I got a call the next morning. It was early. I tried to answer it, I really did, but when I looked at the phone I was blinded by the bright screen and subsequently decided it was not worth it. It was Saturday and I was simply exhausted. Lona was less exhausted. She definitely had recovered entirely. I know this because she managed to lift me entirely in her sleep and steal all of the blankets. I have two different sets for this exact reason and she managed to get all of them. I woke up to the sound of someone banging on my door and realized I was freezing to death. I got up, rushed through getting dressed, and ran to the door as whoever it was continued to pound on it. I ripped the door open and was about to demand to know what the hell was so important when I froze.

  Standing in the hall was a short woman with graying brown hair, wearing a thick, somewhat lumpy, awkward sweater and a balding, portly man with sharp blue eyes and a perpetual grimace. “Mom, Dad. What are you doing here?”

  “Is that really how you're going to greet us, son?” My father said as he walked through the threshold and looked around the apartment, my mother following him. They both frowned at the apartment.

  “Come on in,” I managed to say with a small smile.

  “We called you this morning to tell you we'd be in town, Johnny.” My mother said, chidingly.

  “If you'd answer your phone, you'd know that.”

  “Right,” I responded, sighing. “I had a late night. Sorry.”

  “A late night? Was it with that girl of yours?” My father asked, chuckling. “I saw the painting you did. It's good work. She's . . . Uh . . . Something, huh?”

  “Yeah, Lona's something, alright,” I responded. My father was always weird about the girls I dated. “I'm going to go grab my phone and then I'll make some coffee.”

  I went into the other room and heard them talking in a whisper. They had made their way over to the couch. Where the doll still was. “This must be her. How are you doing, uh, Lona?”

  There was no response. Because it is a sex doll. Would they notice it's not breathing? That it's sitting perfectly still? Oh, God. I really don't want to have to explain this.

  “Uh, Lona?” My mother asked. “Oh my, she's cold. And so . . . Stiff.”

  I rushed over to the bed and tore the blankets off of my ghost girlfriend. She rolled violently and spun mid-air, starting to stir. “John, what is it?”

  “You need to get in the doll. Right now.” I whispered desperately.

  “But,” Lona began, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and yawning. “You said it was dangerous. We had to do it sparingly.”

  “My parents are here and the doll's in the living room.” She jumped up at that.

  “What? They're here?”

  “John, why is there a . . . Uh . . . Life-size doll out here? Is this your 'girlfriend'?” My father asked.

  “Get in the doll right now,” I demanded in a rushed whisper. “Please. Please, Lona. I don't want to explain to my parents why I have a sex doll in the living room.”

  “Okay,” Lona said, grinning. “But you owe me. We are risking my afterlife, after all.”

  She rushed off through the wall. I picked up our phones and brought them out to the living room. The doll was moving and my mother jumped back and my father looked aghast. Lona stretched out and her head turned a little unnaturally to them and her lips spread in a smile. “Hi! You must be John's parents. He says good things.”

  Her lips moved and it took me a moment to remember that they could not hear her. “Uh. Mom, Dad, this is Lona. She's, uh, mute. She lost her voice in an accident recently and uh . . . forgets sometimes.”

  “Why was she sitting like that on the couch?” My mother asked. “Not responding. Mute or not, that's rude, don't ya think, John?”

  “She . . .” My mind raced and I said whatever the first thing I could think of. “She was in a trance. She, uh, meditates and gets really into that.”

  “Oh, so she's spiritual?” My father suggested.

  “She's the most spiritual person I know,” I said, trying to suppress my grin at the accidental pun. Lona burst out laughing and almost fell out of her body. I looked at her and then back at my parents who looked concerned at the doll and then at me. “I'll make coffee. None for Lona today, though. Right, uh, honey? You said you were going to be fasting for the day.”

  “Fasting?” My mother said to my back. “But dear, you're already so thin. If you lose any more weight, we wouldn't be able to see you at all!”

  Lona got up and walked over to me. Fortunately, she had practiced walking a lot and made it look about as natural as possible. She signed something for my parents and I watched. Fortunately, she also spoke at the same time. “It's not about losing weight, ma'am. It's, like, a religious thing.”

  I repeated what she said to my parents. They both looked at each other. My father shrugged and my mother's mouth contorted into a grimace as she took the girl in.

  “You speak sign language now?” She asked.

  “Uh, yeah . . . It's kind of required.” I said, trying to sound natural, as I went about making coffee. I needed to change the subject. “So, why are you in town?”

  “Do we need a reason to visit our favorite son?” My father asked, leaning on the counter, watching me make coffee. “Got some fancy stuff right there, don't you think, son?”

