There is no mistaking it.
And I know it’s a sign. I have to go to Maine to find Margaret Yang. With or without Max.
But Max’s Volvo is double-parked in front of my house when Jerry and I return, and Max is waiting on the stoop, holding four coffees.
“I didn’t know what kind you liked.” He shrugs as we walk up. “So I just got like . . . all of them.”
Despite myself, I can’t help but smile from ear to ear.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing.” I shake my head. He did mean it. Agreeing to come. Which means he also meant it in the dream when he said he hated not being able to touch me. “How are we supposed to drink all those?”
“Well, we’re apparently going to have help,” he says.
“Hiiiiiiiiiii,” Sophie squeals as she runs out of the house like a flying squirrel, nearly tackling me to the ground. Then she pulls away from me and looks at my surprised face.
“Oh my God, I knew it. I was just saying so to your dad. I was like, she completely forgot I was even coming this weekend. You did forget, didn’t you?”
“Um,” I start to say.
“Even if you did, just lie,” she suggests.
“I did not forget?” I try.
Sophie lets out another squeal and hugs me again, jumping up and down and pausing to straighten her glasses when they nearly fall off her nose. She is all rosy cheeks and shiny straight brown hair. I forgot how much light she emits without even trying. “I met this one, by the way,” she says, nodding to Max. Then she leans in and whispers, far too loudly, “Even hotter than you said.”
I just hang my head in shame, and Max pretends not to hear and takes a sip of coffee to hide his smile.
“Oh, hello, Gerald,” Sophie says then, glancing down at Jerry and looking away disdainfully.
“You know that’s not his name,” I chide her.
“Maybe I don’t care,” Sophie huffs.
I roll my eyes and turn to Max. “Sophie hates Jerry because he ate her favorite Barbie doll when we were little,” I say. “And she’s never forgiven him.”
“Why would I forgive a slobbery beast with no self-control or sense of decency?” Sophie puts a hand on her hip. “One minute Barbie had a head and face; the next we were monitoring his bowel movements for signs of blond hair to make sure it had passed.” She shudders.
“Watch what you say about Jer-Bear,” I hear someone say, and I turned to find Oliver on the sidewalk, astride his Segway like a modern knight.
“And what is going on here exactly?” Sophie asks. “Seventeen going on seventy? My nana has one of those. Hers is hot pink. You guys could take them on your dates together.”
“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” Oliver says. “Which you will never get to do, because with that attitude you’re never going to ride it.”
Sophie gasps as though she has just been slapped with a glove, and I take the opportunity to interrupt.
“Okay, guys, Max and I actually had a plan today.” I turn to him, suddenly nervous. “Just to confirm, that is why you’re here, isn’t it?” I ask. “The road trip?”
Max gets up and walks over to me, looking confused. “Of course that’s why I’m here. I told you I would be, didn’t I?”
I can’t help but relax, breathing a sigh of relief, and Max squeezes my shoulder, which makes me the opposite of relaxed all over again.
“Road trip!” Oliver exclaims, rubbing his hands together. “Where are we going?”
“We,” Max says, pointing from himself to Sophie to me, “are going to Maine. I have no idea where you are going.”
I expect Oliver to reply with something witty, something to save face. But instead he does something I’ve never seen him do before. He lets his guard down, and he actually looks hurt as he turns back to remount his Segway. “Oh,” he says. “Okay.”
“You know what?” I announce. “I think we have room for one more.”
“We do?” Max asks, raising his eyebrows in surprise.
“We do,” I say, turning to give him a look.
“Whatever,” Max mutters. “As long as I’m driving.”
It turns out Max Wolfe is a big fan of Motown, and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t take me by surprise. But as we cruise up I-95 toward Maine, I realize it makes a bit of sense. Like Max, Motown is classic. It’s a little bit reserved, but it still knows how to have a good time.
“I didn’t know you liked this kind of stuff,” I say.
“It’s fun to drive to,” Max explains. He seems really relaxed today. We’re about forty minutes outside the city, and the leaves are positively on fire. Lemon yellow, fire-engine red, and a color of orange reserved for only the cheapest orange soda you can find.
“I wish they stayed this way all year long,” I say wistfully.
“Me too,” Max agrees. “But then we wouldn’t have snow . . . or summer.”