Hi, baby. Soup is almost done.” She looks up from the pot and straight past me to Halle. “Halle, it’s so nice to meet you, honey. I’m Maria.” She twists one of the knobs on the stove and takes off her apron, rounding the kitchen island quickly with her arms open. “Please don’t look so scared. Henry said you haven’t been feelin’ so good. Poor girl.”

Mama embraces Halle, but Halle doesn’t let go of the tight grip she has on my hand. Instead, uses her other hand to receive the hug, and seeing Halle so nervous makes me think maybe I should have just taken her to her doctor’s office instead. When Mama finally lets Halle go she takes my face between her hands and kisses me on the cheek. “Did you get taller?”

“Why are you acting like you didn’t see me last week?” I guide Halle to a seat at the island in front of the pot.

“And why are you acting like you aren’t still growing?” she counters, returning to the stove.

“I didn’t get taller in the last week.”

“Halle, darlin’. Do you want your noodles in your soup or on the side?” Halle looks to me for guidance like it’s some kind of test. “When Henry was a toddler, every few months he’d get strep throat and all he’d eat was chicken noodle soup. But he would not eat it if there were noodles touching his carrots. He wouldn’t tell us that, though; we had to figure out why he was crying through a process of elimination.”

“And I’ve heard about it ever since,” I mutter.

“Talk loud enough to be heard or be quiet, baby,” Mama says, not missing a beat. “I think I cooked more soup than every family on the West Coast that year. So now it’s a family tradition to serve your noodles on the side, but I’ll put yours in the bowl for you if you like.”

“On the side sounds good, thank you,” Halle says, sounding more polite than she’s ever been to me.

Mama and Halle talk. Well, Mama asks Halle questions about where she’s from, what she’s studying, what her hobbies are. And Halle answers in the same polite tone instead of saying, “Leave me alone, I’m sick.” My fingers tap against the marble counter and my foot bobs up and down as I listen to them go on, and on, and on.

“What’s got your feathers ruffled?” Mama says to me with a pointed look.

“Are you going to examine her? She’s really sick.” I have too much energy in my body, and I can’t sit still. I just need to stop obsessing over it, but I can’t. Her expression softens.

“I thought it would be polite to let the poor girl eat a hot meal before I start poking at her, Henry. I hear you’re stubborn, Halle.” Halle’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. “Which suits my son, who is stubborn as a mule when he wants to be. Isn’t that right, baby?”

Now it’s my turn not to have anything to say, because how am I catching strays when Halle is the one in the wrong?

Mama laughs to herself. “Lookin’ like a couple of goldfish. Let me find a thermometer.”

When she disappears, Halle turns to me. “I can’t believe you told your mom I’m stubborn! She’s going to think I’m difficult and unappreciative now. That’s going to be her first impression of me. I’m not even stubborn; I literally agree to do everything for everyone all the time and that’s why I’m sick.”

If she’s annoyed, then I’m more annoyed. “Exactly. You do everything for everyone all the time and you get sick and you don’t ever put yourself first.”

“It’s never a problem when I’m doing things for you!” she says, and I want to argue back, but she’s right. I treat it differently when it benefits me. “I didn’t mean that, Henry. I’m sorry. I’m just grouchy because I’m tired of being sick. You’re right; I should have gone to the doctor last week. I was just… I don’t have an excuse. I’m sorry I made you so worried.”

“I don’t want to be top of your priority list. I mean, I want to be second, but I want to be after you. I want you to start prioritizing yourself over everyone else.”

“I hear you,” she says. Quickly looking around the room and confirming we’re alone, she leans in to kiss my cheek. “I don’t want to give you my germs.”

“That’s okay. We’ll make up for lost time when you’re better.”

MAMA SAID HALLE HAS A straightforward—not fatal—illness, and with a few days of real rest, hydration, and medicine she would recover.

On the drive home Halle called her boss and told him she wouldn’t be in this week, and also called Inayah to cancel book club. Then she called Mrs. Astor and asked if she’d mind looking after Joy for a few days while she stayed with a friend. For some reason, the way she said friend made me feel unhappy. Maybe it was because I wanted to bring Joy with us, but apparently testing if Robbie is lying about his cat allergy is mean and probably illegal.

“Mrs. Astor tells me I look like her husband every time I talk to her. I asked to see a picture and he’s an old white guy with no hair,” I say to Halle when I get back from taking Joy next door.

Halle looks up from packing her bag and laughs; it’s the brightest I’ve heard her sound in weeks. “She means future husband. It’s a joke she and my nana used to share. A bit like a, Oh, you feel like boyfriend material type thing. Like, Oh, you look like my husband. Which one? My next one. She’s hitting on you, Hen.”

“Are you going to go fight for me?” I ask, watching her immediately roll her eyes.

“Absolutely not.”