  “Uh, yeah, it's my preferred style.” I used a French Press as opposed to just a regular coffee pot. Fancy beans that I had to use a grinder to prepare. I grinned. My father was a simple, Folgers kind of guy. He always had been.

  “So, how'd you two meet? You didn't mention she was mute when you spoke about her.” My mother asked as I passed her a cup of coffee.

  “Uh, on the little vacation I took. I just went to some hot springs. We bumped into each other and kind of hit it off. Turns out, she was moving into town anyway. So, we just kept in touch.”

  “How'd you talk, though?” My dad asked, sipping on his own coffee. He grimaced. “Little strong, don't ya think, son?”

  “We texted.”

  “Ah, you kids and your texting. That makes sense. Damn kids are always on their phones, texting, and sexting and God only knows what else.” He responded, smugly.

  “Yeah, I guess,” I responded. Lona finally came out of the room. She had changed. She was wearing one of the dresses Karen had bought her. I have to repay her for that. It was a lower cut than I would have liked my parents to see. I know this because both of my parents gaped at her. But she was wearing the necklace. She looked good. She always did, though.

  “So,” my mother began, putting her eyes back in her head. Her mouth still wore that grimace. It was out of character. Normally she was all smiles and gentle words around me. “What are your plans today? We want to take you . . . two out to . . . eat. Oh, well, I guess that wouldn't be great, considering she's fasting and all . . .”

  “Like, we can always hit up the fair, or whatever,” Lona suggested. “I think that's still going. Do some rides. Play some games. Or we can see a movie. There's this cute romance movie I want to see. What do you think, John?”

  I translated automatically. She had forced me to practice sign language with her most nights so that she could get better and so that I could recognize it and I had gotten a lot better. Not as good as her, but I barely needed her to talk to get the gist of what she said. When I processed it, I realized what she was doing. “You just want another plush!”

  She grinned and raised her eyebrows at me. My mother looked between her and I. “What? Plush?”

  “I took her out to the fair a couple of months ago and won her a couple of stuffed animals. I spent a hundred bucks to do it and ever since then, they've been taking up a quarter of our bed.” I responded absently.

  My mother looked to my father and mouthed the word 'our', then turned to me. “Don't you think this is moving a little fast?”

  “What's moving too fast?” I asked, absently. Lona raised her hands and I got the sense that she was rolling her eyes. That was the problem with the glass eyes. They could not really move. Some of the expressions were lost. But I knew her well enough.

  “You two. It sounds like she's already moved in.” My mother said, her voice a little high pitched.

  “Oh, come on, Gen.” My father butted in and for once I was grateful. “He's thirty, she's a bombshell, of course, he's going to move fast. We moved in together after dating a couple of months.”

  “That's different! We went to college together. And high school before that.” My mother slapped at his arm. “Besides, I just worry. He's not . . . Well.”

  “You're worried I'm still crazy,” I said simply.

  “I didn't say tha-” my mother began. I cut her off, my face contorting into a forced grin.

  “You didn't have to, mom. But I know what I'm doing. If it turns out it's a bad idea, I'll live with the consequences.” I paused for a moment, staring her down. “We all have to live with the consequences of some things, right?”

  “So, a movie?” My father cut in, trying to sound amicable. “Or that fair?”

  “Let's do both,” I suggested, smiling and nodding at my father. “I'll drive.”

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Lona clapped her hands in excitement. We all put on coats and traveled down to my car. It was not really suited for four people very easily, but we made due. Weirdly, my mother took the passenger seat, forcing Lona to sit behind me. I looked at her curiously and she just waved me off and said. “Oh, I get dizzy when I sit in the back.”

  She kept looking back at Lona as we drove. She had gotten out her cellphone and typed things out, then handed my father the phone. He would laugh and respond. At least they seemed to be getting along. My mother asked me a bunch of questions about my life and I answered to the best of my ability. She would also ask things about Lona, and I answered them to the best of my ability.

  “So, Lona, what do you do for a living?”

  “She was an actress before the accident. Since then . . . She does some community work. Helps organize and clean up places.” I said, watching her in the back mirror.

  “Like volunteer work, then?” My mother asked. “Does that pay . . . well?”

  “Well enough. She's not got too many needs. Some clothes and the occasional date and she's happy, right Lone?” She nodded and smiled. It looked a little forced, but I could not tell if it was because of the doll's face or her own feelings about what I had said. My mother made a hmm noise. It sounded like disapproval.

  “An actress, huh?” My father asked. “What kind of actress? Stage? Commercial? Adult?”

  “Steve!”

  “Dad!”

