The Blue House of 1478 (9) (Patreon)

I don't know how I feel about ghosts.

I sometimes believe that I know more about the perception of them than I do about anything significant to my future. Being preoccupied with death, the thereafter, is a strange roadblock of mine.

I never seem to move forward.

Despite this preoccupation, this morbid fascination doesn't make up for the fact that Hollywood's renditions of ghosts and spirits alike still terrify me. Somehow, my television set knows this because every time I happen to be home alone, America's Likely Haunted pops across the tv screen without invitation, effectively unsettling me for the rest of the night.

My sister and her fiancé have been gone for a few hours, out to get drinks in McLaughlin, to celebrate their engagement. I wonder where in the world fancy-pants McLaughlin is and just how far out of Sleepy Birch they had to take their tiny car in hopes of finding a bar.

I try not to think about the rain. I've only checked on the weather report a few times, and I stop myself, several more times, from calling Liza to make sure they've made it safe and sound.

"... More space for me on the couch." I shrug to myself, willing away my anxieties, and flip over the side of the loveseat to switch the channel quickly. I'm, of course, in search of a show about cute little puppies and kittens — or men in polos tripping over lawn ornaments, or I won't be able to sleep tonight at all.

America's Likely Haunted's poorly done demon CGI montages through my mind,

Kia and Hunter don't need to know that.

I think of meeting the leaser tomorrow. I have the day planned out, ahead, for the most part — to avoid any obstacles that might somehow ruin my chances, as they tend to do.

I haven't had any sort of interview in years.

I've been a paperboy since seventeen. I keep the job, despite its embarrassing title, because every once in a while, they let me write an article in the obituary section for someone I knew well enough, or on the second page for upcoming birthdays to surprise a resident when they hit a milestone.

It's nothing like my long-held, implausible dream of being an actual writer, but it's something to make any bad day a little better.

I fish half a bag of chips off the game stand and almost make it with just a reach of the arm, but then I'm startled at the sound of the house phone's shrill ring, reeling back in my seat.

I jump up, diving towards the phone,

What if it's Liza? What if they wrecked — what if it's a hospital,

"This is Theodore!" I wish I sounded less of a mess. Usually, I'm pretty good at holding it together. Maybe, an embarrassed part of me wishes that I had caller ID to check to see who it is before answering.

I shuffle into the blankets, and eye the black sky out the apartment's side window.

Things haven't really been the same since Ximena — and I don't like the uneasiness of being alone. Nevermind, that. I just don't like the uneasiness.

I always blame her when I'm on edge.

"Hey, cutie-patootie!"

Oh.  Of course.

It's my oldest sister's voice, masked bright and cheerful because she's pretty good at pretending,

"Hey, so I heard it was Liza's engagement shin-dig tonight, so I thought of stopping by? And by that, I mean..."  she's hesitating. I realize, belatedly, that I can hear the echo of her voice through our thin walls. "Uh."

"Are you outside my apartment?" I snort and pull myself from beside the couch with my blanket cape.

"Ah, you caught me." Katie's the type to show up unexpectedly, dependent on which high or low of her ever-changing moods that she falls into, and I'm unsurprisingly used to coming home to her standing outside my door.

"So...?" My sister warbles for a moment, shyly, and I laugh, hanging up the phone before I unlock the chain of our front door,

"How did you know?" Katie's nose is a bit red from the outside rain, even though the apartment stairs' inside is pretty well heated. I can see the familiar track of rubbed mascara, the bright red sheen at the corners of her eyes.

It's a tell-tale you become familiar with when you have siblings.

"... Ah, man, Katie." I'm pushing the bag of chips into her hands, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders instead of mine, and shoving her inside the apartment. "It's pouring — you live in Doveport.  You can't drive out here when it's like this, you know?"

Katie is fragile. That's what Liza says.

I don't know if she is or isn't. I know that, unlike Liza, she doesn't resent me.

"I know, I know." My sister sniffles, kicking off her rain boots.

I inhale. My heart feels heavy when she's like this, but hers — seems too heavy when she's like this.

"...What happened?"

I watch her face twist when she tries to answer, but she hides it in her shoulder like I do when I don't want anyone to see me cry,

"Oh. No. It's okay," I tell her, pulling the door closed behind me, "um. If you don't want to talk about it, we can watch a movie instead."

Katie shakes her head, palming at her eyes quickly, and black smudges follow where her hands move.

"I'm just," the brunette tenderly pulls herself onto the couch,

"You know," She laughs offbeat, lifts the corner of the blanket for me to crawl under, "being the jealous sort of bitch I am. You're the only one I think of when I'm — you won't judge me."

She says this like it's a promise I have to keep.  I tap her knee with my hand, resting against her shoulder because she's always towered over me,

"Don't call yourself a bitch." I frown. I glare at nothing in particular, "I'm the bitch. You're the cute, bubbly one. Don't try to take my title."

I know why she's jealous; she doesn't even need to tell me. Katie has been with the same man since she was fifteen years old, and he's made no sort of notion that he's ever going to ask her to marry him.

It isn't that there's anything wrong with their relationship or that they need to be married. It's just our good old Eldory desire for validation that makes us so unhappy.

Then, in turn, it makes everyone around us unhappy.

