I mutter, “Well, that was a waste of time. Not only were these guys unable to talk with Earth Baby. I have nothing in common with them, and these stories don’t offer anything that I can use right now.”

Father says, “Well, there are commonalities. Your connections to Earth Baby all occurred after traumatic events when you were adults. Sid and Josh were both in their late twenties, and you and Mo were in your late thirties. Sid had just observed poverty, suffering, and death for the first time, and Mo had just witnessed abuse and killed a man. Your gift appeared after your only, true parent died.”

Jake adds. “And there’s something else. The other thing the three men Father mentioned have in common is that they were all extremely devout. Don’t forget, Father said that Earth Baby wasn’t ready to be born. Perhaps she couldn’t hear, didn’t understand, or was unable to respond to them. She’s older now. Maybe she’ll listen to you.”

I laugh, “That’s just great. Let me tell you that, while I believe in God, I am nowhere near as devout as Moses, Jesus, or Buddha. You’re betting on the wrong horse if you expect a waitress from Boca who hasn’t been to church in almost two years to save the world through prayer. I haven’t prayed since Dad died unless you count what I’ve done in my dreams to wake up from my nightmares for the past three nights.”

However, Mother gives Jake a warm smile and says, “I think that Jake is onto something. You might not need prayer or meditation to reach Baby Earth. You effortlessly ask her to implant dinner desires in your patrons’ minds, and she does. That indicates that she is already paying attention to you. I think that your nightmares are her attempt to communicate with you. Perhaps she is trying to warn you, or maybe she’s asking you what these visions mean. Try just communicating with her the way you take dinner orders.”

I groan, “Oh, what fabulous advice. I’ll just look into Jake’s eyes to decide whether he’d prefer death or eternal life. Then I’ll place an order for one wake-up-and-get-our-asses-the-hell-outta-here-before-the-cosmic-fireball-strikes special, and we’ll all be saved. I don’t know how my gift works. It just happens. And I can only do it with food.”

We sit around sharing ideas for a while until I decide to leave. Father suggests that I go to bed and try to talk to Earth Baby when I dream. I agree and leave our two guests with Jake to close. But I’m not going home. I’ll never be able to fall asleep on the eve of the apocalypse, and I’m not going to die staring at my bedroom ceiling as my building collapses. Instead, I drive to the beach and sit on a bench overlooking the ocean.

I sit staring at the moonlight glimmering off the calm water, no longer panicked. I can't think of any way to stop the apocalypse, and it was unfair to ask me to try. I've somehow accepted that the world will end, but I am sad for an unexpected reason. I've never thought much about whether Heaven exists and kind of thought it probably was a fantasy. Now I'm sad because I know that it is real and is about to be destroyed. I'll never get to see my dad again. That was the only thing I ever remember praying for in my life.

I don't know when I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep, but I feel myself waking up as someone gently prods me. I don't want to open my eyes because I'm dreaming of snuggling with Dad as a little girl. I can smell his cheap aftershave and favorite leather coat. I can feel his warmth and hear his heart pulse as my head rests on his chest and he strokes my always-knotty hair.

However, the prodding is insistent, so I open my eyes to discover a tabby cat kneading my belly. He looks just like my cat that died decades ago. I reach to pet him, and the recoil when I realize that I am leaning against someone. The poor cat is launched onto the pavilion floor as I jump up to see my dad sitting on the bench beside me.

I angrily yell, “I can't believe that you followed me here, Father. Why have you chosen this form, and what do you want now?”

He laughs, “I just thought that you might like some company to watch the end of the world.”

I grumble, “How considerate, but no. I’ve already seen it three times and would have preferred to sleep through it. Thank you very much.”

Father just grins and says, “What if we watch it from a different perspective. It should be quite spectacular.”

Father pats the spot on the bench next to him, and I decide that I might as well sit down. The cat immediately jumps back on my lap just like Taco Cat used to do, and I scratch behind his ears. Father says, “Hang on Nettie.”

I hate that Father is now appearing and acting like my dad. He's even using Dad's old nickname for me, and I find it insulting. But I do not doubt that this is Father because our park bench is now on a small, grassy island hovering in space a million miles from Earth. We have a premium seat to watch a flaming object speeding toward the planet, and the jerk even had the audacity to conjure a bucket of popcorn for the show.

He is right about one thing, though. I do appreciate his company. The view is spectacular, and sitting on a bench watching Earth’s destruction while petting my favorite cat is far better than reliving my nightmare. I even try a handful of popcorn, which is just the way I like it: lots of butter and not too much salt.

Taco Cat is licking the butter off my fingers as the star fragment strikes somewhere off the California coast. Waves of air, compressed into rings of clouds, ripple across the planet and trail off the far side. The entire globe appears to warp, and a large mass of ocean water and debris blasts out of the other side like a bullet shooting through an apple.

A raging inferno soon engulfs the entire planet, spreading from the impact point to the opposite side in a matter of minutes. We stare at the scene for over an hour. Afterward, nothing is left but a stream of smoke and debris trailing the smoldering, misshapen cinder that had once been my world.

“Father, may I ask you something?”

“Certainly, my dear. What’s on your mind?”

“We just saw the Earth destroyed. How am I still here?”

Father laughs as he answers, “Sweetheart, you did place an order for the wake-up-and-get-our-asses-the-hell-outta-here-before-the-cosmic-fireball-strikes special, didn’t you? And stop calling me Father. Call me Dad, like you used to. I am so happy to be with you again.”