When You Reach Me

Things That Get Stuck

“Guess what?” I said to Mom when she got home. “The laughing man isn’t completely crazy. He’s kind of a CSP.”

“CSP?”

“Crazy-shaped person.”

“Don’t say ‘crazy-shaped person.’ And what are you talking about?”

“I gave him a sandwich today. He was sort of normal about it. Almost.”

“You gave him a sandwich?”

“It was a leftover. From Jimmy’s.”

“Mira, why in the world would you give the laughing man a sandwich?”

“What’s wrong with that? I thought you would like it!”

“You thought I would like the fact that you’ve struck up a relationship with a mentally ill person?”

“What relationship? I just gave him a sandwich!”

“We’ve talked about this, Miranda. I thought you knew how to handle yourself. It’s the only reason I let you walk around alone!”

“I just gave a sandwich to a homeless guy! You’re the one who works for criminals and hangs around with pregnant jailbirds.”

“Not everyone accused of a crime is a criminal, you know And besides, I’m not twelve.”

I pointed at her sweatshirt, which had a rainbow on it. “Well, you dress like you’re twelve!” I could feel the tears starting, so I grabbed two bags of the chips Louisa had brought over, went to my room, and slammed the door.

A few minutes later, she knocked and came in. “I’m sorry. You did a nice thing. I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that.”

“Why did you, then?”

She sat down on the bed next to me. “I don’t know. I guess it made me nuts, thinking you were putting yourself in danger. I like to tell myself that you’re always safe, but there’s no such thing, really, is there? I do trust you, Mira. I want you to know that. I just—I don’t want to make any more mistakes. I don’t think I can bear to make one more single mistake.”

“What are you talking about? What mistakes?”

She laughed. “Are you kidding? Where should I start? I’ve made about a million mistakes. Luckily, you outweigh almost all of them.”

“Almost all of them? Like how many?”

She smiled. “I don’t know. Nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand?”

“So that just leaves—what? A thousand to go?”

“Richard wants to move in,” she said flatly. “He wants us to get married.”

And my brain said, “He does?” Then I got this feeling of… lightness. I was happy. “That’s great,” I told Mom.

“You think so?” She smiled for a second, and then her mouth dropped. “I don’t know. I just can’t… I can’t figure out if it’s the right thing.”

“Don’t you love him?”

“Of course I do! I don’t know if it’s the right thing for you, I mean.”

“Is that why you won’t give him a key? Because of me?”

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t know. I just feel stuck, like I’m afraid to take any steps, in case they’re the wrong ones. I need a little more time to think.” She stood up. “The water’s probably boiling by now. Spaghetti in ten minutes.”

Spaghetti again. We were kind of stuck, I realized. In a lot of ways.