10
Ryan
Traffic trying to get out of Kansas City was ridiculous. It kind of reminded me of traffic in L.A. with two lanes in each direction. We’d been in the car twenty-two minutes and had only traveled a few blocks. I sighed when I looked at the display on the dash that showed the time frame until we reached our destination. With every few minutes that we sat in traffic, the arrival time had increased by another minute.
I was already nervous and anxious about today. No more hotels until we’d head home after Christmas. Starting tonight, we’d be sleeping in Russell’s parents’ home. The mere thought brought on anxiety. My leg nervously bounced while I looked out at the gray city and thought about how quickly Sunday and yesterday had gone.
On Sunday we had checked out of The Four Seasons in Vail by seven in the morning, and it took us almost twelve hours to get to Kansas City. We stopped at the four-hour mark and then around the eight-hour mark on Sunday. By the time we checked in to our hotel, it was almost seven thirty in the evening.
Russell and I were still tired yesterday from skiing and the drive. We slept in and were going to venture out to see some sights, but it was so cold, and we were already going to be in the cold at night for the football game. We spent the afternoon relaxing by the indoor pool and spa.
I wore the base layer pants under my jeans to the football game and stayed comfortable and warm until about halftime. Russell suggested we head back to the hotel and watch the rest of the game in the sports bar. Since my face was frozen, I agreed with him. I loved going to the football game, and I even got one of those foam fingers. Which reminded me…
I reached around behind the driver’s seat and maneuvered my hand into the foam finger hand that I had gotten at the game. I slyly brought my foam hand up from between the seats and used it to point at the display on the dash.
“Do you think the arrival time is accurate?” I asked.
Russell had a love-hate relationship with foam fingers. Whenever we went to Dodgers games when we went to L.A. I would always get the foam finger if it was the promo item. Then I made sure to annoy the fuck out of him with it.
“Mmm, imagine my luck that the promo item at the game last night was a foam finger.”
“Aw, come on, now. You know you love these things. This one will make it our fourth foam finger. Which means we can each put them on our hands and fight with them.”
“I shall look forward to when we get home so we can do that. And, yes, I think the arrival time is going to be close to accurate.”
I leaned back in my seat and let my leg nervously bounce. I was so nervous that my stomach hurt. Russell reached over and put his hand on my leg to stop it from moving.
“Ryan, relax. It will be fine. I promise.”
“What if they hate me?”
“They won’t.”
“What if theysaythey like me and then when your back is turned, they’re like evil step-parents or something?”
“Ryan, seriously?”
“Seriously. It happens. I’ve seen it.”
“Where?”
“Movies. Like, I saw this one where there was a stepmom. In public she was nice and put on her sweet-mom mask. Then at home she was a cunt to the girl. She prevented the girl from leaving. Then there was this big party, and she kept the girl from going, and it was going to be her only chance to get out of her shitty home. Then this guy came over to see her and the stepmom was like, ‘Nope, sorry. No one lives here by that name.’ She was a bitch. Anyhow, I think it turned out okay in the end. But it was touch and go for a while.”
“Ryan, that sounded like a distorted version of Cinderella.”
“I wonder if anyone ever named their kid Cinderella,” I wondered out loud and pressed the foam finger against my chin.
“Well, I can assure you that my mother will not have you doing chores around the house. I’ll make sure she doesn’t make you sleep in the attic or basement.”
“Whew.” I swiped the foam finger over my forehead in relief. “Seriously, though, what if they really don’t like me, and it’s an awkward situation?”
“Ryan, if it truly is, then you and I will leave. But it won’t be. I promise you.”
“Okay, well, just a fair warning that the air in here could get unbearable soon,” I warned.
“Do you need a bathroom?”
“No. I just need to be cautious trusting the fart.”
