“Wow. Attacked by my own daughter while teaching her to drive. Is this the thanks I get?”
She laughed—a real laugh—and pulled back onto the road. Slower this time. Careful but not paralyzed.
They made it around the block without incident. Then another. By the time they headed back to the parking lot her hands had stopped shaking.
“Tyler?” she said as they pulled in.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. For not freaking out when I freaked out.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
“And for destroying newsstands, apparently.”
“That too.” He smiled. “Though let’s try to keep your destruction to a minimum.”
“Deal. But if I do hit something, I’m blaming your genetics.”
“Fair enough.”
They spent another hour in the parking lot, Stellagradually gaining confidence. She progressed to twenty miles per hour—“Flying!” she declared. Practiced smooth stops—“No whiplash!”. She even managed to park reasonably straight—“Architectural precision!”.
“Okay,” Tyler said finally. “That’s enough for today.”
“What? No! I’m just getting good!”
“First rule of teaching—end on a high note.”
“That’s not a driving rule.”
“It’s a dad rule.”
The word slipped out before he could stop it. They both froze.
“I mean—” Tyler started.
“No, it’s... it’s fine.” Stella focused very hard on putting the truck in park. “So. Same time tomorrow?”
“If you want.”
“I want.” She unbuckled her seatbelt, then paused. “Hey Tyler? Thanks. For not completely freaking out.”
“I completely freaked out. I just did it quietly.”
“I know. I appreciated the quiet part.”
They switched seats, Tyler trying not to obviously readjust everything she’d changed. As he drove them home, Stella chattered about the experience, her nervous energy transformed into excitement.
“I can’t wait to tell Joey I drove! Do you think he’ll make a spreadsheet for my progress?”
“Probably.”
“With color coding for different skills?”
“Definitely.”
“Excellent.” She pulled out her phone, already texting. “Oh, he says Patricia came by again.Apparently she needed to discuss ‘urgent ceramic firing schedules.’”