  My mother and I spoke at the same time. Lona was cracking up in the back. She apparently thought it was funny. She typed something out on her phone. My father read it out loud so the whole car could get the joke.

I was mostly a local actress. Local plays and stuff. Got the lead, though! I've considered adult acting, but only if John does it with me. He's like a little camera shy, though.

Both my mother and my face reddened. My father slapped his knee. “See? She's got a good spirit about it. It was just a joke. She's right about you being shy, too. She can't even speak and is more talkative than you!”

  The conversation died for a while after that. I parked somewhere and we walked. There was still snow on the ground. Most of it had taken that muddy gray that happens when it has sat on the street for too long. It was starting to melt away, thankfully. We made our way down to the fairgrounds and it was packed. Which made sense. It was a holiday fair and it was actually the holidays. Lona stumbled a bit and called out to me.

  “John, I'm getting tired.” She was bent over and I thought I could hear her panting. Fuck, I thought. I had entirely forgotten about the body thing. I reached out and gripped her hand. She was not wearing gloves and she was freezing. But she straightened up and leaned against me.

  “Better?” I asked. I still was not entirely convinced that she could use me as a battery, but she had insisted. So, I might as well test it a bit. Get a better hold on those hypotheses.

  “Much,” she responded, squeezing my hand. They were putting on some shows. They had a live-action play for the kids, retelling the origins of spring with sprites and faeries. Lona made us sit down and watch the whole thing. “C'mon! It'll totally be fun, Jizzle.”

  “Fine, but I don't have to like it,” I said, as she was jumping up and down. My parents were behind us, watching her bob up and down.

  “C'mon now, John. You used to love crap like this. Barney the Dinosaur was his favorite. Sing it with me. I love you, you love me . . .” My father responded, letting his voice trail off.

  “Yeah, maybe when I was like four and too stupid to know the difference,” I responded, darkly.

  “You're not that much smarter now,” he retorted, a wide grin spreading across his face. I bowed my head in defeat.

  We watched the play. It was alright. Lona was super excited the entire time. She wrapped her arms tightly around mine and clung at any point that could be even loosely construed as dramatic. It was cute. I caught my parents watching me. My father seemed to approve. My mother had a curious look on her face the entire time. I could not quite discern what she was thinking. After the play, we went around and played some games. Mostly they were those same rigged games that all fairs have. Things like hitting the milk bottles with rings, fishing with little magnets. We started with the fish magnet game and all four of us took our shot. My mom did pretty well. Lona tried, but her hands were a little stiff for it. My father, who goes fishing at least ten times a year did terribly.

  “Psh. It's not real fishing.” He said, glaring at the children's game.

  “Yeah, I imagine if we got a couple of beers in you, you'd do a bit better,” I said with a grin, handing Lona the small prize I had won for her. She grabbed it and crushed it to her chest, grinning brightly. Even with the stiff features of the doll, I could tell she was pleased.

  “Watch it, boy.” He said, playfully. We went to the next game. It was the ring toss. My father squared his hips and really went for it. He missed every time. Mom got a couple. I managed to get one. Lona managed to get three somehow. She clung to her hard-won prize and pressed her arm into me, now that both of her hands were occupied. I laughed. My father looked displeased. Mom patted his arm sympathetically, but could not quite suppress the grin on her face.

  We got to the baseball-milk bottle challenge and he grinned. “Why don't you go first, John?”

I looked at him for a moment then at the challenge, sighing. I had spent a hundred dollars last time. But I eventually got it. Maybe I had gotten better. I put down the money and picked up the first ball of three. I threw it with all the skill I knew and missed. I managed to hit with the second one, but none of the bottles went down. I stared down at the third ball. I could not help but make the connection between this and Casey at the Bat. Was I going to effectively strikeout? I looked to Lona, who smiled encouragingly. I wound up and threw it. It was a pretty okay throw. The bottles of the pyramid I had been aiming at fell down and I won another small prize. My father chuckled. “Let your ol' man show you how it's done.”

  It's just now that I remembered that my father went to college on a sports scholarship. A baseball scholarship. He picked up the first ball. I watched him wind up. He was twenty-five years out of college, overweight, and nowhere near his prime. But there are some things you cannot forget. His form was perfect. He threw the ball which flew through the air, causing the bottles to explode and slam into the back wall. He took up the second ball and did it again to another pyramid and then again to a third. The attendant, nonplussed, looked at the wall and then at my dad. “If you want three prizes, you'll have to pay for three separate plays, sir.”

  We all cracked up at that and he paid for the three prizes. He had my mother hold them as he stretched out his arm. “Not as good as my glory days.”

