“Thanks,” Max says.
I smile at him, and as I make my way back down the hill, I can’t help but feel like something between us is changing. It’s not just about our memories anymore. We’re getting to know each other again. We’re building something in real life. And it’s not always pretty, but I’d rather have that than have no Max at all.
SEPTEMBER 26th
The first thing I think is that I’ve obviously eaten the same mushrooms that Alice, the other Alice, eats in Wonderland. The ones that both shrink her and make her grow. I’ve eaten the first kind. I’m making my way through the living room at Nan’s house, but I’m so small I’m able to walk directly under the piano without crouching an inch, and the carpet seems much softer than usual, squishier beneath my feet. I’m looking for something, but I don’t know what.
I take the stairs slowly, flipping over onto my stomach and wiggling down each one. I cling to pieces of carpet with my fists to hold on for dear life. I can hear voices in the distance and want to go faster, but I don’t know what I’m looking for.
In the kitchen, I hoist myself up onto a chair and lift a teacup the size of a kiddie pool from where it lies facedown on a saucer. I poke my head underneath it and see if anyone’s inside, but find nothing. I’m disappointed, but then I’m momentarily distracted by a pile of cream puffs in the middle of the table. They are as big as loaves of bread. I pick one up and break it in my hands, then begin to nibble around the edges, and I take it with me as I continue on my way.
I hear a laugh, a woman’s laugh, loud and full, and suddenly I’m excited. I smile and pick up my pace, hustling back through the dining room, checking beneath each piece of furniture as I go. But I can’t find her. In the main foyer I catch a whiff of something lovely. Sweet and a little bit spicy. Familiar. Like shampoo. I close my eyes and breathe it in. But as soon as it comes, it goes again.
Where is she?
Anxious and alone, I wander over to the window curtains and wrap myself up in deep green silk. I wait; for what, I’m not exactly sure.
That’s when I hear the breathing—large grunts and snorts. I think I should be afraid, but I’m not. I’m less afraid than ever. I’m relieved. They are getting closer, and I wait patiently. Suddenly the curtain is pulled away and I am face-to-face with Jerry, except he’s as big as a buffalo. His wet nose wipes against my face as he sniffs, and then he nudges me, before picking me up by the collar of my sweater and carrying me back through the house.
He hops up the stairs and places me back in my bed, giving me a big slurp with his tongue and curling up next to me. I fall easily to sleep.
16
Swans Mate for Life
JERRY HAS THIS unbearable habit of scraping at the front door for dear life every time he needs to go to the bathroom, and then taking an exhaustive amount of time deciding where to pee. Or worse, just standing on the sidewalk and staring at me indignantly, as though he is waiting for me to tell him what we are doing here in the first place, and why I got him up so early.
“Are you kidding?” I say, staring down at him with my hands on my hips. It’s nine a.m. on Saturday morning and I am in bare feet, jeans, and an old lavender sweater I pulled from one of my mother’s drawers. “You have exactly one minute to go to the bathroom. And then we are going inside, and I don’t care if you have to hold it all morning.” Jerry blinks once before hustling over to the edge of the sidewalk to handle his business.
“That’s what I thought,” I say.
This morning I woke up spooning him like he was a living breathing teddy bear, his little sausage-shaped frame nestled comfortably in the blankets, his giant head resting on the pillow like a person. I also woke up with an odd pit in my stomach. But not the kind of pit I felt the morning after the Brooklyn Flea dream. This one was different. Less heartbroken, more lost. Like I was missing something I couldn’t find, but something I hadn’t been able to find for a while. The feeling is fading little by little, but the memory is vivid. I stare up at the fa?ade of our beautiful old house and then I just know. I was missing her. My mom. I’d been looking for her in my dream.
“Time to go back in, Jer-Bear,” I say, turning around to discover that we are not alone. Oliver’s fluffy head is blocking Jerry’s face as he leans down to pat him on the back.
“Hi!” I say enthusiastically, but when Oliver raises his head to look at me, he just squints.
“I’m sorry, have we met?” he asks.
“Oh, come on,” I say then, giving him a shove.