We plate our dry-as-hell sandwiches. With the only condiment options in our fridge being ranch, Sriracha, ketchup, and Taco Bell hot sauce, we opt for ranch.
As we head back toward the living room, Miles shakes his head thoughtfully.
“It’s too bad she didn’t show herself setting the timer in the video.”
I pause, turn slowly, and narrow my eyes into a death glare.
Miles bursts out laughing.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
MIRANDA
The power of the acceleration pushes me back into the driver’s seat when I hit the gas. While I have little experience handling smaller vehicles with less horsepower, I’m cognizant of the force of this one. I love being behind the wheel of this truck, sitting so high above everyone else on the road. I feel invincible, and it’s pretty awesome.
Anna’s decision to settle down has brought all these new adventures into my life, and I’m loving the ride, pun intended. It’s much easier to explore one’s surroundings with access to a vehicle. Uber drivers require a destination. When I left the house this morning, I didn’t have one. I visited a quaint little coffee shop with an entire wall of books to read. I read several chapters ofLittle Women, one of my favorite books when I was younger, while I sipped my vanilla chai latte.
Following the coffee shop, I noticed a sign for a farmers’ market. It was set up in a community center, away from the rainy April weather. I had entirely too much fun exploring every booth and spending way too much money.
A loud, blaring honk jolts me out of my skin. I yelp and actually lift off the truck seat an inch. Damn roundabouts. I throw up a frantic wave toward the guy I just unintentionally cut off.
“Sorry!” I call even though he absolutely cannot hear me.
Well… drivingfor the most partis going well. I mean, Rome wasn’t built in a day.
The important thing—the thing I cling to—is that I passed. I passed my driving test.Boththe written exam and the actual driving portion. I possess a real, legitimate, state-issued Michigan driver’s license with my name and terrible photo, and all. I’m official.
I make it home without any additional incidents and unload the truck.
Earlier this week, I saw a TikTok recipe for a soup calledThree Amigas… orThree Friends… something along those lines. Apparently, it originates from somewhere in South America and is supposed to be super healthy because it uses the “three essentials of life,” according to the creator—corn, squash, and black beans. So naturally, when I went to the farmers’ market, I bought corn, squash, and black beans.
Now I just need to find the recipe again.
I haul the bags into the kitchen and set them on the counter, already imagining myself as someone who casually whips up cultural, nutrient-dense meals instead of burning sliders into charcoal bricks.
Miles comes home today, and I can’t wait. He’s only been gone two days, but I miss him like crazy. I travel with him most of the time, but Anna and I had meetings this week, so we stayed behind. Logically, it’s probably healthy for us to have a little time apart. We live together. We spend nearly every waking moment together. And we’re still so new, so some time apart should be good.
But logic means nothing to my heart because life is just better when Miles is here. Everything is better.
So yes, I’m going to make my man some healthy soup to replenish his muscles after a hard couple of games.
Once everything is unpacked and put away, I sink onto the sofa with my phone, legs curled beneath me. I start scrolling through my saved videos and social media feeds, hunting for that recipe. I type incorn, black bean, squash soup, Latin America, and a handful of clips pop up.
“Oh,” I say aloud. “Three Sisters. It’s called Three Sisters Soup. Well… I was close.”
I tap video after video, watching cheerful creators chop squash and gush about ancestral ingredients. It’s exactly what I need.
But when I click out of one and back to my search page?—
I freeze.
My thumb stops midair. My lungs forget how to work.
Because staring back at me from my screen… isme.
My face—my fifteen-year-old face from twelve years ago—right next tohim.
