Remi laughs once, and then I laugh too. It’s all so absurd. My mom freely went from wife to mistress, becoming another fake bank memo when he sends her money out of the accounts he shares with his now wife. Everyone’s either delusional or ignorant, and both are better than the fucking reality. Sometimes I wonder if I’m not doing the kid a solid by letting him grow up in bliss before he feels the same damaging betrayal I did.

I glance up ahead to check the bronze statues aren’t on a timer, lucking out when the light catches as they move. But I look down, and Remi has her brow lowered again.

“Fuck, I made you sadder.” I walk the last of the way to the Kafka Museum.

“No. I hate that it happened to you, but I like that you told me.” She pauses. “I might even be less sad because of you.”

I stop at our destination. “Not enough. I’m shooting for barely sad. And what I’m about to show you will either hit the mark or backfire horrendously, and you’ll be all the way sad again.”

Her eye narrows, and I think I can read her with only one by now. But I want something else for this.

“I want to see your mouth again.”

More of a squint before the lens pulls away, and then I see her pouty lips and soft jaw. “Are you going to tell me why?”

“No.” No one’s around, so I take out my earbuds, letting her hear the trickle of water. “But I’ll show you.”

I switch to front-facing mode. She sucks in a sharp breath, her mouth falling open at the fountain of two guys pissing. Their hips move, along with their dicks, and the pool’s shaped like the Czech Republic.

“Well?” I ask. “I hope this isn’t the type of fountain your dad would send you, but it’s one I would.”

“Foster, this is…” She breaks into a pure smile and laughs, and I’m unnerved by the way it melds with my soul but settled all the same. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but it almost feels a little like home.”

“Not a sentence probably spoken about the Piss Sculpture before.” I circle the fountain, giving her a full view of what these dudes have to offer. “What was your favorite fountain he sent?”

“Hmm. He photographed raptors in Pennsylvania not long before he died. He sent a video from a park in the small town he stayed in. Three tiers of chipped concrete, but he focused on the etched designs and explained why he found the fountain beautiful. I watched it so many times, listening to his voice and the melody of the water. There was distant music, too. He said there was a band competition⁠—”