She’s in a long, light blue dress, and he’s wearing a two-piece dark suit, and compared to her he seems tall. She’s much younger than him. Maybe early twenties.

I can’t help but stare at how fancy she is. For what it’s worth, they look like a match. At least in the way they dress. I look down at my jean overalls and I don’t need to see myself in the car’s mirror to know my hair is a mess—let’s call it a ponytail. I would never look this good, even if I had to go to the Oscars. The whole ‘I clean up nicely’ doesn’t apply to everyone.

He’s facing the camera. With that beard and the fancy glasses, he looks like one of those guys in aftershave commercials. For some reason, I pictured all Carmel men to be the full ‘T-shirt, flip-flops, sunglasses, and tousled hair’ package. I hope that’s how Max is.

Alisa texts. It’s a screenshot of a webpage. A two-month book tour for June After Midnight that starts in less than three weeks; on my birthday, to be exact. The first stop is Carmel by the Sea, then SF, LA, Phoenix, Austin, Houston, New Orleans, Jacksonville, Savannah, Charlotte, Richmond, Baltimore, Philadelphia, NYC, Hartford, Boston, Portland, Chicago and Seattle.

She calls me.

“OK, so here’s what I have so far. Max is most certainly a friend, which confirms what we knew. I found some mentions of how he uses his social circle for inspiration.”

“I saw that too,” I say.

“I also found a press release. They’re making a movie for one of his books and he’s set to leave for New Zealand right after the book tour I just sent over. He’ll be gone for a while.”

“He can go to Antarctica for five years for all I care. He can probe the penguins for stories, see how that goes.”

“Are you OK?” she asks.

“Fine. Just having a bit of a meltdown.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“The whole idea of this book, parading my feelings out to the world, unnerves me. I don’t want to find out the truth at the same time a million other people do. I deserve better.”

“That’s why I’m trying to get you his email and the book. Try to calm down, please.”

“I’m calm,” I say, while having a very public tantrum in the middle of the Upper East Side. And on a Sunday no less. I’m taking this very well…

“The only reason I told you about the book tour and the movie is that it might be harder to get answers from him once he’s on the road. But, that’s over two weeks away; plenty of time.”

“Plenty,” I repeat.

“Wait,” she says. “Just got a reply from his agent’s assistant. She says he can be contacted directly via his author’s website. And if it’s related to movie rights blah blah and translation rights et cetera, we should contact X and Y. Unrelated. OK, so go to his website.”