Page 82 of A Love Song for Ricki Wilde

“Look, I know I’ve been acting weird,” started Ricki. “My whole life is turned upside down.” She took a beat, trying to quell her nervousness. “Ms. Della. Tuesday. I have something to tell you both. It won’t make any sense, at all. If you’re worried about my mental health now, you’ll want to have me committed by the end of this story. But please, try to believe me. What I’m about to say is real.”

Ms. Della and Tuesday looked at each other, sighed, and nodded at Ricki.

Then Ricki spilled it all. She was already on the spot, so what good could come from holding back? She told them the story of Ezra “Breeze” Walker, his immortality, and her projected February 29 date with death. Without stopping, she revealedpracticallyevery detail, down to their tour of New York City’s highest-rated spiritual specialists the day before.

She did leave out some important details: who cursed him, why, and where.

Without stopping to take a breath—or check to see if her audience was with her—Ricki talked and talked and talked. When she was done with her lengthy confession, she felt blissfully relieved. And starving. With a famished groan, she sat back and tore into a Sassy Wing.

Had she checked, she would’ve seen that her audience was visibly distraught. They both stared at her. Ms. Della had frozen with her teacup halfway to her lips. Tuesday’s mouth was slightly agape, her eyes wide.

The silence was thick. And it lasted for minutes as an oblivious Ricki housed the entire platter of fried chicken. Tuesday was the first to speak. She cleared her throat, tapped her chignon into place, and went in.

“So, what I’m hearing you say is that Ezra Walker is a one-hundred-twenty-four-year-old man in twenty-eight-year-old cosplay, and you two are fated soulmates.”

Ricki nodded eagerly, chomping on chicken. “Yes, that’s it.”

“And the reason y’all keep running into each other is not because he’s a stalker, but because you’re both involuntarily drawn to each other. Like lizards instinctively turning towards the sun.”

“Lizards? I don’t know that I’d put it likethat…”

“And Ezra is basically the Forrest Gump of music, weaving in and out of important historical moments over the past century?”

“Forrest Gump is… a reach, but sure.”

“Ricki!” Tuesday burst out laughing. “Bitch, why didn’t you just tell me this when I came over the other day?”

Ricki stopped chewing. “Wait. You believe me?”

“I’m relieved! I really did think you were on meth. You’ve been acting so secretive and shifty. Honestly, your story isn’t that crazy, you know. I once played a teenaged medium in a Hallmark Halloween movie calledIf You’ve Got It, Haunt It, and it was based on a true story. For a whole summer, I hung out with the medium I was playing. She told me all about Perennials!”

“Seriously?”

“By the way, don’t call Perennials vampires,” Tuesday told Ms. Della. “They hate that.”

Ricki was aghast. “Tuesday Rowe! You broke into Ezra’s house. You told Ms. Della he was a serial killer and got her all worked up into an intervention! How dare you change your mind so easily. You’re so reactive and dramatic.”

Tuesday’s brows shot to the ceiling. “Says the woman fucking a supernatural entity.”

“Ladies, that’s enough.” Ms. Della looked extremely concerned but patient. And then, in the calm tone reserved for reasoning with toddlers and lunatics, she addressed Ricki. “Sugar, are you finished?”

“Well… no. There’s more.”

“Lord, help me over the fence,” she exclaimed before coughing heartily into the crook of her arm. Then she gazed into her cup, looking as though she wished it contained something stronger than Earl Grey. Shaking her head, she placed the teacup atop the stack of plantable note cards Ricki had gifted her (she hadn’t found a better use for them than “makeshift coaster”).

Ricki held back, genuinely frightened to tell the rest. She hadn’t planned on telling Ms. Della about Felice. It wasn’t her place to reveal harsh truths about a woman Ms. Della never knew, the mother she’d surely spent her entire life building up in her head. When Ms. Della told Ricki that she bought the building to feel closer to her, to fill in the blanks of her history, she couldn’t have known she’d findthisout.

Telling her the truth felt cruel.

But now she was on the spot. Shoulders slumping, Ricki said, “I don’t really know how to say this. Ms. Della, at first, I didn’t believe Ezra’s story about the curse. It’s so far-fetched, it sounds like a fantasy. But when you told me about the history of 225½, your… uh… stories matched up. And then I knew it was true.”

“I don’t follow.” Ms. Della coughed again.

Ricki hated seeing her so unwell. She seemed unusually fragile, almost like her pajamas were drowning her.

I need to have a private talk with Naaz, thought Ricki.Ms. Della’s not okay. It’s obvious. And she’s too proud to ever tell me what’s wrong.

“Should we let you rest?” asked Ricki. “We can talk about this another time.”

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