“You owe me for some of that, too,” I say, stung. “And just because I only saw the good, that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have seen you through the bad.”
“I know,” Max says. “But you weren’t there for the bad, and she was.”
At this point I would rather be dangling on a rope from the Empire State Building completely naked than listen to Max talk about Celeste anymore, so I shove open the door of his car and head for my house. Jerry is scratching madly from behind my front door, so I open it, but he bypasses me and scoots right to Max, who has just unloaded my bike, sniffing his ankles.
“Hey, Jer,” Max says, leaning down and giving Jerry a pat. Jerry plops directly at his feet. “I missed you.”
Max looks up at me then, and I hate it, because now when he looks at me like that, all I can see is Celeste’s face beside him.
“I’m sorry.” He steps forward like he wants to touch me, but stops himself. “I can’t go back to living in my dreams, Alice. I’ve worked too hard for my reality.”
“Even if your dreams are standing right here?” I ask, my voice coming out all broken and squeaky, moments from collapsing into tears.
Max just shakes his head.
I don’t say anything. I lean down and scratch the top of Jerry’s head, so Max can’t see the tears welling up in my eyes. This must be what breakups feel like. For normal people in normal relationships.
Max seems to get it, because he doesn’t wait for a reply. “I’ll see you,” he says, before getting back in his car.
It hurts all over again when I realize he doesn’t say “soon.”
SEPTEMBER 17th
I am wiggling my toes in the grass of a lush green lawn, gazing up at a wooden tower, several stories high. As I look closer, I notice it’s made entirely of Jenga blocks.
“Your turn, my dear!” Petermann cries. He’s reclining behind me on a chaise with ease, sipping a cocktail with a giant pink flower floating in it. Far in the background appears to be the palace of Versailles, but its fa?ade is inset with giant gemstones, like a family of My Little Ponies bought it and just finished renovating.
“But how do I get high enough?” I ask, eyeing the perfect move—a loose block about twenty feet up.
“Sergio will help you, of course!” Petermann replies.
Just then Sergio comes whizzing around the side of the tower, his blue feathers looking nearly electric in the afternoon glow. But it’s not the Sergio I remember. This Sergio is the size of a teenage dragon, and he’s wearing a beautiful Italian wool scarf around his neck.
“Ciao, Alicia!” he says enthusiastically. “All aboard! Veniamo!”
I climb up on his back, and he gives me a twirl around the tower as I lean down and point him to where I want to go. Then I slide the block out and carry it in my arms as he flies me to the top, where I carefully set it down.
“Brava!” Sergio cries, and from below Petermann raises his glass in approval. Sergio returns me to the ground and I have a seat as I watch Brunilda take her turn, wearing a big emerald necklace that perfectly complements her plume. She uses her beak to pull a block out with dexterity and gracefully places it atop the tower, giving me a wink when I congratulate her.
“Pretty fun, huh?” someone says next to me, and I turn to find Max sitting closely by my side, his elbows resting on the tops of his bent knees.
“When did you get here?” I ask, sliding closer to rest my chin on his shoulder.
“I’m always here, Alice,” he says quietly. Then he leans his cheek against the top of my head.
It surprises me, how a gesture so small can feel so very big. How sometimes you don’t realize the nervousness or sadness you were holding deep inside until the touch of someone you love lets it all out of you, like your entire body is exhaling. That’s what this feels like. I close my eyes to savor it completely.
“Watch out!” someone cries from above, and we look up to see Petermann speeding down atop Sergio’s back, as pieces of the Jenga tower begin to fall. “Take cover!”
But when the first block lands, bouncing and tumbling along the lawn, we realize there’s no danger. They’re actually just giant sponges cut in long thick strips, and suddenly we are swimming in a foam pit, like the one at my old gymnastics class in the Bronx.
“Max?” I say. “Max? Where are you?”
But before I truly panic, his head pops out of the pile with a huge grin.
“I’m here!” he cries. “I already told you. I’m always here.” Then he tackles me into a sea of sponge.
11
Fetal