It didn’t take long for Kelsey and Hannah to make her feel better. They didn’t talk about guys at all for the rest of the night. Instead, they complained about homework, gossiped about teachers, reminisced about home life until they all physically ached from missing family. And, to top off the evening, Kelsey ran out and grabbed everyone pre-made sandwiches from the shop so that they didn’t have to go anywhere. Instead they ate their sandwiches and watched an episode of one of Hannah’s favorite soap operas before Cat finally admitted she needed to go to bed.

“You guys are so wonderful,” she said. And after a couple tight hugs, Kelsey bade them good night, and Hannah settled in bed on her laptop with her headphones while Cat attempted to go to sleep.

As soon as the gentle sound of Hannah’s typing fingers put her to sleep, Cat’s stomach began to flutter as if it was full of butterflies. Talking to her friends was all well and good, when she could control her thoughts. But she knew that the minute she drifted to sleep, she’d open her eyes and see Peter standing before her.

Well, she knew she’d see Peter in her dreams. She didn’t think she’d see two of him. One on the left stood, smiling at her with his dimples prominent and proud. Beside him was his twin, scowling, still dimpled. Cat pursed her lips at them.

“Why do I see two of you now?” she asked them, looking between them.

They answered in unison, in one voice: “What you see and what you get.” She glared.

“That’s not how that saying goes,” she said. The Peters didn’t reply, just stood there, blinking. “What’s the difference between you?” she asked, opting to step closer. They were both just as tall as the Real Peter, both with immaculate eyebrows and carefully-measured stubble. But they both stared at her, eyes green and brilliant, just like real life.

“What you see,” the frowning Peter said, “and what you get.”

Cat now looked to the smiling Peter, exploring the folds of his face. How was this dream so vivid? Every detail, every freckle on his nose, every hair looked so real. She was sure that if she went to touch him, she’d feel his skin all the same.

“Which one of you is the real one?” Cat asked. “I don’t think I could handle two Peters.” Smiling Peter sobered, his grin deflating to more of a contented expression. His eyes were still bright, amused. When she looked to Frowning Peter, he looked a little more smug, and stared at her far too intensely. Her skin must have turned to flames that moment.

“You can’t even handle the one you see.” Something about the way he said it, the way his lips formed the words so softly and carefully, transferred her back to Cam’s room, where her chest was so tight she was certain it would explode. And, just as fast as the feeling grew, it disappeared in favor of the cold morning air blowing through the crack of her window and the silent buzzing of her phone’s alarm.

Cat couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes, just squeezed the side buttons on her phone to get it to snooze. Really, brain? Now she couldn’t escape from him in her dreams?

Getting ready for work was slow, painful. And it was absolutely freezing while she walked her way to the stupid coffee shop that opened far earlier than anyone needed it to on the weekends. Every morning she rose for it, the sunrise got further and further away, darkening the sky as each morning passed. Downside of wintery weather….

The door to Jittery Joe’s was open, and her manager was working on the signs.

“Holiday hours,” Nadine said, sounding just as chipper as a senior forced to be at work at five in the morning would. “Hope you put in your time off request….” Nadine didn’t give her an option to reply, and instead held the door open for Cat as she stepped inside. Her stomach dropped.

“Um--but the cutoff is two weeks before…before break,” she stammered, blinking at the new sign. What kind of sadistic prick determined that Jittery Joe’s was going to be open on a national holiday?

“Yeah, and everyone and their uncle wants to go home. Fishies get last draw, so it’s really up to you and Jeffrey to duke it out.”

Her heart hadn’t hurt this much since her first breakup. She knew Jeffrey would be a hard sell. And later that day, he absolutely was.

“Come on, Cat,” he whined over the coffee grinder. “We go every year. I already have my plane ticket.” What kind of proud American celebrated Thanksgiving by going to Bora Bora every year? As she counted the singles in her hand, Cat watched her hopes of going home for the holiday drip down the drain. “You can have Christmas. I don’t do Christmas.”

