I only tuned back in when the lock on the front door turned before I had a chance to ring the bel . Lily’s aunt took one look and said a simple,

“Oh my.” Suddenly the torrent of apologies was directed at her; had I not been holding Lily up, I might have chosen this as my opportunity to

leave.

“Fol ow me,” the old woman said. She led us to a bedroom at the back of her house and helped me sit Lily down on the bed. For her part, Lily

was near tears now.

“This wasn’t what was supposed to happen,” she told me. “It wasn’t.”

“It’s okay,” I told her again. “It’s al okay.”

“It’s okay,” I told her again. “It’s al okay.”

“Lily,” her aunt said, “you should stil have pajamas in the second drawer. I’m going to walk Dash out while you change. I’l also cal your

grandfather and let him know you’re safe with me, no harm done. We’l concoct your alibi in the morning, when you’re much more likely to

remember it.”

I made the mistake of turning back to look at her one last time before I left the room. It was heartbreaking, real y—she just sat there, stunned.

She looked like she was waking up in a strange place—only she knew she hadn’t gone to sleep yet, and that this was actual y life.

“Real y,” I said. “It’s okay.”

I took the red notebook out of my pocket and left it on the dresser.

“I don’t deserve it!” she protested.

“Of course you do,” I told her gently. “None of the words would have existed without you.”

Lily’s aunt, watching from the hal , motioned me out of the room. When we were a safe distance away, she said, “Wel , this is quite

uncharacteristic.”

“The whole thing was sil y,” I said. “Please tel her there’s no need to apologize. We set ourselves up for this. I was never going to be the guy in

her head. And she was never going to be the girl in mine. And that’s okay. Seriously.”

“Why don’t you tel her that yourself?”

“Because I don’t want to,” I said. “Not because of the way she is now—I know that’s not what she’s like. There was no way it was going to be as

easy as the notebook. I get that now.”

I got to the door.

“It was a pleasure to meet you,” I said. “Thank you for the tea you never served me.”

“The pleasure was mine,” the old woman replied. “Come back again soon.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. I think we both knew I wouldn’t.

Back on the street, I wanted to talk to someone. But who? It’s moments like this, when you need someone the most, that your world seems

smal est. Boomer would never in a mil ion years understand what I was going through. Yohnny and Dov might, but they were in such couple mode

that I doubted they could see the forest because they’d be too busy pairing up the trees. Priya would just stare at me strangely, even over the

phone. And So a didn’t have a phone. Not anymore. Not in America.

Either of my parents?

That was a laughable idea.

I started to walk home. The phone rang.

I looked at the screen:

Thibaud.

Despite my deeper reservations, I picked up.

“Dash!” he cried. “Where are you guys?”

“I took Lily home, Thibaud.”

“Is she okay?”

“I’m sure she would appreciate your concern.”

“I just looked up and you guys were gone.”

“I don’t even know how to begin to address that point.”

“What do you mean?”

I sighed. “I mean—that is to say, what I real y don’t understand is how you get away with being such a lout.”

“That’s not fair, Dash.” Thibaud actual y sounded hurt. “I total y care. That’s why I cal ed. Because I care.”

“But, you see, that’s the luxury of being a lout—you get to be selective about when you care and when you don’t. The rest of us get stuck when

your care goes shal ow.”

“Dude, you think too much.”

“Dude, you know what? You’re right. And you don’t think enough. Which makes you the perennial screwer and me the perennial screwee.”

“So she’s upset?”

“Real y, does it mat er to you?”

“Yes! She’s grown up a lot, Dash. I thought she was cool. At least until she passed out. You can’t real y try to get with a girl once she passes out.

Or even when she’s coming close.”

“That’s mighty chivalrous of you.”

“God, you’re pissed! Were the two of you dating or something? She didn’t mention you once. If I’d known, I promise I wouldn’t have been

irting with her.”

“Again, chivalry. You’re almost up to a knighthood.”

Another sigh. “Look, I just wanted to make sure she was okay. That’s it. Just tel her I’l catch her later, right? And that I hope she doesn’t feel

too bad in the morning. Tel her to drink lots of water.”

“You’re going to have to tel her yourself, Thibaud,” I said.

“She didn’t answer.”

“Wel , I’m not there now. I’m gone, Thibaud. I’ve left.”

“You sound sad, Dash.”

“One of the failures of cel ular communication is that tiredness often comes across as sadness. But I appreciate your concern.”

“We’re stil here, if you want to come back.”

“I’m told there’s no going back. So I’m choosing forward.”

“I’m told there’s no going back. So I’m choosing forward.”

I hung up then. The exhaustion of living was just too much for me to talk any longer. At least to Thibaud. And, yes, there was sadness in that.

And anger. And confusion. And disappointment. Al exhausting.

I kept walking. It wasn’t too cold for December 27, and al the holiday-week visitors were out in force. I remembered where So a had said her

family was staying—the Belvedere, on Forty-eighth Street—and walked in that direction. Times Square sent its glow into the air, blocks before it

actual y began, and I walked heavily into the light. The tourists stil crowded into a thronging pulse, but now that Christmas was over, I wasn’t as

repel ed. Especial y in Times Square, everyone was enraptured by the simple act of being here. For every exhausted soul like myself, there were at

least three whose faces were lifted in absurd wonder at the neon brightness. As much as I wanted to have the hardest of hearts, such plaintive joy

made me feel what a leaky, human vessel it real y was.

When I got to the Belvedere, I found the house phone and asked to be connected to So a’s room. It rang six times before an anonymous voice

mail picked up. I returned the receiver to its cradle and went to sit on one of the couches in the lobby. I wasn’t waiting, per se—I simply didn’t

know where else to go. The lobby was ful of hustling and bustling—guests negotiating each other after negotiating the city, some about to plunge

back in. Parents dragged vacation-tired children. Couples sniped about what they’d done or hadn’t done. Other couples held hands like teenagers,

even when they hadn’t been teenagers for over half a century. Christmas music no longer wafted in the air, which al owed a more genuine

tenderness to bloom. Or maybe that was just in me. Maybe everything I saw was al in me.

I wanted to write it down. I wanted to share it with Lily, even if Lily was real y just the idea I’d created of Lily, the concept of Lily. I went to the

smal gift shop o the lobby and bought six postcards and a pen. Then I sat back down and let my thoughts ow out. Not directed to her this time.

Not directed at al . It would be just like water, or blood. It would go wherever it was meant to go.

Postcard 1: Greetings from New York!

Having grown up here, I always wonder what it would be like to see this city as a tourist. Is it ever a disappointment? I have to believe that New

York always lives up to its reputation. The buildings real y are that tal . The lights real y are that bright. There’s truly a story on every corner. But it

stil might be a shock. To realize you are just one story walking among mil ions. To not feel the bright lights even as they l the air. To see the tal