Mad Honey: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

gifts are so stupid anyway. They’re a complete misreading of the tradition.”
    There’s a pause before she says, “We’re talking about what tradition now?”
    “The gifts of the Magi. Even if the three wise men did exist, they didn’t visit Jesus the night he was born. It was weeks after—possibly years.”
    Mom raises one eyebrow. “You’re reading the Bible now?”
    “I read everything,” I tell her.
    Mom picks her ranger hat up off the floor and puts it on the raised hearthstone. “All I know,” she says, “is it’s nice to give people gifts. While you are both not naked.”
    “Oh my God. Stop. Just stop.”
    Mom laughs. “You be sure to tell Asher exactly that when he gives you his special gift.”
    A text dings on my phone; Asher’s here. “And on that note,” I say. Boris doesn’t raise his head.
    I put on my heavy down jacket and my mittens and I glance at myself in the hall mirror. “Lily,” says Mom. “You really do look nice.”
    I smile at her, and I rush out the door into the cold New Hampshire night.
    Asher’s ancient Jeep is idling out in the driveway. There’s a little snow coming down, drifting lazily in the cones of his headlights. I open the door and there he is, with a smile that splits his face into fractions, and green eyes that make me think of June, when everything is in bloom. He leans in to kiss me and it is electric as fuck; my heart jumps like an engine being restarted.
    After a minute, or maybe a lifetime, he pulls back. “You ready?” he asks. He puts the stick into reverse.
    We head down the road. The radio is playing softly, some oldies station. I put my hand down on top of Asher’s as he’s shifting the gears on the Jeep. He steals a glance at me.
    “Well?” I ask him.
    “Well what?”
    “Are you going to give me a hint?”
    He pretends to mull over this. “Hm, I’m thinking no.”
    “Are we going to be gone for a while? Because I didn’t pack a toothbrush.”
    “I’ll try to have you back by morning,” says Asher.
    A cash register chimes in the song on the radio, and now I recognize the tune. “Money,” by Pink Floyd. It’s one my father used to sing.
    “God, I hate this song,” I mutter.
    He glances at me. “You want me to change the station?”
    I shake my head. “It’s in seven-four. It’s a weird time signature.”
    Asher doesn’t say anything right away. “So the time signature is what upset you?”
    I don’t want to go into it. “You know what else is in seven-four? ‘All You Need Is Love.’ The Beatles. And Blondie’s ‘Heart of Glass.’ Soundgarden’s ‘Spoonman.’ ”
    Asher smiles. “I can’t believe the stuff you remember,” he says.
    We both fall silent for a little bit. We don’t say it out loud, but we’re both thinking: It would be nice if there were some things you could forget.
    We drive toward Adams. To the right is thick pine forest. There’s a trail in those woods along the Slade Brook that leads from Presidents’ Square almost to our house. The first week after we moved here I walked along that path and found what I’m pretty sure was bear scat.
    “I’ve never seen a bear,” I tell him.
    “You’d be fine,” says Asher. “You’d tell him all about the timesignatures of pop songs. Next thing you know, he’d roll right over. You could scratch his belly.”
    “My mom told me if you’re hiking someplace where they have grizzly bears, you’re supposed to carry a little bell with you.”
    Asher looks at me uncertainly. “Were there bears in Point Reyes?”
    “Well, not grizzlies. Bears had been extinct in Marin County for a hundred years. Then a black bear showed up a couple of years ago. He was eating garbage behind a pizza place.”
    Asher laughs.
    “What?” I ask.
    “I’m just thinking about what kind of pizza bears like.”
    “Maybe Hawaiian?”
    “No one likes Hawaiian. Not even bears.”
    “Shut up, ” I argue. “It’s awesome.”
    “Lily, if you like Hawaiian pizza I’m