So, I bet you’re wondering what happened and if I still believe in happy endings. Well, hold your damn horses. You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you? They drive off in a ’67 red Mustang and live happily ever after?

I guess it was pretty close, except for Alex and Max teasing us from the back seat the whole drive home. Max kept thrusting his Ring Pop between the front seats like it was a superhero ring, and it got stuck in Fiona’s hair. And because she’s Fiona, she was more upset over the ruined Ring Pop and Max’s tears than having to cut out a chunk of her hair to free it. So, instead of dropping them off and driving into the sunset, we dropped them off, hit up five different convenience stores looking for another grape ring pop (apparently they’re rare), brought it home for Max, and THEN drove off into the sunset, because, you know, kids.

At least it wasn’t foggy outside.

It took Fiona ninety days to commit to a road trip, an eleven-hour drive to commit to a hotel, and two hundred and seventy days to commit to us. I guess it’s all relative.

Right now, I’m walking down Houston holding a plastic grey narwhal in my arms. It’s almost as tall as I am. When I impulsively bought it at a thrift shop on my way home from school, I didn’t think this through. It’s a nightmare to transport. Apparently, stopping for a guy with a six-foot narwhal is not exactly cab bait, so here we are, walking, and I’m getting to know it better along the way. 

There’s nothing strange about talking to a giant plastic narwhal on the sidewalk.

This is New York.

“What did I do? Fiona’s going to think I’ve lost it.”

“You know she’ll love me,” the narwhal says.

“That’s presumptuous. Maybe she’ll love you.”

“She’ll love me instantly.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Tough shit, bro. I’m a narwhal.”

It’s hard to argue with that. I hold it out at arm’s length. “You know I could leave you in any one of these dark alleys.”

The narwhal is quiet.

“What are we supposed to do with you, anyway? No offense, but you’re kind of shitty. Why didn’t I see any of these scuffs in the shop?”

“That’s why they keep the lights low. I think it gives me character.”

“Yeah…I don’t know. That’s a fine line.” I look into his beady black eyes, and they seem hurt. “I’m just messing with you, man.” His eyes twinkle again.

“I’m a girl, you know.”

“How would you know that?”

“That’s a stupid question, Nick.”

Her eyes.

She seems like the kind of thing that should go over a mantel, but maybe we’ll put her over the bed—no, definitely not over the bed. Maybe over the front door like some kind of good luck talisman, or hell, right on the kitchen table. Wherever Fi wants her, really.

“You know her mom didn’t even like narwhals. She hated them.”

“Do me a favor and don’t tell Fiona that. I spent a hundred bucks on you.”

“I knew you were bluffing about the alley,” she says.

Narwhals. They’re really a pain in the ass.

It’s suffocatingly hot outside. We’ve only been here for a month, and we already hate New York. Not true. We have a love-hate with New York.

After a search that spanned all of Manhattan, we finally found a place in the West Village—it’s pretty perfect. There’s a 24-hour diner across the street, enough greenery to make it kind of feel like home, and it’s a ten-minute walk to school.

Alex, Casey, and Max are coming to visit next month, which is cool. We can’t wait to show Max, well, everything.

We FaceTime with Bob at least three times a week. San Diego seems to be agreeing with him. He’s still single, but he's taken up deep-sea fishing like I imagined he would. It’s kind of cool to see one of my happy endings work out that way.

After Dad and Brooklyn reno’d the shit out of our house, he sold it. Apparently, all the paint and new furniture in the world couldn’t erase Mom from those halls. He sold the business, too, and now they’re moving to Hawaii. It makes me a little afraid for the future of the Hawaiian landscape.

So, that just leaves--us.

I’m standing on the sidewalk under a leafy green tree across the street from our building. It’s on the corner, a dark brownstone. Our apartment faces West Fourth, shielding us from most of the noise on Sixth. We’re on the third of four floors. The open white curtains billow in the warm breeze, and Fi’s silhouette passes them on her way to the kitchen.

In two minutes, I’ll knock on our front door (hope she opens it), hold the narwhal out in front of me, and say something in a voice I’d imagine a narwhal would have, just to try and make her laugh.

If only I could think of what to say.

I have three flights to climb. It’ll come to me.

And yeah, I still do the happy endings, but not for us. I don’t know what our ending will look like, and I don’t want to wreck it by guessing. 

Because right now?

It’s happy.