“I don’t even have a choice,” Cat mumbled. Jeffrey didn’t hear her over the machine and asked her to repeat, but she shook her head. “Whatever, Jeffrey.” The change rattled harshly in the drawer when she slammed it shut. “I’m going on break. Or do I have to stay because you’re going to Aruba?” She didn’t even wait for Jeffrey to reply. Based on the expression of the next customer in line, she was quite confident he was going to cover her no matter what she said or did.

Cat sat behind the coffee shop with her phone to her ear, her arms hugging herself tightly. Third ring…fourth ring. No answer. Frowning, she waited for the answering machine to beep.

“Hey, Mom…. I have bad news. I’m scheduled to work on Thanksgiving and I really can’t get out of it.” As she said it aloud, Cat picked at her sweater guiltily. At least through a voicemail, she couldn’t hear her mother wail in dispair. “They said I get Christmas off, though...so there’s that.” She let out a slow sigh, her eyes shut tight. “I’m sorry. I really wanted to come home….” But now she couldn’t. Because Jeffrey was a fucking snob. Why did men suck so much? All of them. Nate turned out to be kind of creepy, Cam was clingy, Peter-- “I love you, talk soon.” Cat hung up in favor of staring at her phone again.

She obviously hadn’t tortured herself enough this weekend, Cat thought as she found herself opening up her class apps. She hadn’t looked at her grades for a few weeks. She didn’t want to. She knew her scores were lower and lower, and when she confirmed it by checking after leaving a heartbreaking voicemail for her mom to receive, Cat’s stomach physically panged.

What was she doing with her life? She couldn’t afford to lose this opportunity. No one in her family could. Instead of working hard to be successful, she was going to parties, getting drunk and sleeping with--or nearly sleeping with--guys she shouldn’t have. Communications suffered the most out of all her classes, disappointingly enough. Despite her efforts, that awful “0” from that dumpster fire of a first debate dragged everything down. She’d have decent scores if it weren’t for that. Hell, if she somehow managed to pull off this final debate and was absolutely perfect with the remaining presentations and tests, she could theoretically still pull off an A. But right now the awful letter D stared back at her and plummeted her mood even further.

Maybe it was better if she didn’t get to go home. It would be better to not see her family at all than face them with this utter failure of a first semester away.

The rest of her break ticked by slowly. Her mother didn’t call her back, and every moment she sat out here, the weight of her stomach increased. The acid refused to settle, and instead churned as her thoughts raced. Would her parents be mad? Would they think it was her fault? If she put in her vacation request sooner, Jeffrey would have to split the time with her. Did he have to go to Bora Bora for the whole Thanksgiving week? What about classes? They technically didn’t have break until that Thursday anyway.

Her workday took forever to end. And homework took even longer. She used her dinosaur-like laptop to write possibly the worst essay she’d ever made, and Hannah seemed to be so deep into a deadline that she didn’t even come back to the dorm until Cat was preparing for bed.

“Long day?” Hannah asked, frowning as she slammed her backpack on the ground. Cat nodded.

“You too?”

“Yeah. Just going to try and sleep it off. Run into Cam at all?” Cat’s stomach lurched. As Hannah kicked her shoes under her bed and reached for an organizational cube that held her makeup remover, Cat sighed.

“No. Didn’t even hear from him today.” If he actually had growing feelings for her, like Peter suggested, wouldn’t he be a little more clingy? Maybe Peter did look into it too much.

“Well, tomorrow’s your busy day, so you get an additional day to avoid him,” said her roommate, her face covered by a towel. Thank goodness she was focusing so hard on rubbing off her eyeliner. It allowed Cat a free moment to sit on her bed and frown at herself. Hannah didn’t seem to ever catch on that Cat wasn’t as upset about the Cam thing as much as she said she was. As the girls went to sleep, she briefly debated actually opening up about her real thoughts, or at least admitting she wasn’t fully honest. But after hours of being unable to sleep, Cat settled on saying nothing. What good could Hannah do if her roommate was a crazy mess?

