Just outside of town lies a plaza that most locals turn their noses up at. It seemed like the best place to meet, considering we’re in broad daylight and all. She and I—unlike slimy Greg and my lying wife—will not be traveling by plane. But we will, however, thanks to the Cadillac CT5-V I rented—be traveling in style.
Kirsten tugs a gym bag—black like her leggings and long-sleeve top—from the passenger side of her car before heading my way. I can’t help but grin as she strides determinedly in my direction without so much as looking at me.
Closer, closer still. She’s just about to the passenger side door when she passes me altogether.
“What the…”I lean forward to glance at the rearview, then startle as she appears in my periphery beyond the driver’s side window. She takes quick paces, looking decidedly away from me while circling around the front and to the passenger side where she started. Just when I think she’s about to circle the car again, she pries open the door and slinks inside, stuffing the bag at her feet and closing the door.
Without a word, she reaches for the buckle, pulls it across her body, and clicks it in place. “Hi,” she says breathlessly, still not looking my way.
“You know, not looking at me doesn’t make this look any lesssus,” I tell her.
She glances over at last. Her cheeks are flushed, and her grin is triumphant, like this is a game and we’ve already won. “Let’s do this.”
Her energy is contagious. I guide the car onto the main street, check the traffic, and rev the engine as I tear onto the open road. This bad boy has one heck of an engine. I pictured buying one once I hit my midlife crisis, but since Trish has triggered an early onset, I might just get one sooner.
“You’re feeling good today, are you?” I ask as I approach the light.
“You know what?” she says. “Iam.It’s like, I can’t control freaking Greg, right?”
“Right.”
“Guess what I’ve been obsessing over the last few years of my life.”
I wait for her to tell me, but the pause goes on forever. I glance over. “You want me to really guess?” I ask.
“Yes.”
The light goes green.
“Oh, do you mind pulling up to that gas station up there? They have stuff to make thebestdirty Diet Coke. Do you want one?”
Man, she is all over the place today. “Nah, but I could go for a Red Bull.”
“Perfect. What else do you want—snack-wise? Chips, donuts, beef jerky, candy…” She keeps listing things as I pull into a parking stall.
“… dried fruit, nuts, protein bars.”
I shut off the engine.
“Well?” she persists. “What snack items? My treat.”
I used to watch a show called the Twilight Zone. Each episode was a trip into bizarrely twisted territory, like entering a different realm of the world where normal rules didn’t apply. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I entered that zone the moment Kirsten slinked like a night robber into my car.
But her eyes are so wide, and her face is so expectant that I don’t have the heart to say how crazy it is that she’s thinking about gas station goodies at a moment like this. Eighteen years of marriage has taught me that when a woman’s in a good mood—you don’t question it.
So, I utter the first thing that comes to mind. “Sunflower seeds. Pickle flavored, please.”
That grin spreads over her face once more. “You got it. Anything else? Something sweet, maybe?”
“Surprise me,” I say before she recites the entire candy aisle in alphabetical order.Sunflower seeds…I used to love eating those things on road trips, but since Trish always complained about the crunching sound, I gave them up.
It’s not long before Kirsten strides out of the station with a fountain drink in one hand and a grocery sack dangling from the other.
She climbs into the car, rests her cup in the drink holder, then fishes into the bag and pulls out a bottle of Gatorade. “I got you a Red Bull, too, but if you hurry and drink this, you can spit your shells into it.”
I stare at it and blink. “Oh, the sunflower shells. Yeah, thanks.” I crack open the sugar-free grape-flavored drink and take a swig. It’s cold, refreshing, and tastes surprisingly like my childhood; I used to love grape flavor. I feel my mood lifting already.
“What do you want to listen to?” I don’t picture the school’s librarian to be the pop princess Trish is, but the womanisfull of surprises.
