Page 117 of Find My Way Down to You

She bristles at my tone. “Are you serious?”

I give her a blank stare.

“Auggie, this is ridiculous. Today is—”

“I know what today is,” I grunt while beelining through the kitchen toward the employee restroom. Max’s stomping footsteps follow.

“So that’s it?”

“Pretty much,” I say, hiding the exhaustion weighing me down.

“Did you at least talk to your mom?”

Briefly, I falter. My mom is the one who found me on the apartment floor. Not crying. Trembling on my knees,desperately trying—and failing—to fix London’s bracelet. It took almost an hour to convince her I was fine enough to go to work.

Distractions are needed. So I won’t think. Or finally break down.

“I talked to her,” I say. “And my dad.” That wasn’t a fun conversation. At least I had an excuse to make it short: the bus arriving.

My hand reaches for the restroom door. Max is quicker. She squirms around me, blocking it.

“Talk to me. Now.”

I sigh, almost resigned. “I’m fine.”

“You’re lying to yourselfandme,” Max argues. Her arms cross over her chest, brows knotting. “You’re never around anymore.”

“Says the girl who’s so busy with all her college friends,” I say, scoffing.

Max’s nose wrinkles with anger. “That’s not fair. I can’t just—”

Her voice cuts off abruptly. It’s not the first time she’s swallowed words around me. I hate it as much as the commiserative looks people give me. Like they’ll ever know how I feel.

“Can’t what?” I challenge her.

“You keep disappearing, Auggie. You don’t talk to me. You never answer my texts or calls.”

Something clicks in my brain. In Aides, I never have my phone. It’s always in my room when I come back. But not while I’m there. Of course I miss Max’s calls.

But I’ve never explained to her why. “Listen, Max, there’s—”

“And you keep forgetting things,” she cuts in. “Like Hal. The girl I was dating—”

“Wait…wasdating?”

“Yes. I told you it was over the other day!”

My face falls. Everything in my head is still shadowy. Thanks to Lethe.

Thanks to Cary.

“Sorry, I know,” I try. “There’s a reason—”

Max’s cheeks redden. She doesn’t let me finish. “We promised each other we wouldn’t do this. That we’d stay in contact. You said you needed time and space. I gave you that.” Hurt curls across her features. “But you’re not getting better. You’re giving up. Your life didn’t end when London died.”

Hearing his name—how similar her words are to Cary’s—ignites a smoking fire inside me. For months, years, I’ve been trying to blow it out. Contain it.

What for?