On her walk to Human Sexuality that Monday, Cat’s mother called.

“Hi, honey!” she chirped.

“Hey. Did you get my message?” Though if her mom sounded this happy, she doubted it.

“No, sorry, I accidentally erased it before I could listen. I was just calling to let you know that you should be getting a package any day now.” Cat slowed her walk.

“Another? Thank you, but why?”

“For Dia de Muertos! I got you a few things to make your own ofrenda. Just a couple copies of the photos and some pan. I know we don’t do much with it, but I thought it might be nice to continue the traditions in your home away from home. I don’t know if they provide a place for you or if there’s a parade or anything over there.” As her mom droned on and on about how she couldn’t find any concrete information about how the day was celebrated here, Cat’s heart ached more and more. Nothing could make a person more homesick than the guarantee they couldn’t go back.

Halloween was in two days. Her family would spend Halloween morning cleaning a small table by the fireplace to put photos of their dead loved ones, and while Cat decorated the porch and told ghost stories to her little brother and neighborhood kids, her mother would bake and cook different sweets to put with the candles on the altar. Then, after Cat and her brother finished celebrating Halloween, they’d gather around the altar and sit cross-legged on the floor with their sweets and tamales to listen to Mom and Dad’s stories of long deceased relatives.

Cat’s mother said that back in Mexico, where their families were from, they would line a walkway with marigolds to the cemetery of their family to lead the spirits of the dead find their way to the ofrendas. They’d dance and sing, and make lots of noise to help wake up their lost loved ones, play their favorite music and eat their favorite foods, and spend the next couple days living with their memory.

Maybe ghosts didn’t exist. Maybe making noise and putting food out was just a way for the living to feel better about being around while their friends and families weren’t. Cat wasn’t certain if she believed in any of this, if she even thought her family was in Heaven, watching over her.

But that Halloween morning, Cat woke up early to explore her dormitory’s common rooms, with the box her mother sent unopened and under her arm. She did see a few little altars placed beside some students’ rooms, and even a few in the common area that were a little bigger, possibly holding the efforts of multiple families.

Cat still wore the flannel pajamas she fell asleep in, her hair still in a braid and out of the way and her face still clean of makeup. The sun had yet to rise; the dorm was quiet, hardly a creak of the floorboards to tell her anyone else was awake. It was at least too early for anyone to complain to Facilities about how cold it was.

She settled in a far corner in the back, far enough away from other altars to give them their space. Some were far simpler than others, but a few had entire bouquets of marigolds and full-sized sugar skulls. Cat started to break open her flat-rate box from her mother with her fingernails, prying it open to see what sort of altar she could make.

Using the box as a shelf for the few photos her mother packed for her, Cat used some of the fake flowers and mini figurines to prop the photos against the wall. Her brother sent her more sugar skull stickers, which she punctuated each corner with, and she left the two small loaves of bread encased in the saran wrap so she could set it on one of the box’s flaps without worrying about germs. She didn’t have any real candles to put beside it--none that wouldn’t be taken away for directly violating the dorm’s rules--so she instead placed the fake tea lights her mother sent on either side of her little setup.

Cat sat on her feet as the morning sun began to pour in through the windows. Her great-great grandparents, great-aunts and great-uncles all crammed together in the black-and-white photocopies her mother sent. A few dear friends that Cat grew up thinking were aunts and uncles stood in their own, standalone polaroids, and Cat lined everything with some carefully-placed candies that were included in her box.

The air was still and somber for the full half hour she spent in that corner. Some students walked through the common room to head to class or work, and none of them seemed to notice her quietly placing seemingly random things on an upside-down box.

