Page 30 of The Getaway List
“Well, I’ll be here the whole summer,” I tell her. “If you ever need an emotional-support bystander for your photography adventures, I’m on board.”
Mariella smiles at me then, and it’s not the broad, sweeping grin she usually has. It’s something quieter. Something just as grounded in her heart as her head.
I’m about to tell her if she wants to talk about the rest of it, I’m here for that, too. But just then the boys catch up to us, in a lively debate about what to do with the penny they just found on the ground (with Tom dutifully explaining that they can’t use it to make a wish in the fountain, pointing out the signs saying it’s to help preserve it).
Jesse tosses a few coins in the bubble man’s tip jar and says, “I like this better anyway. I trust the magic of these giant bubbles to make my dreams come true.”
“What dreams might those be?” I ask. “You’re already here, after all.”
Jesse grins broadly. “Too true,” he says, throwing a loose arm around me and pulling me in. “And I snagged a stowaway to boot!”
We walk down the Central Park Mall and back up alongside the running path to get to the next stops—the Balto statue and the carousel—then work our way back west to where we started, this time through the patch of woods called the Ramble where we dodge clusters of bird-watchers. We fall into an easy rhythm as Tom and I nerdily explain the Tides of Time plot points associated with them, Luca riffs off some of them with me like we were back in our writing class, Mariella snaps pictures, and Jesse sprinkles in funny commentary to keep us all amused the way he always does, while collecting little scraps and tokens along the way—someone’s lost grocery list, a fortune from someone handing them out, a lucky penny. But I know Jesse too well not to notice the tiny dent in his usual brand of enthusiasm, or miss the sneaky glances at his phone.
On the other side of the Ramble Tom leads us not to a Tides of Time spot, but a gazebo on the water that’s tucked away off the main path. There’s a big rock structure just beside it and from the top of it a view of a cluster of skyscrapers in Midtown, so perfectly framed by the trees that it feels like New York in a nutshell.
Tom shakes his backpack off his shoulders and says, “I brought snacks.”
“Aw,” says Mariella. “I should have realized you’d be the mom friend.”
“The Tom friend, if you will,” I say.
Tom proudly produces a bag of Goldfish, a box of Sour Patch Kids, a box of Pop-Tarts, and a bunch of water bottles, leaving the bag open for the rest of us to parse through its offerings. I take the opportunity to follow Jesse as he ducks over to the gazebo, still frowning into his phone.
“Okay, I’m going to ask you if everything’s cool again and this time you’re not gonna do that Jesse thing you do and say everything’s fine,” I say.
Jesse looks up with a sheepish if not appreciative smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “It is and it’s not. But I probably should bounce soon. The band has rehearsal.”
“You got a minute?” I ask, sitting down on one of the benches in the gazebo. This is an old trick in the Jesse handbook. Left to his own devices he has the tendency to go go go like a punk-rock wind-up toy, but once you get him to sit still he’ll usually fess up to whatever’s eating at him.
Jesse hesitates, half of him poised to go and the other coming to an uneasy stop, like his whole body is skipping a beat. After a moment he nods, settling down next to me.
“Was I a good boyfriend?”
It takes every fiber of my being not to laugh out loud at that, only because it’s deeply unexpected and also a bit of a misnomer. As easily as we say that we used to date, it’s not like it was ever serious as that. But Jesse is asking so earnestly that his whole body is shifted toward me in anticipation of my answer.
“What’s making you ask a question like that?”
He rubs the back of his neck again. “I don’t know. I mean—you’re right. We never even really broke up. It was just over.”
Oh boy. I didn’t think he’d take that to heart. I can count the number of times Jesse and I have even brought up our teenybopper relationship on one hand. But then again, Jesse’s a lot more sensitive than his sunny disposition would suggest.
I put a hand on Jesse’s shoulder and say in mock solemnity, “Fourteen-year-old Jesse was a very good boyfriend. He always let me hog the movie-theater popcorn. We just spun out doing our own things, is all.”
Jesse nods, teeth grazing his lower lip like there’s another question at the edge of them.
“Well, I’m glad we’re spinning back into each other. I missed this,” he says instead. “Being part of the Riley-and-Tom crew.”
I squeeze his shoulder and he perks up.
“Also the band was wondering if you’d come up with more fun ideas for posters we can put up for our gigs. Like the ones you did back at school. Maybe we could work on it when you come over to learn guitar?”
“Done and done,” I say.
And Jesse seems just at ease enough after that for me to decide to let it go when his phone starts to ring and he says, “Okay, I really gotta jet.” If there’s something bugging him I’m sure it will come out soon enough.
After Jesse takes some snacks for the road I join Tom where he’s sitting at the top of the rock formation, watching Mariella take pictures of the city as Luca gets roped into a game of tag with a group of little kids. He smiles, shifting to make room for me on the flat part of the rock, and breaks me off a piece of his Pop-Tart.
For a minute or so we just sit in silence, eating and taking in the view of the city. It’s beautiful. Cinematic, even. But I don’t think it would matter half as much to me if it weren’t for the beauty of who I’m finally getting to share it with.
