I’m crossing out the Travel Arena because it’s mad busy at this time of day, as Mateo pointed out, so if we’re still alive in a few hours we have a better chance of not completely wasting away in lines. We have to wait for the herd to thin out, pretty much. Shitty way to think, but I’m not wrong. I hope whatever we’re doing isn’t some time-suck like Make-A-Moment. I’m betting it’s charity work, or maybe he’s been secretly chatting with Aimee and arranging a meet-up so she and I can make things right before I kick the bucket.
We’ve been in Chelsea for a solid ten minutes, in the park by the pier. I’m that guy I hate, the one who walks in the bike lane when there’s clearly a lane for walkers and joggers. My karma score is gonna be jacked, legit. Mateo leads me toward the pier, where I stop.
“You gonna try and throw me over?” I ask.
“You’ve got an extra forty pounds on me,” Mateo says. “You’re safe. You said spreading your parents’ and sister’s ashes didn’t do much for you. I thought maybe you could get some closure here.”
“They all died on our way upstate,” I say. Fingers crossed those road barriers our car flipped over, freak-accident style, have been repaired by now, but who knows.
“It doesn’t have to be the crash site. Maybe the river will be enough.”
“Not sure what I’m supposed to get out of this.”
“I don’t know either, and if you don’t feel comfortable, we can turn around and do something else. Going to the cemetery gave me peace I wasn’t expecting, and I want you to have that same wonder.”
I shrug. “We’re already here. Bring on the wonder.”
There are no boats docked by the pier, which is a huge waste, like an empty parking lot. In July, I came by the pier a little farther uptown with Aimee and Tagoe because they wanted to see these waterfront statues, and came back there a week later because Malcolm missed out on account of food poisoning.
We walk across this arm of the pier. It’s not made up of planks, otherwise I’d be too nervous to go forward. I’m straight catching Mateo’s paranoia, like a cold. The pier is all cement and sturdy, not some rickety mess that’s gonna collapse under me, but feel free to put down a dollar on optimism tricking the shit out of me. We reach the end and I grab the steel-gray railing so I can lean out and see the river’s currents doing their thing.
“How are you feeling?” Mateo asks.
“Like this whole day is a practical joke the world is playing on me. You’re an actor and any minute now my parents, Olivia, and the Plutos are gonna run out the back of some van and surprise me. I wouldn’t even be that pissed. I’d hug them and then kill them.”
It’s a fun thought, massacre aside.
“Seems pretty pissed to me,” Mateo says.
“I’ve spent so much time being pissed at my family for leaving me, Mateo. Everyone’s always running their mouth about survivor’s guilt and I get it, but . . .” I’ve never talked about this with the Plutos, not even Aimee when we were dating, ’cause it’s too horrible. “But I’m the one who left them, yo. I’m the one who got out the sinking car and swam away. I still think about if that was even me or some strong reflex. Like how you can’t keep your hand on a hot stove without your brain forcing it away. It would’ve been mad easy to sink with them, even though Death-Cast hadn’t hit me up yet. If it was that easy for me to almost die, maybe they should’ve worked harder to beat the odds and live. Maybe Death-Cast was wrong!”
Mateo comes closer and palms my shoulder. “Don’t do this to yourself. There are entire forums on CountDowners for Deckers confident they’re special. When Death-Cast calls, that’s it. Game over. There isn’t anything you could’ve done and there isn’t anything they could’ve done differently.”
“I could’ve driven,” I snap, shaking off his hand. “Olivia’s idea since I was tagging along. That way ‘Decker hands’ wouldn’t be steering the car. But I was too nervous and too pissed and too lonely. I could’ve bought them a few more hours. Maybe they wouldn’t have given up when things looked bad. Once I was out the car they just sat there, Mateo. No fight in them.” They only cared about me getting out. “My pops reached for my door immediately, same time my mom did from behind. I could’ve opened my own door, it’s not like my hand was jammed somewhere. I was dazed because our fucking car flew into the river, but I snapped out of it. They just gave up, though, once my door was open—Olivia didn’t even gun for the escape.”