Afterwards, I got in my car and started the long drive home. I had been hoping to miss rush hour, but we were right in the middle of it. As I was driving, I noticed Lona glancing over at me. She kept opening her mouth as if to say something, then closing it. After forty minutes, my patience had worn a little thin. I hate traffic. I was tired and all of the jingling and jangling of the casino had given me a headache. “What is it?”

“What? I didn't say anything.” Lona said, trying to stare nonchalantly out of the window.

“You've not been saying anything very loudly since we left the cafe,” I said, a little more harshly than I really felt.

She looked back at me, twisting in her seat. She was not wearing a seat belt of course. Just sitting cross-legged and barefoot on my seats. Well, it was not like she could track in dirt. “W-what did you mean in the cafe?”

“What did I mean about what? The astrology thing? Nothing. I'm sorry for that. Just not . . . Not my bag, ya know?” I said.

“No, not that. About . . . About me?” She asked nervously. We were basically parked on the freeway, so I took the time to look over at her. Her expression was a complex mix of emotions that I could not make heads or tails of.

“I don't remember.” I lied, looking back to the road. I pulled up a few feet, mostly to have something to do.

“Yes, you do, John.” She said defiantly. She grabbed my hand and I looked down at it. “Tell me. What did you mean by 'If you knew what she looked like'?”

“You know what I meant,” I said, darkly.

“Like, I really don't.” Her voice cracked. I sighed.

“You are gorgeous. Smart, capable. Better than me. The . . .” I swallowed. My throat felt rough and tight. My voice came out strained. “The only reason you're talking to me is because no one else can. And that has changed. Karen is a better . . . friend than I am.”

She squeezed my hand. Hard. Aggressively. “Ow! What the hell!”

“You really are an idiot, John!” She said, all but throwing my hand at me.

“Yeah, I definitely agree with you there,” I said. We were both silent for a long time. No radio. No music or podcasts. Nothing but the rumble of the engine. It was forty minutes before either of us spoke again.

“That's not it, you know,” Lona said quietly.

“Huh?” I said. I had been stewing for a while and really did not trust myself with full words yet. Better stick to monosyllabic sounds. I don't want to piss her off. I just . . . My thoughts trailed off.

“I don't talk to people I don't like. If I didn't think you were fun, I wouldn't have bothered, okay?” She said, huffily.

I glanced over at her, considering her. She was pointedly not looking at me. We were almost home. I was starving and desperate to get home. But I had an idea first. I pulled off the freeway and away from my apartment. Lona did not say anything. There were equal chances she just did not want to talk or did not realize we were going the wrong direction. I turned into a strip mall and parked. “What are we doing here?”

“I . . . wanted to get you something.”

“There's no need for that.”

“Well, that's a shame, because I'm doing it anyway,” I said, getting out of the car. She followed but without the need for doors. We went in and started looking around. It was a little crowded and had a lot going on. It was brightly lit with those special fluorescent bulbs that I am pretty sure are reserved exclusively for retail shops and hell. There were no customer service representatives available, but one assured me that I would be helped shortly.

“What are we doing? Your phone seems fine. I can use it anytime I like.” Lona whispered, in my ear.

“Yeah, got mine just before I went on vacation. It's okay.” I murmured out of the corner of my mouth.

“Then what are we doing here?”

“Getting you a phone. What kind do you want?”

“You're buying your ghost-friend a phone?” Lona said, incredulously.

“We're about to spend twelve grand on a body for you. What's a little more on a phone?” I asked seriously, examining a similar phone to mine. She sighed and started examining the little placard next to the phone.

“I don't know what any of this means.” She whined.

“It's good. About the same as my phone but with a better camera and a stylus.”

“Stylus?”

“A pen that only works for the phone.” She looked at the phone a little more curiously. She liked new stuff. I knew this because almost everyone likes new stuff, and she spent a lot of time digging through my closet looking through stuff and always found it weird when she found unopened boxes of old games and toys. We looked through several phones and came to a decision eventually. By the time that one of the representatives was able to help us, we had picked out a phone, a case, and some cute little dangly things that go on phones. I knew we could get the case and the screen protector cheaper online, but I had also seen her drop my phone off of the balcony before. When she lost concentration, which was not the most uncommon experience for Lona, things would go through her. Even things she was holding. When all was said and done, we got her all of that and a pair of Bluetooth headphones that matched the pink case. Her phone was up and active and I gave her the napkin with Karen's number on it and walked her through the first few steps of adding the number. She had picked up on every other phone function quickly enough. She would have all of this down in no time.

