Before I can remind her that I don’t write music anymore, a piece of red foil falls out of the notebook, stopping my train of thought.
Cause it ain’t any random piece of foil.
It’s the condom wrapper from our first time in this truck.
How could I forget it was in there?
I smack my forehead. “So how many creep points does that get me?”
A laugh gusts from her lungs. “None. It’s sorta sweet… in a pervy way.”
Her pupils are blown. Is she thinking about that night, too? Does she recall thebeautiful, sexy sounds she made for me when I was the first man inside her? Does she remember how our bodies fit perfectly?
Tally reaches the last page and taps her practice autographs scrawled across the paper. “This is where you got the blueprint for your tattoo!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She giggles. “Oh, you wereobsessedwith me back then.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
And I still am, I bite back.
She puts the condom wrapper into the back of the notebook and tucks it into the glove box.
“This truck is like a time bubble, Rust. I feel like I’m a teenager again.” She shuffles over to grab the steering wheel. “Remember when you taught me to drive?”
I cross my arms, smirking. “How could I forget? My blood pressure was through the roof. You pert near crashed us into a ditch cause you were checking your lip gloss.”
She pouts. “I wanted to look nice for you. And in my defense, that ditch came outta nowhere!”
“It’s been there since the good Lord shaped these lands.”
“Well, the keyword ispert near.” She holds up both hands. “Ipert neardrove us into a ditch.”
“Yeah, cause I grabbed the wheel and got us back on the road. Guess if ‘Uncle Barry’ wasn’t dead as a doornail, he’d agree that your driving hasn’t improved much.”
“Too soon!” Tally sticks out her tongue. “I’ll have you know I’ve perfected the art of lip gloss application while drivin’.”
Laughing, she reaches for the sun visor. Oh shit, here we go. Like in slow motion, I watch her flip it down.
Her jaw drops. “You kept the photo...” she whispers, staring at the faded image of herself.
I make a nervous grunting noise.
She gets her wallet from her purse, pulling out something that looks suspiciously like the other half of the polaroid.
She still has her piece and she carries it with her?
Carefully, Tally puts the halves together.
My pulse skips as I look at us standing in that tacky chapel in Vegas. The colors have paled, but it seems like our smiles are brighter than ever. I like to think it’s because the picture is finally complete again.
Because our past and present selves are finally reunited.
“I felt like I was marrying an angel,” I say softly.
She huffs, blushing. “An angel in a thrifted dress and scuffed boots?”