If she had been home, she’d be able to decorate with photos of saints and crosses, the entire floor around the table would be adorned with pillows and blankets, water and a mirror so that her loved one’s souls could rest and wash up from the journey to the ofrenda. But now as she sat on the dirty floor of her dorm’s common room, the weight of the holiday began to settle on her shoulders. Cat was always taught that whenever she thought about death, she should talk to family about it. But her family wasn’t here. What was she supposed to do?

Pray? she thought to herself. She didn’t normally do that. She didn’t have the strongest relationship with religion, other than when her family was involved. But with nothing left to do, and with the feeling that she wasn’t supposed to leave yet, Cat made herself more comfortable on the floor and closed her eyes. Here went nothing.

The morning continued behind her. The doors to the common area opened and closed as people began to get ready for their days, though everything remained relatively quiet. College students weren’t exactly known for being morning people.

Some movement sounded closer than others, more consistent, like someone opening a backpack, setting a few things down, then leaving. She opted to wait until the room was silent and still again, as if the movement of the dorm were her ancestors responding to her questions and confusion.

Cat decided to open her eyes. She wasn’t certain if her praying made any difference, if any gods or loved ones could hear her or see her...but it felt like almost enough for now. With the sun fully shining in the eastern window, Cat rose from her feet and glanced about the room. At one of the study tables beside her, someone had dropped off an unlit candle, a couple family photos, and a rosary. And, on either side, were the sample shots of tequila someone could buy at any liquor store. Half the labels were peeled off, probably so the RAs wouldn’t confiscate them. This altar didn’t have any food or candy of any sort like everyone else’s did; she figured perhaps they weren’t finished.

The dead didn’t eat the offers of food or drink what was left, but her mother and father said that they were attracted to the scent and would enjoy the spirit of the offerings. Cat always figured it was just a nice gesture, as if to say, “We remember you liked this. We would eat this together if you were here.” She knew her own family’s ofrenda would have several shots of tequila and some specific tapas carefully placed in front of certain photos. The small versions around the room, here, at least had sugar skulls and candies. Everything was meant to be consumed at night, as a way to have dinner with the dead loved ones.

Cat approached the unfinished altar to glance at the photos, shocked, nearly, to see that one of them was in modern color, not a polaroid or ancient black-and-white photo like she normally saw. There were only two photos there. One with a lot of old people sitting together in a portrait-like fashion, much like some of the family photos in hers, and the one modern one beside that.

The recent photo, itself, was warn along the edges and suffered a coffee stain right over one of the faces of the two men in it. She could recognize Peter immediately, wearing a plain tee with his arm around someone slightly taller beside him. After squinting, she could finally make out the smiling face underneath the splotch of unsweetened coffee. An older man with dimples that matched Peter’s, brown hair speckled with gray along the sideburns and a receding hairline. Cat’s stomach sank when she spotted the digital, red numbers in the corner to indicate the date: August of this year.

The rest of the day went on quite ordinarily. A few people wore simple costumes to class, others wore regular clothes, a few even talked about a couple parties that were going to take place tonight. Thanks to the experience of the last one, she figured she’d sit out of these ones.

Cat found it difficult to concentrate during communications. She sat a few rows and a column away from Peter, enough to stare at the back of his head and wonder about the photo she saw this morning. If that photo was from August, how much sooner did that man die? It must have been Peter’s biological father. And maybe he found out about his true heritage from that man’s death. Or maybe she just assigned meaning to it and none of that was true.

The mystery was enough to distract her from her original woes, from her confusing dreams to her disappointed parents to her consistent homesickness. Cat made up theories for herself during class and all the way back to her empty dorm. A small sticky note from Hannah mentioned she was out with Kasey to a party and to text her if she wanted to join. She instead opted to go to bed, knowing that tomorrow night would be a late one for her.

November first was usually reserved for children that passed away. Cat’s family was lucky enough to not know of any, so they would go straight to telling stories of the adults in their lives that died, and they’d eat Halloween candy and a late dinner to round the night out.

