Max couldn’t understand what. “You want some popcorn?” he asked.
Jamie clapped his hands and made a high-pitched sound of delight.
Max spent the rest of the evening on the couch on his phone while Jamie watched the Air Bud movie two times through.
He kept thinking about Carly.
He plucked absently at the arm of the couch, and finally, when he couldn’t take it any longer, he picked up his phone.
Bad news. Hazel just watched Air Bud and I think she’s in love with a golden. How will we explain this to Baxter?
Dr. Sheffington, what were you thinking, letting her watch Air Bud? He’s so much hotter than Baxter. His heart will be broken.
Max’s phone pinged again—Carly had sent him a picture of Baxter in his current state. He was racked out on his dog bed, with his head firmly in the corner.
If I may offer my professional opinion here, I believe that Baxter’s hippocampal volumes are severely reduced.
I don’t really know what that is, but I think it’s impossible all the same. Have you seen the size of his skull? It’s enormous and I can imagine all kinds of hippos swimming in there. I think he really misses Hazel. And I don’t mind telling you that we are both looking forward to Tuesday.
I don’t mind telling you that Hazel and I are, too. Very much.
Are we flirting? Because neither of us knows when that is happening, remember?
I’m not sure, but I think so. I will consult my textbooks.
I am oddly charmed by your scientific approach. It’s surprisingly sexy and makes me want to know more about you. Like, how nerdy are you?
You are in for some dry and tedious detail. I want to know more about you, too. Like, how did you decide on public relations, and who thinks circles of wood are fine art, and what is your favorite ice cream, and what was your second grade teacher’s name.
That is so weird! I was going to ask you if you prefer red or white, and where is the one place you would go if you could leave tomorrow, and how many brains did you have to dissect to be a qualified brain genius, and when did you first learn to ride a bike.
Ladies first. Start with ice cream.
I ALWAYS start with ice cream.
As Jamie started the Air Bud movie for the third time, one hand flapping with pleasure, Max scooched down on the couch next to Hazel.
He and Carly texted until two in the morning.
He could not wait for Tuesday.
Thirteen
One of the worst Mondays to visit Carly in a very long time—remarkable in and of itself, given her luck recently—arrived with a bang. First, she was late getting up—she and Max had texted every last thought in their heads until the wee hours. When she woke, it was to several text messages left by her sister, complete with exclamation marks, exploding head emojis, and capital letters, complaining that their mother was not answering her phone calls and was probably dead in the ditch, but that Mia couldn’t check on her because Will was gone again and she was stuck home with the kids.
Carly thought about pointing out to her sister that their mother might not be answering because she was tired of being tracked like a common criminal, and who texted anyone at six o’clock in the goddamn morning, Mia. But this time, Carly was a little curious, too. Usually, her mother called her several times a week, but Carly realized she hadn’t heard from her mom at all in the last week. So she began her day driving by her mother’s house to check on her.
Her mother was safe and sound and doing yoga in the backyard. “Since when do you do yoga?” Carly asked as she pulled her jacket around her. The day had not yet warmed.
“Hello, my love!” her mother chirped.
Her mother had never, in all of Carly’s life, called her “my love” until a couple of months ago . . . come to think of it, around the same time she started her sexual revolution.
“I began my yoga practice two weeks ago. Penny told me it was the best thing for you, and she was absolutely right. You should try it! It would release all the stress you carry in your face,” she said, fluttering her fingers at Carly’s face.
“Gee, thanks, Mom.”
Her mother pinched her cheek. “You’re a beautiful woman, Carly, but you do seem stressed. I worry about you.”
Carly couldn’t argue. “I’m fine, Mom.