  “No, probably not. But I'm pretty sure you still threw them at sixty miles-an-hour.” I said.

  “Yeah, but I was at least at eighty or ninety on a bad day back in college.”

  “Yeah, yeah, Quit showing off,” my mother said, shoving one of the animals into his arms. He laughed and patted its head. She smiled at him and pushed forward. “What now? I don't really want to do any of the rides. It's too cold.”

  “We can hit up that movie,” I suggested.

  “Yeah. They'll have snacks.” My father agreed. This was . . . Nice. Weird. I usually cannot get along with them at all. But today felt a little different. The fair was in the middle of downtown anyway, so I added another couple of hours to the space rental and we hit up a movie theater. The movie Lona wanted to see was some foreign romance film. Not really my thing, but she does all kinds of things for me, so I figured I could sit through it. My father got the biggest tub of popcorn I had ever seen. It was only slightly smaller than his chest. He then proceeded to fill the entire thing with enough artificial butter to drown small children. He also got a soda roughly the size of the Titanic. Mother got one a bit smaller.

  I got a water and Lona and I found our seats. It was one of those cool theaters that had love seat chairs. Lona and I took one set, my father and mother took the one next to us. We curled up and watched the previews. There were a bunch of movies that I would have never known about shown. Turns out, they tailor the previews to the type of films that you watch and I had only seen superhero movies and action movies for basically ten years straight. Do not tell Lona this, but all of them looked really good. I have never been an art film kind of guy, but after binging so many plays, sometimes the superhero action movie just does not hit how I want it to. The movie itself was also really good. Star-crossed lovers meet. The girl is dying. The guy is sad. They meet, they fall in love. Total whirlwind affair. She starts to recover. He ends up dying in a stupid accident. Lona and I both cried. I think my mom cried, too. My dad fell asleep. There were subtitles. He never had a chance.

  After the movie, I drove them to their hotel. My mother pulled me to the side as they were about to leave. She reached up and put her hand on my cheek.“John, be careful. You've always been . . . Such a passionate boy. I don't want to see you get hurt.”

  I laughed at her. I could not help it. Compared to Lona, I was basically a statue. “Don't laugh, Johnny. You're still my child! I know that you think you're all grown up, but I'm your mother. I know better than you do about these things.”

  “Ma, Lona makes me happy. I don't know how long that will last. But for the time being, I'm sticking with her.” She frowned and nodded at that.

  “Yeah, well, just be careful. You shouldn't change everything just because a nice pair of legs walk past you.” She said, somberly.

  “God, between you and dad. She's pretty. That's not the only reason I like her.”

  “You're a guy. It's a bigger reason than you realize.” She said with a knowing smile. “Just, if things go sideways, give me a call. We can talk through it. I don't want you . . . To break again. Like when you were a teenager.”

  “I'll try to keep that in mind,” I said, frowning, and patted her hand. After that, I got into the car. Lona had gotten into the front seat and looked at me. She tried to smile encouragingly at me, but it wasn't quite there.

  “Your mom doesn't like me.”

  “My mom's an idiot,” I said without heat. I reached over and gripped her hand.

  “I wanted her to like me. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Lone, it's not you. It's me. She thinks I'm some passionate idiot prone to breaks of sanity.” I said, pulling onto the street.

  “You?” Lona laughed. A lot. It was musical. I broke into a smile, despite myself. “You? Some super passionate guy? Was that how you used to be?”

  “No, not really. I mean, maybe more so when I was a teenager. Hormones are the worst. But honestly, she thinks I'm fragile.” I swallowed the anger and hurt that had started to creep into my voice. “That I've cracked before and she can't help but see her crazy son. Some girl comes into my life, moves in, shares my bed. She's worried I'm acting crazy. That's all.”

  “Do you think she'll ever approve of me? Your dad seems to. Maybe he'll turn her around.”

  “My dad is just glad that you're not an anime waifu,” I said, the humor in my tone not completely disguising the bitterness.

  “Oh, well, I can be for you. I'll practice the big, kawaii eyes.” Lona said, leaning over, grinning.

  “Please don't. Who taught you that word?”

  “Looked it up. Wanted to know more about your weird kinks. Am I not moe enough for you, Jizzle?”

  “You're plenty moe. Plenty kawaii. Can we please stop this? I want to die.”

  “Say that I'm best girl,” Lona said, seriously.

  “You're definitely best girl,” I managed a smile and looked over at her.

  “So, do you think that she'll come around on me?”

  “I . . . I don't know. But it doesn't matter. Not to me, anyway.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I already love you, and you're stuck with me,” I said.