“Try me,” I say, opening Spotify and handing her my phone.
She rolls her head on the headrest to look down at my hand and slowly takes the phone from me.
“No Bob Dylan,” she mutters.
“Fair enough. He’s not everyone’s jam. I mostly like him because he reminds me of Ben. Ben loves Bob Dylan,” I say.
“Oh, trust me, I know,” she says.
“Really? How did you know?” I ask, and her doomscrolling through my playlists comes to an abrupt halt.
“I…Holly mentioned it,” she says.
“He is a superfan for sure. See anything you like?” I ask.
“I mean, your playlists don’t really surprise me,” she says.
“How so?” I ask.
She clicks on the screen, and 1971 by The Smashing Pumpkins plays. Charlotte looks in my direction.
“What’s wrong with this?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says coyly.
“Damn right, nothing. This is a classic,” I say, turning it up.
“It just shows your age, that’s all,” she says, and I turn it back down.
“Shows my age?” I echo, and she bites back a smirk.
“Yes. And so does the phrase,it’s a classic,” she adds. I just stare at her, and she giggles before she goes back to scrolling.
“Well, let me ask you this: what other songs on there show my age?”
“Hmm,” she says, repositioning herself on the seat. She kicks her Uggs off and sits in the seat cross-legged. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Oh, here’s one,” she says giddily. Then she plays One Week by The Bare Naked Ladies.
“Come on, this song is great!” I argue.
“My birthday is almost the same as when that song came out,” she says, and I grimace.
“You don’t have to put it like that,” I say, and she laughs.
“Oh, here’s a good one!” she says, switching the song to Crimson and Clover by Joan Jett and the Black Hearts.
“Now you can’t diss Joan. She’s my girl,” I tell her.
“I’m not,” Charlotte insists. “I really do love Joan Jett!”
“Really? Alright!” I nod, and as the song amps up, she sings along, dancing around in her seat. I’ve never seen her like this. She pulls her hair out of her ponytail and bangs her head to the music. I am both shocked and very turned on.
“What?” she asks over the music. “I thought you said you liked this song.”
“I do, I just…who are you and what have you done with Charlotte the Wedding Planner?” I ask.
“She’s stuck in the mountains trying not to think about how late she’s going to be to the wedding she’s fully in charge of,” she says, and the song ends.
