Dreamology(67)

“So, are you guys gonna make out now?” Sophie asks, and Oliver chases her around the car, squealing.

Max tries to make conversation as we drive to my house. I can tell he’s happy. He and Oliver are going to be friends again. Max and I aren’t going to go insane. All the drama is over. Why can’t I be happy, too? Why can’t I shake this hopeless feeling inside of me?

“Do you feel it?” I ask him, when we’re standing outside my house. He leans up against the car’s side door, his arms crossed. A few schoolgirls walk by, turn back to glance at him, and start giggling. Max is oblivious to the fact that they are even there or that he looks like an LL Bean boyfriend.

“Feel what?” Max asks, but he sounds wary.

“I know this sounds stupid, but it’s just . . . not the same,” I try to explain.

“What’s not the same, Alice?” Max asks. There’s a warning in his voice. “We should be happy about this . . . We’ve fixed it like we wanted to, and you and I are going to be okay.”

“But it’s not the same,” I insist, unintentionally tapping my fingers against my leg.

“What’s not the same?” Max asks again, sounding a little impatient.

“Everything!” I practically yell, throwing my hands in the air. I feel like I’m going to start crying.

At this, Max clenches his teeth, and looks away from me. “I’m the same.”

I sigh, not sure of what to say.

“Alice,” Max tries again, slower this time, trying to calm me down. “I know we lost the dreams. But we were afraid of that because we didn’t want to lose each other. And I know we won’t. Nothing’s going back to normal, because nothing was ever normal to start with. This is our new beginning, Alice, and it’s going to be better than it was.” He reaches to pull me to him, but I step away, clutching my hands inside my coat pockets.

“But that’s just it,” I say. “Nothing was ever normal. It was magic, Max. Don’t you remember? Before the dream bleeding, before everything went off track. And now the magic is gone. There’s no going to bed anymore knowing that something amazing is going to happen.”

“But, Alice, it wasn’t real,” Max says.

“It was real for me.”

“And what about me?” Max says. “Things may have changed, but I’m still here, and you being like this, you’re basically telling me that’s not good enough. That the real me isn’t good enough.”

I don’t know how to tell him that he’s wrong. That I love him. But I also loved the boy who thought everything was an adventure. Who pushed me down a staircase on a foam boogie board and chased me through the hallways of the Met throwing Oreo cake at my face. “I know, you’re here now,” I say instead. “But for how long?”

Max shakes his head, blinking. “What does that mean?”

“You’ve done it before!” I say. “One day you’re my dream boyfriend, the next day you’re with Celeste. One day you’re my friend, the next you’re not. One day you’re kissing me at the Gardner, and the next you’re saying it didn’t mean anything. What about the next time that happens? Except this time, I won’t have a dream to go back to. I’ll be alone.”

Max stares at me in shock. “I love you, Alice,” he says. “I can’t believe that’s how you feel about me, after everything we’ve just been through.” Then he walks back around to the driver’s side. “I don’t want to fight about this anymore. Let me know when you’re ready to live in the real world. With me.”

Max slams the door and drives off.





33


Patio Lights




“SO, TELL ME, how are you?” Delilah Weatherbee says to me as she exhales some hookah smoke into the middle of her office.

“Are you sure we should be doing this?” I say skeptically. “You are technically an authority figure.”

“It’s all natural and non-addictive,” she states. Then she adds, “Besides, you look like you could use it, and nobody comes up here anyway.” On the second point, she might be right. In all the times I have come to visit her, I have never noticed a single other person around. And on the first point, she is definitely right. It’s almost a week after my fight with Max and I am in a “whatever gets you through the day” kind of place. Sometimes it’s frozen yogurt, other times it’s punk music, and sometimes it’s just lying hopelessly on the sofa spooning Jerry as I stare into the fireplace. And on this occasion it is smoking hookah with my college counselor. Anything to provide temporary relief from the unimaginable agony coursing through my heart.

He still isn’t speaking to me. No snide remarks in psych or looks in the hallway. He carries on for the most part like I’m not even there, except to pick up a pencil I dropped in class one time, and set my phone gently next to my tray in the dining hall two days ago, when I’d left it in the food line. But in each instance, he turned away without a word, all proud shoulders and head slightly upturned. To the majority of the school, nothing has changed. Nobody else knows about Maine. But they know he broke up with Celeste, and they know he isn’t talking to me.

It’s on me. He put himself out there, and I still can’t wrap my head around it. The idea of this new beginning, as he said. The uncertainty of what it means for us. It’s one thing to withstand this new, dreamless world alone, but it’s another thing entirely to try and do it with Max. It hurts too much.