“Where’s your coat?” Henry asks him.
“I didn’t think I was going to need it, so it’s in my suitcase that’s probably somewhere in Boston, waiting to be put on a plane.”
None of us is dressed for this weather, even though we were in Boston, because we live a posh life where we go from one heated vehicle to a heated hotel room, plane, or arena.
“Uber will be here in ten, and it will be about a twenty-minute ride to the car rental place. After that, we’ll switch out drivers until we get there.”
Tweetie looks at his watch. “Man, it’s already four in the morning. I’m dead on my feet.”
“Get a coffee. We’re in this mess because of you, so you’re the first driver,” I tell him.
Tweetie flips me off, but we all know that he knows I’m right and he’s going to be the first driver while the rest of us sleep.
While we wait for the Uber, we all go over our brief phone conversations with our wives.
“Fucking Colts were with them tonight,” Conor says.
“Jade said Hayes is a charmer.” Henry shakes his head, blowing into his hands to warm them.
“Hayes saw my wife’s tits.” All of our jaws fall open before Tweetie continues. “She was pumping in Ruby’s office, and the asshole opened the door.”
“Then I wouldn’t say he really saw. I mean, those contraptions hide a lot,” I say.
I’m trying to appease him, but yeah—I’d be pissed too. I’m sure Hayes is going to hear from Tweetie.
A minivan pulls up along the curb with a stuffed reindeer nose and antlers on the grill. A sign on the side of the van reads GrannyGo, and I think I see Christmas lights on the inside. We all look at one another, and I double-check that the license plate is right.
I open the passenger door. “Mabel?”
“Rowan?” she says back.
“That’s us.”
She presses a button, and the back doors slide open on both sides. Her hair is a short bob—I’m not sure if it’s blonde or gray or a mixture of both—and she’s wearing a purple velvet tracksuit.
“Thanks, Mabel,” I say.
Tweetie and Conor argue about going in the back, but eventually they both go into the back row, while Henry and I sit in the second row.
“So, you’re going to Wheely Good Rentals?” she asks, pressing something on her GPS.
“Yup.” I click my seat belt—I think I’m going to need it.
“That’s the rental place?” Henry asks me, his eyebrows quirked.
“I didn’t see you looking.” I ignore his skepticism.
Mabel switches on her turn signal to move away from the curb.
“Mabel, the doors are still open.” I give Henry a wide-eyed look.
“Oh shoot. I’m always forgetting to close them.” She hits a button, and they slide closed. Then, inch by inch, she barely accelerates as she moves away from the bus terminal. “Where are you boys from?”
“Chicago,” Henry answers for all of us.
“Hey, Mabel, it’s kind of late to be driving an Uber, no?” Conor asks from the backseat.
Tweetie tosses a twenty between Henry and me. “Hey, grab me a package of those cookies. Are they homemade, Mabel?”