She immediately called Karen, but it rang a few times and went to voicemail. A moment later, she received her first text message, the phone chirping loudly. “What the hell?”

“Oh, yeah. My phone is always on vibrate,” I said simply, looking over her shoulder. Looks like she sent you a text message. After a moment, Lona pulled it up.

Karen

K: who dis?

It took Lona a long time to type out her response and in the meantime, I pushed her into the car and started off. A little while later, she laughed out loud. It was nice seeing her interact with another person. I . . . I was being too selfish. I had been pretty scared that when we found Karen. First that she was going to rat us out and get me arrested, somehow, then that Lona was going to abandon me and my apartment would feel so much . . . bigger than before she lived . . . resided there. “What did she say?”

“That you're a dork.” Lona responded, typing back.

“Why am I a dork?”

“I told her you got me my own phone. OH! GIVE ME YOUR NUMBER!”

“What? Oh, yeah.” I did so. A moment later, my phone buzzed. I stopped off at a fast food joint and checked the message while I was waiting in line at the drive-through. It was a meme with one ghost that said “Boo” and another that said “bies” and then they high fived. I chuckled. She already had a meme. She was going to pick this up very quickly.

We finally got home and I just laid down. It was pretty late. She texted her friend all night and kept showing me new memes and jokes throughout the night. Eventually, she settled into the bed next to me and I turned away from her. My mind was racing with all of today's conversations. I could feel her eyes on my back. “Hey, John?”

“Uh. Yeah?” I asked, not turning over.

“D-do you . . . Have you ever thought about . . . What Karen said today?” She asked in a small voice.

I laid there, silently for a moment. Fuck, fuck, fuck. How do I get out of this one? I have to stall until I can find an out. “Which thing?”

“Well, she has a point . . .” Lona started, putting her hand on my shoulder. She gripped it tightly. “I can . . . Like, I can touch you.”

“Yeah, you can.”

“I've thought about it,” Lona said. “Like, to be honest, it was one of the first things I thought about when we met.”

I did not say anything. Of course, I've thought about it. You appeared before me naked. You were there. Naked in front of me. You are in my . . . our? . . . The same bed as I am every night, pressed into me. How could I not? I tried to stop it but I can't. I fucking hate my mind. And my body. Why am I like this?

“Has any . . . Have any other ghosts talked to you about what it's like to touch things?” Lona asked.

“No, not really. You're the first polter-” I stopped. I did not like that term. It implied a bunch of things that I did not feel were accurate for Lona. I did turn to look at her now. She was facing me directly. “You're the first ghost I've met that can touch anything. Other ghosts just seemed to pass through things. I don't know if they couldn't touch things or just chose not to. Most of them are at least a little older than you.”

“Like,” She put her hand on either side of my cheek. Her hands were chilly, but not freezing. “It's mostly the same as being alive. I have full sensations but it is also more fluid, ya know.”

I shrugged. I only understood it in the context of ghosts moving through me. It felt like water or something passing over my entire body.

“Sometimes are more . . . solid than others.” She said, inching closer. “It's more visceral when I'm . . . When you're close to me. Your warmth seeps into me and I feel almost alive again.”

I chewed my inner cheek. My heart was racing. Her pupils were gigantic. I tried to concentrate on that. On the questions that raised. How do ghost pupils work? Light theoretically passes straight through them, so shouldn't they always be huge? Her pupils don't change size in the dark really. Maybe a little. I should te-

“You were in love with a ghost once, weren't you? That's, like, why you are so totally nervous about all this, right?” Lona asked, tearing through my thoughts in an instant. Memories flooded back.

“Cynthia,” I said quietly.

“Tell me about her.” Lona implored, her hands still on my face. I closed my eyes and swallowed.

“I . . . I don't want to.”

“Please?” There was some pain in her voice. I opened my eyes and met her gaze.

“On one condition,” I said, trying to keep my tone even.

“Okay. What is it?”

“Tit for tat.” She gave me a mischievous grin and raised her eye brow and I groaned. “And you call me the perverted one. I . . . I will tell you everything about her that I can remember . . . If you tell me how you died.”

She froze. Ghosts give the pretense of breathing most of the time. It is like blinking or walking or waiting for doors. It is what they used to do for so long that they forget not to do it. She was not breathing now. “John . . . That's . . .”

I stood my ground, meeting her gaze evenly. She nodded. “Okay. You first, though.”