After hiding out for a few days in the woods, with Oliver learning how to dye my hair and me drawing all over his arms to show him what a good idea tattoos would be in his new life, and us hiking and talking and napping and laughing, we’re back on the road.
He got a new car while he was in town picking up hair dye and my new wardrobe—paying extra for the used car salesperson to not ask any questions about him paying in literal cash—so we’re riding in style in a small hybrid SUV with Angelina Juliana Priestly strapped into a booster seat in the middle of the bench behind us and our winning lottery ticket from back in Pennsylvania in the cupholder between us.
I made Oliver a side bet involving shower sex that I could sneak it into the first car we find with Pennsylvania license plates so that they can redeem it when they get home, so we’re on the lookout for Pennsylvania cars too.
He’s in aGet CockedT-shirt in honor of our favorite rock band. He’s also wearing a baseball cap for some microbrewery calledBrew Dudes, both of which I snagged for him at a thrift shop early this morning.
I’m in a long-sleeved, summer-weight flannel that hides my tattoos, with my now flaming-red hair tied up in a ponytail. My new dye job isn’t bad—Oliver says I’d look good no matter what color I made my hair—and I wish I’d brought my wig.
We have the radio dialed in to the symphonic pop station, and we’re both singing at the top of our lungs, though he’s getting half the words wrong. When I realize he’s doing it on purpose, I laugh until I cry.
He’s excellent at getting words wrong.
Truly, it’s a talent.
The skies are blue, the road’s flat, and we’re headed toward Colorado.
Oliver wants to see a sunrise and a sunset from the top of a mountain, so that’s what we’re going to do. Camp on top of a mountain.
Every time we stop, we both pay cash for gift cards. We’re not giving any money away today—we want to not be recognized—but I have plans for distributing the rest of what Oliver has in the trunk.
“Can I ask you a question?” I ask over a taco lunch that we picked up at a food truck in one of the little towns we drove through. We’re at a picnic table in a park a little farther down the road. Our tip wasn’tthatbig comparatively, but it was big enough that we didn’t want to stay in the taco truck’s parking lot.
He lifts a brow that’s accompanied by a smile. “Now you’re asking if you can ask? This should be good.”
“Prepare for disappointment.”
He laughs and gestures with his taco for me to ask my question.
“You weren’t driving when Kurt flipped his dad’s Maserati, right?”
“I was not,” he confirms before taking a big bite.
“So…why didn’t you drive for so long?”
An old Oliver look, this one straitlaced with narrowed eyes, makes a rare appearance while he chews.
“I’m not going to make fun of you,” I tell him.
“Yes, you are.”
I drag a finger over my left boob. “Cross my heart.”
He’s shaking his head as he wipes his mouth with a napkin, then swallows. “If you laugh, you have to sing whatever song I pick for you tonight at karaoke.”
That’s the other part of our plan.
I found a bar that has a mechanical bull and karaoke.
I’m teaching Oliver to live today.
Or possibly how to crush his balls. But hopefully not.
“Deal,” I say.
He grabs a chip and dips it in the takeout queso container we’ve been sharing. “Did you know the human brain doesn’t fully develop until you’re about twenty-five?”
I blink slowly at him because he’s right.
