We catch a quick ride from Central Park to Times Square. Madison tells me this is an unnecessary stop because she’s already been.
“Yes, but have you tried to get a street performer painted like a statue to break character before?”
Her expression says I’ve made a fair point. We go on a hunt for a statue person, looking like jungle tourists naïvely hoping for a chance encounter with a tiger.
“Hey, so I’ve been thinking about your predicament,” she says casually.
“Do I want to know what you think my predicament is?”
“Your relationship with Tommy.”
“Ah.”
“I think you should text him.”
I imagine I look horrified. “About what?”
She shrugs. “About nothing. Anything. Something.”
She tosses her empty coffee cup in the trash as we pass one, then realizes mine is empty too, takes it, and doubles back to toss it out.
“Here, look at my texts with my siblings.”
Madison unlocks her phone (passcode: 1234) and hands it over to me, open to a long string of messages between the four of them.
MADISON: I had a bad dream last night.
EMILY: About what?
NOAH: I don’t want to hear about your dream. They’re always too long and don’t make sense.
MADISON: THEY’RE IMPORTANT EVERY TIME. Especially this one.
ANNIE: I’m intrigued.
MADISON: I went to the salon to get a haircut, and when sheturned the chair around, I was a gorilla wearing a pink dress! But the weird part is, Ilovedit. So then I got in my truck to drive home, and it turned into an airplane and left the ground. That’s when I realized I didn’t know how to fly a plane. So it crashed. But I didn’t die because it crashed into an alternate world where the ground was cotton candy.
NOAH: I can’t believe I read that whole thing. Two minutes of my day I’ll never get back.
EMILY: Noah . . . it took you two minutes to read that?????
ANNIE: I like the bit about cotton candy.
MADISON: But what does itmean?!
NOAH: That you ate too close to bedtime.
Laughing, I hand the phone back to Madison. “So you think randomly texting Tommy about my dreams is going to bring us closer together after thirty years of not getting along?”
“It’s a start. You guys don’t even know each other now. Maybe if you get to know him little by little, you’ll find something you like or relate to. Something that sticks out more than the negative.”
“I’ll think about it.”
We’re quiet for a few minutes as we push through the crowd.
“And obviously, your dream means you’re craving something new in life and transforming old habits . . . except during it all, you feel you have no idea what you’re doing—scared you’re going to crash.”
She turns to me sharply, eyes bright. “Exactly what I thought! But what’s the cotton candy mean?”
