"And the free pizza," Ivy adds, with a little smile.
Dad ruins the moment, shoving past in the aisle and earning a scowl from our row-mate as she's forced to press against her seat.
"If we don't hurry—" he starts.
"The bags will still be there," Mom says, with the patience of a saint.
Ivy falls into step beside me as we navigate the terminal. "So . . . rental car for three hours with Greg?"
"Last chance to fake food poisoning and catch a flight home."
"Please." She adjusts her backpack strap, which is slipping off her shoulder because everything's too big for her five-foot-two frame. "I once sat next to Salem during his explosive diarrhea phase. I've trained for this."
The mental image makes me laugh, which earns us a stern glare from Dad, who's already stationed himself at baggage claim like a sentinel, checking his watch every thirty seconds.
I grab both suitcases from the carousel before Ivy can protest. Not because I'm being gentlemanly, but because her wrestling a suitcase nearly her height is basically a public safety hazard.
"I can get that," she says, hands on her hips.
"Sure you can, Shortcake." I grin down at her. "Just like you can reach the top shelf at home without that stepstool you pretend doesn't exist."
"That stepstool is for decorating purposes only."
"Keep telling yourself that."
The rental car counter is its own special circle of hell. Greg insists on reviewing every insurance option like he's negotiating nuclear treaties. Mom takes one look at the situation, mutters something about "grabbing snacks for the drive," and disappears toward the nearest Hudson News. Smart woman.
Ivy leans against the wall next to me, humming under her breath.
"Let me guess, manifesting patience?"
"Don't judge my methods." But her lip quirks. "They work."
"Like that time you tried to manifest good weather for the summer festival?"
"It only rained a little!"
"It was a monsoon, Ivy." We both burst out laughing.
Finally we get the keys, and Dad immediately launches into a debate about the best route to the vineyard, even though the GPS is literally right there.
"These apps don't know what they're talking about," he insists, jabbing at his phone. "I looked at the map last night. If we take the back roadsthrough—"
"Dad, it'sliterallyshowing us the fastest route."
Mom returns with an armful of chips and water bottles, effectively cutting off what I'm sure would have been a fascinating lecture about satellite technology conspiracies.
The parking garage is a maze of identical white SUVs and, as I'm loading bags into the trunk, Ivy appears at my elbow.
"Hey. Thanks for doing this. Seriously."
"It's nothing." She waves it off. "A trip to Virginia, plus a wedding? I'm in."
"You say that now, but wait for the madness. I guarantee Sarah's already planning to adopt you into her bridal party."
"Honestly? I don't mind." Her eyes go dreamy. "Weddings are such powerful moments of pure love energy—"
"Okay, Moonbeam." I tug her hair playfully, making her squeak. "Save the crystal talk for Sarah. I'm sure she'd love to hear aboutwedding chakrasor whatever."
