Dreamology(72)

And standing a few paces down, among the leaves, wearing a tuxedo, is Max.

And standing next to him, in a much tinier tuxedo, is Jerry.

And Max is holding a pizza box.

“What is this?” I barely manage to ask, slowly taking a few steps toward him.

“Here,” Max says, grinning, his eyes a little glassy. “Open it.”

I open the top of the box, feeling like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, and am stunned to see not a pizza, but a giant Oreo cookie cake.

“Am I dreaming?” I ask in all seriousness, looking around and rubbing my eyes.

“No, you’re not.” Max laughs, but his voice comes out a little choked. “And that’s exactly the point I’m trying to make.”

I tuck my hands inside the sleeves of my sweater and bite my lip. “I’m confused,” I say. “That day in the elevator . . .”

Max tips his head to the side. “I know. I know I said that we are just too different. But then I thought about it . . .” He chuckles again. He’s honestly acting a little manic, back and forth between giggles and almost-tears. “Getting in the elevator. Just to tell me how you felt. You are totally insane, Alice, and you do live in a dreamworld sometimes. You prefer things when they are stranger and prettier than everyday life. But that means you also make every moment of my life dreamier. More exciting and unexpected. When you are around, my life is always sparkly. And I don’t want to change you. I don’t want to run from it, either. I want to make you feel the way you make me feel. I want to make you happy.”

I’m so happy I can barely speak. I never thought I’d hear him say these words. I want to grab him by the lapels and hold him tight. So, after carefully taking the pizza box from him and setting it on the ground, that’s exactly what I do.

“You do make me happy,” I say, my cheek pressed against his chest. “Dream Max and Real Max. The one who knows how to push the limits, and the one who grounds me and brings me back to earth. I can’t imagine going back to the way things were, when all I knew was Dream Max, and Real Max didn’t exist. It would be like reading alternating chapters of my favorite book, or listening to a skipping record. And I feel like I’ve ruined it, and we can’t go back.”

“But that’s the thing, Alice,” Max says, running a hand up and down my back and resting his head on top of mine. “We don’t have to go back. We have each other. No matter how different we are or how many dumb things we do, we make each other better. And what we have is better than what the dreams could ever give us. It’s real.”

As Max pulls away from me, my heart feels like it’s doing rhythmic gymnastics. Then he kisses me, and it’s the best kiss yet, because it means more than all the others before it. And I’m not afraid anymore. Of losing the dreams or losing him. I have him. My swan. My African parrot. My fuzzy fish.

I kiss him back, the world around us disappearing completely. When we break apart, Max reaches into his pocket to retrieve something while I reach down to the Oreo cake and pick up a piece.

“One more thing,” he says, handing me a cell phone case with Jerry’s face on it.

I stare down at the phone. Even when he’s being the most romantic person on Earth, he’s still the most practical. Still looking out for me.

“You know you need it,” he says. Then he looks worried. “Did I ruin the moment?”

I shake my head. “No,” I say, looking up into his eyes. “It’s perfect.” And then, without warning, I smush a giant piece of Oreo cake across his cheek.

“Oh, really?” Max cries. “You thought that was the right move for this moment?”

I start to back up slowly, inch by inch, grinning wildly. “Maybe?” I say, shrugging.

“You should probably run now,” Max replies, pieces of Oreo falling from his face. And then I take off shrieking into the house, Max on my tail, Jerry nipping at our heels.





36


See You Soon




ONE MONTH LATER, I sit at my windowsill, marveling at how beautiful Boston looks under a blanket of snow. The cars nearly disappear beneath it, so all you see are gas streetlamps and the orange light of people’s windows. The snow seems to muffle sound, too, especially at night, and I feel like I’m living in a different time.

“Bug,” my dad says over the intercom, “sorry to interrupt, but we were just wondering, did you feed Jerry tonight? Or should we do it?”

Before I even open my mouth to answer, the unnerving sound of his boyish giggle comes over the line, too, and I make a face instead.

“Margaret,” my dad says. “Stop it. Alice will hear you.”

“I fed him, Dad,” I call out. “And I’m on the phone.”

“Tell Max I say hello,” he says, and the intercom clicks off amid laughter.

“Did I just hear your father . . . giggle?” Max asks. His voice is deep and crackly and I can tell he’s in bed.

“Margaret is here,” I explain.

“Again?” he asks.

“Again,” I say. Once I told my dad everything that had happened, he wanted to be connected with Margaret immediately to make sure I was okay. She was in town for a conference and it was like they’d known each other their whole lives. Like her Crocs and his worn penny loafers were meant to sit across from each other beneath the kitchen table, perusing their various academic periodicals. Not to mention they both owned the same color corduroys. I shudder. “It’s honestly a little gross, how gooey they are for each other. But I’ve never seen him this happy in my life.” I pause. “They’ve been . . . cooking. She’s totally patient with his culinary inadequacies. I think it’s making me fat.” I stand in front of my floor-length mirror and stick my tummy out intentionally. “Too much cake.”