“Fucking Nolan,” Van says, shifting to lean forward now with her elbows on her knees. Alice narrows her eyes, trying to figure Van out. She sounds irritated now, almost pissed, which is a stark departure from everything that’s happened so far. “God, he’s always had the worst timing.”
Alice is apparently way too tired to filter herself. “In fairness, not sure there’s ever a good time for a traumatic brain injury.”
Van looks over and gives Alice a wry smile. “Well, yeah. But today, tonight…it’s the first night of Chanukah. Big deal for our family.”
Alice tries to pretend like she knew Nolan is Jewish and when Chanukah is and also remembered that Chanukah exists.“Oh right,” she says, probably too quickly and definitely too loudly. “Yeah. Slipped my mind, I guess. So weird!”
Overkill, possibly.
“Whatever,” Van says. “I mean, it doesn’t matter, but I was going to—whatever. Anyway.” She shakes her head a little bit, like a horse trying to dislodge a fly. “Listen, my mom said you work nights?” Alice nods. “You must be exhausted.”
Alice tries to smile but she’s pretty sure it comes out as a grimace. “Understatement.”
“Let me take you home,” Van says, smoothly standing up. “You should get some rest.”
“Oh no, I can take an Uber,” Alice says, standing too, letting this be the motivation she needs to get the hell out of here. “I don’t live nearby.”
Van looks horrified. “Yeah, no. No way am I letting my brother’s girlfriend slash savior take an Uber home after being awake all night.” Alice opens her mouth to protest again, but Van clearly isn’t having it. “I have to pick up my dog anyway,” she says, taking Alice’s elbow and steering her back toward Nolan’s room.
“Hey, Mom? I’m going to get Frank from Sarah’s house and drop Alice off to get some sleep. I’ll be back later.”
Alice tilts her head in confusion. Frank? Van said dog…Is her dog named Frank? Alice can’t decide if that’s weird or charming.
“Ugh, Sarah,” Marie mumbles, wrinkling up her nose in distaste. “Poor Frank.”
Alice blinks over at her. It’s the first unkind word she’s heard the teenager say. Alice is surprised, and looks at Van to gauge her reaction to the judgment about her choice in dogsitter, but Van is almost smiling.
“Down, girl,” she mutters to Marie, whose face breaks into a genuine smile.
“Okay, sweetie,” Babs says from where she’s perched on the foot of Nolan’s bed, obviously accustomed to ignoring snarky, good-natured asides between her children. “Come, give me a kiss, and drive safe.”
Van obediently walks over and drops a kiss on her mom’s cheek. Alice looks away.
“Alice,” Babs says, something almost stern in her voice. “Come here, honey.”
Alice shuffles forward and lets Babs envelop her in yet another hug. She’s so tired and overwhelmed and confused that it feels like all her emotions are right up at the surface, and she’s horrified to feel the first prick of tears in her eyes.
“It’s going to be okay,” Babs murmurs, clearly mistaking where Alice’s emotions are coming from. “He’s going to wake up soon. I know it.”
Alice says something back, she’s not sure what, and lets Van guide her out of the room. All she feels is Van’s hand on her lower back as she stumbles down the long hallway, into and out of the elevator, and out the main entrance. Alice blinks at the natural light, even though the sun is—as always—dimmed by the layers and layers of heavy clouds in the sky. She feels like she’s tilting off her axis, but Van’s hand is steady as she wordlessly directs Alice toward her car.
“God, is this how bright the daytime always is?” Alice asks, squinting up at Van. It never gets that bright in Portland in the winter, but still. “I feel like a fucking vampire right now.”
Van laughs, a deep chuckle that rumbles in her chest more than it escapes out of her mouth.
They walk for a while until Van unlocks what looks like the world’s oldest station wagon. It probably began its life aswhite, but it’s now a sort of road-grimed beige, and it’s way boxier than anything made in this century. Alice loves it. She settles into the passenger seat, the worn leather embracing her like a favorite jacket, soft in all the right places. The car smells like Van, like she’s hotboxed it with her very essence.
Alice doesn’t have a car. She takes the bus or MAX light rail everywhere, or Uber when she’s desperate and has a hankering for credit card debt. She hasn’t sat in the front seat of a car in ages. She takes in the little bits and bobs scattered around, things that mark this car as Van’s territory, as an extension of Van herself. The water bottle and thermal mug in the cupholders, the energy bar wrapper and exercise band at Alice’s feet, the little wooden turtles with the swaying heads on the dashboard.
As Van starts to drive, Alice is forcibly reminded of being a little kid, how safe she always felt in the backseat of her dad’s car at night, when the streetlights would whoosh past and she’d fall asleep to the soft lull of her parents in the front seat, the seatbelt digging into her neck and the window cold against her forehead.
But this isn’t her dad’s car. This shouldn’t feel safe, shouldn’t be sending her back into that feeling of peace. Alice is in quite possibly the most absurdly precarious position of her life, alone in this car with a literal stranger who thinks Alice is someone she isn’t.
She knows she should take this moment to tell Van the truth, to clear things up with the person who seems like the most suspicious, and possibly most levelheaded Altman. Tell her that she doesn’t want to make Babs and Aunt Sheila sad but the whole thing is a giant misunderstanding, and help!
But Alice can’t stop thinking about Van’s hand on her lower back, Van holding the elevator door for her, Van makingsure she’s getting home okay, Van easing up to each stop sign and red light with the gentlest application of the brakes Alice has ever felt.
It’s been so fucking long since anyone has taken care of Alice that she’d almost forgotten what it feels like. She never wants to get out of this car, this cocoon of warmth and comfort, this embodiment of security that has been so far out of her reach for so long.
