Dreamology(35)

“So, Alice,” Jacob Wolfe says. Over the course of dessert I learned Max’s dad is the head of pediatric surgery at Mass General Hospital, a few blocks away. His mother, meanwhile, works for the largest philanthropic foundation in the city. No pressure or anything. “How come we’ve never seen you before? Where have you been hiding?”

I put my spoon down, embarrassed to realize it hasn’t left my hand since I sat down. “I just moved here, actually.”

“Alice is in one of my classes at school,” Max says. He’s acting different, like he’s playing a version of himself. His speaking is more formal and enunciated, his posture more rigid. Like the way you speak to someone who is hard of hearing. Not the way you talk to your father.

“Yes, psychology,” I add. I was only trying to participate, but immediately I see Max wince.

“Psychology?” Jacob asks. But he’s not speaking to me anymore, he’s speaking to Max. “I thought you decided not to take that this semester?”

Max takes a deep inhale, nodding, and I realize I’ve made an error. “We did discuss that, yes, but this is the only semester Mr. Levy teaches Psych 201, and I didn’t want to miss the opportunity. Especially if I want to get into his three-hundred level next year.”

Jacob clears his throat, his posture still like stone. “I just thought we agreed you’d wait until your senior spring to take the fluffier courses,” he says.

“He just said it wasn’t offered in the spring, dear,” Katherine says in that same soothing tone. A tone that says, I’m putting out this fire, and don’t bother trying to light it again. She brushes a strand of Max’s hair out of his eye. “And besides, you have such a great relationship with Levy. It will look even better on your transcript to show a continued interest in a specific subject.”

This conversation stuns me. In my house we talk about the things we saw or learned that day. The new bicycle share in Harvard Square, or the coffee shop that just opened on Marlborough Street. Max’s parents seem to know every detail of his life, and everything they don’t know yet, they seem to have planned for.

“Max is by far the smartest in the class,” I chime in. “I swear he knows the questions Levy will ask before Levy does.”

In response to this Jacob beams. “That’s great to hear. Good work,” he says to Max.

“And he doesn’t hesitate to make sure we all know it, either,” I tease, and the whole table erupts in laughter, including Max, whose eyes shine at me gratefully from the other end.

After I thank Max’s parents for dessert, Max walks me to the door. I am just turning to give him a wave when I see him putting on his own coat.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Walking you home.” He shrugs. “It’s late.”

“I thought you didn’t want to be alone with me?” I tease him.

“I think I can handle myself,” he says with a laugh, playing along. But I notice he missed one of the buttons on his coat, and without thinking I reach over to fix it. Suddenly, a moment too late, I am aware of how close he is, and even though I refuse to look up and meet his eyes, something crackles between us.

“I’ll be fine, really,” I say, taking a step back. “I like to walk alone. It clears my head. Besides, my dad makes me use one of those apps where he can locate me whenever he wants.” I sigh and wish I were kidding.

Max actually looks a little hurt. And a little silly, standing there in his brown waxed-cotton coat with a plaid scarf that’s less wrapped around his neck than draped over it, where it won’t do any good. “Oh,” he says. “That’s cool.”

I wait for him to say something else, but he doesn’t. “Okay, so . . . I’ll see you at school.” I turn to leave.

“Alice,” Max calls out.

“Yeah?” I say.

“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.