November second was to honor the adults and to join any local festivities, though she knew she wouldn’t really do anything this year. She usually played games with her family and neighbors, sometimes even danced and sang popular songs. But celebrating alone….

The Day of the Dead wasn’t supposed to be a sad occasion. It was a celebration, a way to reconnect with deceased loved ones in one, giant party. But that night, when Cat waited until Hannah was asleep at a quarter to midnight, Cat left to re-visit the ofrenda she’d made.

What was she supposed to do by herself? There was no grand meal, no music. And when she approached the common area, it was deserted. Some of the food and drinks from the other ofrendas were missing and replaced with more flowers, signs that people had come to relocate their celebrations to probably somewhere where alcohol was permitted.

Cat stopped in front of her tiny altar, her phone clutched in her hand. Her little brother sent her maybe a dozen pictures of the festivities going around the neighborhood at home, but she couldn’t bring herself to reply. She wasn’t going to drag the mood of her family down, just because she was a little lonely.

As she sat beside her fake candles and her saran-wrapped loaves of bread, a few other students came in the room to collect a few things from their ofrenda, leave others, say a short prayer and leave. She didn’t have anything more to give, and instead thought to just sit there.

She doubted that even if all of this was real, that her ancestors were roaming about the Earth, that they’d visit her. Or if they would, that they would stay. She didn’t have the fresh food her mother baked, or the tequila shots her dad put out in the name of all his deceased brothers and aunts.

Cat’s eyes drifted over to Peter’s modest ofrenda on the table. Every offering in this room was small, though carefully adorned. Traditions had a way of following people, even if most of their resources were somewhere else.

But Peter’s was the only one without any pan or sweets. No sugar skulls, no candy, nothing. Just a candle, rosary, and sample tequila bottles that hardly passed as water and might even get taken away.

She stood before her thoughts fully formed, loaf of pan de muertos in her hand. And, just as carefully as if she offered it to her own family, she set it down beside the rosary, in front of the two photos that leaned against the wall.

It was almost time to go to bed. Cat returned to her own altar with a sigh and sat to begin eating the traditional sweets her family sent, making sure to think of each face in the photos that sat before her.

She’d finished her bread before Peter even walked in; part of her felt relief, that maybe wouldn’t know it was her that approached his altar. He was quiet, hardly glanced her way when he made his way to his ofrenda. She watched him hesitate out of the corner of her vision as she picked up her wrappers and wiped away an crumbs she left behind. But, as she made her way to the trash can to make her leave, Peter’s voice rang out, quiet and soft, but the clearest sound in the room: “Cat….”

Even if she wanted to ignore it, it was impossible. The moment the trash left her hands to fall into the bin, she turned to him, met his gaze before she could help it.

Peter stood at his table with the bottles of tequila in his hands, lids twisted off, one hand outstretched, offering it to her. Goosebumps tickled her skin despite the protection of her sweatshirt. She hesitated a moment, but eventually stepped toward him and accepted his offer, careful to place her fingers on the mini-bottle in a way that would no way touch him. Even without the feel of his skin, being this close felt like when she would rub her socks on the carpet as a kid to shock her brother.

Her throat was dry, but she lifted the bottle just a bit and managed to croak, ”Salut.” In unison, they tilted their heads back to take the shot. Peter was far more graceful about it, only frowning when he finished, but Cat had a harder time fighting making a face. After sweet bread and candy, the tequila didn’t complement it well.

But she recovered, clearing her throat, and looked up to Peter, whose gaze never left her face. He almost looked like he had something to say, his lips fighting between resting and pursed. Cat responded with setting the sampler bottle on the table. She wanted to just walk away, smooth and uncaring, and she would have if she didn’t try to sneak a glance at his expression.

He just watched her hand tremble when she pulled it away and shoved it into her sweatshirt pocket; and, before he could somehow see how fast her heart beat, too, she ducked her head and left.