"I'm just getting older. Right?  So I want a family — more and more," She slips off her socks, watches them fall to the floor, and tips her toes under the side of my leg, "A warm, Hallmark family that decorates for holidays, wears matching pajamas and,"  she hesitates again, "I want a big family that I can smother in love and that — that loves me back."

My heart aches.

"I love you."

"And I love you," Katie hums, "but you know — you know — we can't just have each other. I want kids, a full house, with all of them laughing like.... the whole shebang..."

I worry my lip.

"You'd — you'd be a really good mom."

Katie's eyes lift to mine.  They're watering.  I inhale.  She snorts and looks back at her bare feet.

"Yup, that's future me — a good mom, who at fifty, is still introducing myself as the girlfriend of my children's father.  That's all I think of.  Aren't I twisted?"

"...Have you talked to him?" I know that's the question everyone asks, that stupid question that no one wants to hear, " Davit?  About... You know, about wanting marriage? Or kids? Does he know?"

"Davit knows I want kids. He wants them too." Katie shakes her head to the rest; I watch as her brown curls tangle in her necklace, "I don't want to ask him about the rest. I want him to want to marry me. I want him to want me.  I don't want to have to put the idea in his head."

The sad thing is that I know Davit loves her, and has loved her since they were both teenagers. He's constantly showering Katie with affection and cheesy romantic notions — like, the necklace draped around her neck is his grandmother's, and she gave him grandpa's watch last year for the anniversary of when they met.

That kind of gross stuff.

"Well.  What if he really, really wants to be with you for the rest of his life?" I furrow my brows, "Because I'm pretty sure he does, so... Isn't that the same thing?  As marriage?"  I ask, watch as Katie bites her lip until the color drains from it,

"No.  God. Not to other people... You sound like him... It is — it's just," She bends a bit,  "I can't explain it. It's something.  It's like a promise he won't leave."

"It's been fifteen years."

"So what?  Everyone leaves us." Her voice is a quiet, angry murmur.  "You — and Davit. That's all I have.  Why does it feel like I'm going to lose you guys — any second?"

I swallow.

"It's stupid.  It feels like.  You both will leave.  Even when you aren't going to — I just.  I can't stop thinking about it, crying about it,"

My chest heaves.

Is leaving the same as dying?

Because — dying doesn't feel the same as leaving. Ximena never left. Not really, anyway. But she feels dead.

So that means — she's gone?

Right?

I clear my throat.

"Well, it's not the same world as fifty years ago." I shoulder my sister softly, "Get on a knee and propose.  I know you know that he loves you."

I laugh as she shoves a handful of chips in her mouth,

"Just because Liza is getting married, it doesn't devalue what you have. Doesn't mean she's leaving us, either.  So add her back to your love list.  Okay?"

"... I hate complaining to you," Katie says over a mouthful, mock-glares, "You're so understanding when you live in a retirement community for God's sake — you... Have it way worse than me."

"Worse than you?"

"Yeah. You must be super lonely."

"It's not exactly a thriving location for people under sixty," I wrinkle my nose,  "but I don't care too much.  I don't feel lonely."

"You do care."

"Well. I don't think my lack of brain-to-mouth filter and bad fashion sense would tug in all the perpetual suitors in any way. Who knows, maybe I'll get a sugar daddy." I wriggle my brows up at her, and she gasps, pushes at my shoulder,

"Don't you dare," Katie hisses, "and don't let Liza into your head. She's as bad as dad. You're adorable."

"Ew. Am not."

"You're cuter than me; you're cuter than all of us — there's something to you." Katie hums, sweetly, "Like there was to mom."

"Dude, I am not reminiscing with you." I snort loudly at that, pointing at the pizza stains at the end of the couch, and flash her the bruises on my elbows,

"Cute? You got to be kidding me, Katie!" She's laughing too now, crunching on another handful of chips, "too many hallmark movies. Cut it out."

"I'm serious, though... Theo.  Aren't you lonely?" Katie shifts back to look at me, wiping at her mouth, "I know Liza's making you find another place, and... You know if you are, you can stay with me."

I don't deserve that.

I don't deserve your kindness.

"Stop that. I'm fine."

"Theo. I know it's more of a drive to get out here to Sleepy Birch, but... There are people your age in Doveport. More jobs.  There're — happier memories to make."  She sighs, "I hate seeing you and Liza stay here.  It's so toxic for both —"

"I'm not lonely," I shake my head,  "I like the people here, and I can't uproot myself, my job.  Everything is here..."

I pause a little bit, sit in the silence, and try to think of why I wanted to stay.

I try not to think of Adrian.  I try not to think of him coming back, waiting for him to come back.

And — more than that. Thinking — if I leave, maybe I won't see Ximena ever again.

"You know, they started letting me write articles in the local newspaper.  And that's something.  Mr. Fredrickson at Forget-Me-Not used to work for Thymes, and he says my writing is promising."  I smile in an unsure way, not as confident when I speak of myself as I am when I'm cracking a joke,

Then I realize — what I've said,

"Mr. Fredrickson?"' Katie looks ill. Her jaw clenches, but she changes the subject quickly, "Have you found somewhere, at least?  To live? There's practically nowhere to rent from here."

"Yeah," I think back to the phone call from a few days ago, "I'm meeting with someone."