We'll figure it out together

"Well figure it out together." She hugs me closer and smoothes the hair away from my face the way she used to when I had a nightmares as a kid. "Right now you should rest."

I've felt more awake in my life, but I stretch out on her pull the covers over us. She puts her arm around me. She's warm, radiating heat like she's been standing in sunshine, even in the middle of the night. I inhale her smell: rosewater and vanilla, an old lady's perfume. It always makes me feel safe.

When I close my eyes, I can still see the boy. Standing there waiting. For me. Which seems more important than the sadness or the possibility of dying some gruesome fiery death. He's waiting for me.

I wake to the sound of rain and soft grey light seeping through the blinds. I find Mum standing at the kitchen stove scraping scrambled eggs into a serving bowl, already dressed and ready for work like any other day, her long, auburn hair still wet from the shower. She's humming to herself. She seems happy.

"Morning," I announce.

She turns, puts down the spatula and crosses the linoleum to give me a quick hug. Her smile is proud, like that time I won the district spelling bee in third grade: proud, but like she never expected anything less.

"How are you doing this morning? Hanging in there?

"Yeah, I'm fine."