Tilda snorts anI told you sosnort at her brother, who rolls his eyes.
I can’t stop smiling.
Donuts.
Angelina Juliana Priestly the polar bear.
And highway robbery lemonade and cookies, where my thus far extremely grumpy companion is totally stuffing five or six hundred-dollar bills into the payment cup.
Best. Day. Ever.
Maybe not thebestday, but all things considered, it’s a very fine day.
“You trying to give us fake money?” the preteen says to Oliver.
“Are you for fuc—” He catches himself and clears his throat.
“We won a scratch-off lottery ticket and decided to take a road trip with the winnings and feel like rich people,” I tell Sammy as I take my lemonade from Tilda. “It’s fun. But don’t waste your money on lottery tickets. It’s much more reliable to get a real job and be responsible.”
“I’m fixin’ to put my money in my college fund,” Tilda announces.
“What do you want to go to college for?” I ask her.
“I’mma be a famous actor or a vetrineenian or a baker.”
“It’sveterinarian, Tilda,” Sammy mutters.
“You’re a fart face,” she replies.
“This lemonade is delicious,” I interrupt. “I hope it makes you a ton of money for your college fund.”
Oliver sips his lemonade, almost chokes, and then gives her the most forced smile I’ve ever seen. “So good,” he lies.
I haven’t tasted mine yet.
Neither kid notices that though.
Tilda hands me four Oreos. “Don’t share with him,” she whispers to me. “He makes weird faces, and weird faces don’t deserve cookies.”
“Thanks for the tip,” I whisper back. “Gotta run. We’re hoping to hit Dollywood tonight.”
Are we? I have no idea. I think we’re headed away from the Dollywood area, but who knows? I haven’t figured out where Oliver’s going yet.
“Oh my god, I love Dolly!” Tilda yells.
“Same, kiddo.”
Sammy rolls his eyes again.
Oliver gives me a look.
I grin at everyone, and then I grin wider at the trees and the grass and the sky and the flowers lining the walk to the small little house behind them because it’s quaint and perfect and I’m happy today.
In this moment.
Who knows what the next will bring, since I’m now headed back to the car.
“Donotdrink that,” Oliver mutters to me as he buckles into the passenger seat again. “I think they got into their parents’ whiskey cabinet. And it’s not good whiskey.”
