Today?
Today, I’m glad that she’s here.
20
THAT’S NOT WHERE I WAS SUPPOSED TO LAND WHEN I FELL
Daphne
Oliver’sso stuffed he can barely walk across the parking lot to the motel after dinner.
And yes, he paid for the other couple’s meal and also left a very large tip.
And yes again, they checked that his money wasn’t counterfeit. It was so on-brand for this trip that I had to excuse myself to the bathroom so they wouldn’t see me laughing.
Laughing is never a good sign that you’re not trying to pass off fake cash.
We’ve already checked into our room for the night, but it was light when we got here and now it’s dark outside—mostly due to another storm, this one thankfully lighter on the thunder.
Tonight’s digs are a dinky little room that keeps glowing intermittently red because we’re facing the flashing motel sign. The nightstand feels sticky, and the bathroom door doesn’t fully shut, probably because of good ol’ Southern humidity.
“I’ll take the floor tonight,” Oliver says as he collapses into the roller chair at the rickety table, which wobbles precariously.
He grabs the table, clearly trying to steady himself, then leaps to his feet as the chair topples, then grabs his stomach and moans.
“You sure you can handle the floor? Not too unstable for you?”
The look he gives me isn’t irritated enough.
It’s tolerant.
Heavy on amused.
And an amused Oliver is unfortunately hot.
I reach for the knot in my neck, then drop my hand quickly as he notices. “Dumb for both of us to sleep shitty,” I say quickly. “Take the bed. It’s fine.”
“Why would you sleep shitty in the bed?”
“I don’t sleep well a lot.”
He stares at me expectantly.
As if he honestly expects I’d confess about my panic attacks over the idea of going broke and losing Margot.
I’ve made such a point of insisting that I can take care of myself that I sometimes can’t breathe when I think about what would happen if I lost my job and couldn’t find another one.
I know there are good people in the world—like Bea—who want to lend a helping hand when they can, and she’d help me out, but it isn’t her job to be my backup plan, even if we do have plans to live together forever so that we can be badass old ladies in our custom rocking chairs on our porch, telling stories someday about all of the fun we had to our great-nieces and great-nephews.
I suspect with Simon tagging along now. I’m pretty sure he’s Bea’s forever.
Maybe we’ll tell his grandkids stories someday too.
But I also know I have to be responsible, which isn’t something I was born with a natural inclination to understand.
I didn’t have to be responsible, and my parents assumed I’d be a cookie cutter of Margot, so they never bothered to figure out I needed a little help figuring out how to be a truly functional member of normal society.
And the deeper I get into this road trip with Oliver, the more I’m afraid I’m going to do something that makes Margot never want to talk to me again.
