“Alice.” Parker walks up, arms outstretched toward my succulent trays. “This is a sight to behold! You’ve come a long way since that first day in Terrarium Club!”
“Thanks!” I say. “I’ve had some time on my hands.” By that I mean the time I would have usually spent sleeping. But since I’m too afraid to go to sleep and not dream of Max, instead I’ve been doing my homework and tending to my succulents. The other night my dad heard me in the yard at two a.m. and came out wielding a baseball bat.
“Well, set them down over there by Celeste, and then if you want you can help Jeremiah measure out where the installations are going to hang, that would be excellent.”
I glance over to where Jeremiah and Celeste are standing on two ladders next to each other. Jeremiah gives a small wave and brandishes some measuring tape.
“Did you ever build your vacation home for Socrates?” I ask as I extend some tape and Jeremiah makes small lines on the wall with the tip of a pencil.
He seems genuinely shocked. “I can’t believe you remembered his name. He’ll be so honored,” Jeremiah says.
“Well, please let him know,” I say with a smile.
“I don’t have to. He heard it himself.” Jeremiah winks.
The measuring tape rolls back into its cage with a snap. “What does that mean?” I ask nervously.
Jeremiah slowly makes sure the coast is clear before unzipping the fanny pack he is wearing at his waist, and out pops the head of a small green lizard.
“Say hello, Socrates,” Jeremiah says.
Socrates just blinks, and Jeremiah looks at me expectantly.
“Oh!” I exclaim. “Hello, Socrates!” I say, a little too loudly to compensate for my insincerity.
But Jeremiah gives me a disgusted look. “Not so loud!” he hisses. “Do you want us to get suspended?”
“Sorry,” I whisper, shaking my head.
And when I do, I see Max is walking across the quad, a stack of books tucked under his arm, heading in the direction of the gym. I watch his slow gait wistfully. He always knows where he’s going, what’s next. I wonder if I will ever manage to get over him, or if years down the line I’ll be in therapy, still talking about a guy I barely even knew when I was conscious. My swan. My African parrot. My fuzzy fish.
Just then, an email pops up on my phone. I see who it’s from. My hand starts to shake a bit, and I waste no time opening it immediately.
“Actually, will you hold Socrates for a second?” Jeremiah asks. “I really have to go to the bathroom, but Socrates is afraid of the sound of the toilet flushing.”
“Sure,” I say, not paying attention, as I hold out my hand that’s not clutching my phone. I feel something scaly and squirmy land in my palm as I eagerly read the message.
My Dear Alice,
Thank you for your email. I’m not sure I’ve been made aware yet of these Google Alerts you mention—we hardly have internet here!—but as always, I’m impressed with how intelligent you are and how industrious you’ve become.
To your first question, in terms of my visit to Washington DC, I will unfortunately not be able to extend my visit to Boston, as my flight is a direct round trip from Casablanca. But my heart is warmed to hear how you are enjoying Nan’s house, particularly that old bike. I got a lot of use out of that thing many years ago.
On to your second point. You asked if I would not be stopping by after DC, when could you expect me? And I am sorry to say I’m not so sure. Research here in Madagascar has really picked up, and I have been invited to speak in Paris in two months, and New Zealand three months after that, which frankly puts me at capacity for international travel for the rest of the year.
To your last point, I would like to keep the discussion ongoing on the topic of you coming here to visit. As you can see, my schedule is inflexible and complicated. But I am charmed by your interest in our work.
Give your father a hug for me, and Jerry a sweet pat. I miss them both, and you. Keep working hard in school, you’ll need it. And above all else, don’t be afraid to follow your dreams, Alice. After all, they’re all we have. What are we without them?
Love,
Mom
I stare at the last two sentences, letting the hand holding the phone drop to my side. Dreams are all we have? I frown. No, Mom, they are not all we have. We have so much more than that. We have friends and loved ones and real life. We have people that matter, real people, and what we do matters to them in return. They rely on us.
At least I do.
I look back up just in time to see Max entering the gym, and I swallow. I am an idiot.
“You know,” I hear a voice say, and look down to see Celeste leaning on my ladder, holding the measuring tape that just fell off one of the steps. She glances in the direction of the gym. “I’ve seen him sleep a few times.” She hands the tape back to me gently. “He never looked happier than when he dreamed.”
The door to the gym elevator is just about to shut behind Max when I wedge myself in it and, after the doors close and before I can psych myself out, press the Stop button.