“You answered that quick. Why not?”

“Because I’ve known that lady since I was a baby,” Halle says. “And mainly because I know she did martial arts in the seventies.”

“I’d fight for you if Mrs. Astor was a Mr. Astor, may he rest in peace.”

She adds what I hope is the final thing to her bag, then starts to zip it up. “I’d never want you to fight for me with anyone over anything. Fighting is for fools, and you are not a fool.”

My eyebrow creeps up a little. “Fighting is for fools?”

She laughs, rubbing her fingers against her temple, which tells me she’s due more medicine soon. “Grayson used to get into fights all the time when we were younger, and it’s something my mom said to him. She had it made into one of those motivational cross-stitch quote frame things. Like the ones you get about Jesus. I think he still has it; I’ll get him to send a picture if he has.”

“Fights about what?”

She sighs. “I don’t even know. Mom used to say it was just boys being boys, which is a bullshit excuse in my opinion. Grayson wanted to live with Dad when our parents split up, but Dad didn’t fight for custody of us. Then we moved to Arizona, which Grayson hated. He was horribly bullied for sounding different, and he was small but really broad when everyone else was having a growth spurt and thinning out. I think it all just made him a super angry kid.”

“Is he still like that now?”

“Angry? No, he’s actually pretty chill now, just quiet. It was really hard on Mom because she was pregnant with Maisie. She had Gianna half the time, and Gi just didn’t understand why she suddenly had this woman acting like her mom, so she was a terror. And then every other day, Grayson’s school was on the phone saying he was going to get kicked out if he didn’t fix his behavior.”

“How did you feel about it?”

“I hated Grayson coming home bruised; it used to really stress me out because it made me think maybe I’d get bullied when I went to high school. I was taller than the other girls in my class and puberty slammed into me like I was the running back. I’ve always had bigger boobs, wider hips, thicker thighs, etcetera than everyone else, but I didn’t get bullied. No one paid attention to me really, but I still hate fighting because of how miserable everyone was while Grayson was acting up. Nobody knew about the bullying thing until later.”

Every time Halle tells me something about her life, I’m mad at myself for not asking earlier. I want to sit her down and learn everything there is to know about her. “What made him stop fighting? Was it the cross-stitch?”

“It was not the cross-stitch, I’m afraid.” Halle chuckles, but then it turns into a coughing fit, which reminds me to come back to this later. “So this sounds like it’s been lifted straight out of Forrest Gump, but I swear it’s true! He’d pissed off some guy in his class over something and they were going to fight after school.

“When Gray turned up there was this gang of kids there, so he ran. Our high school football coach saw how fast he was. Found out who he was, which meant finding out that he was an angry little nightmare on the brink of expulsion. He hauled him in, sat him down, and said if he stopped fighting and giving shit to all his teachers, he’d let him train with the players. If he stuck to it for the rest of the year, no incidents, he’d put him on the team.”

“I take it there were no more incidents?”

Halle chokes out a laugh again even though this story isn’t very funny. “No, there were incidents. And every time there was one, Coach reset the clock to zero. But that stubborn old man never gave up on him, and eventually Grayson made the team. Bullying stopped as soon as he was appreciated for being small and wide. His grades improved, he got into college, and the rest is history.”

“And what was happening to you? Grayson was fighting, Maisie was a baby, Gigi was confused. What were you doing?”

There’s a sad smile that she wears sometimes. One that doesn’t meet her eyes like when she truly smiles at me. “Well, we became a football family, so I spent a lot of time sitting on bleachers reading while we supported Grayson. I helped with Maisie’s diaper changes and keeping her entertained so Mom could have a break. Then Gigi moved in full-time, so that was another adjustment for everyone. I spent a lot of time hiding out at Will’s house that summer.”

“Is that how you became friends? Hiding from your family?”

“I wasn’t hiding from them. Mom and Paul, Mom especially, just had so much going on that I didn’t want to ever add to the stress. It’s hard to get yourself into trouble when all you do is read books. Will was very confident and he just welcomed me with little effort on my part.” Why did I ask about Will? Why do I like annoying myself?

“I guess that makes sense.”

“I just didn’t have any responsibilities at Will’s house. Nobody asked me to do anything, I never ended up covered in baby spit-up, and Will was just so laid back about everything that it was a respite from always trying to keep the peace in my own house. I know I don’t talk about him positively now, but I needed him then. He made me feel less lonely.”

She rubs her temple again, and it’s a swift reminder that she needs to rest. And I don’t want to hear Will’s redeeming qualities when he treated her so badly and she doesn’t really see it. “I’d like to see the cross-stitch if your brother has it,” I say, changing the topic. “Are you ready be taken care of?”

She nods, looking around the room for any last-minute things, and she clearly spots one because she makes a little squeaking noise. “How do you feel about me bringing Quack Efron?”