We weave our way in and out of families pushing strollers and pulling wagons as we make our way to the exit. I’m super grateful when I remember how close the car is parked. My feet are aching a little bit. Thankfully, all the walking paid off, and I don’t feel bloated from the greasy fried dough. I’m actually a little hungry, but I’m not sure if he’s still planning on taking me out to dinner since we were at the fair for so long.
Rafe opens my door, and I climb in. I can smell weed, but it’s not overpowering. As soon as he starts the car, he rolls down the windows and it disappears on the breeze.
I don’t ask where we’re going when he turns out of the lot. I think I would be more concerned if he was driving in the direction of my house. I don’t want this day to end. He looks over at me frequently while driving, especially when we reach a stoplight. A giddy sense of excitement fills me every time. I’m probably being immature, but I don’t care.
My phone buzzes, and when I remove it from my back pocket, I see I have a few missed texts from Gwen. Scrolling up, I notice her first message was from a few hours ago, asking me if I want to hang out this evening. A weight I hadn’t realized I was carrying lifts after reading her message. Our last conversation wasn’t the best, but I should have known Gwen wouldn’t be upset with me just because I don’t want to go to college.
I scan the rest of the messages before starting to type out a response. “Big smile,” Rafe observes, and I look over at him. He’s peering at me sideways as if he’s suspicious about something.
I pause mid text to tell him, “I thought my friend was upset with me.”
“Let me guess, she isn’t. I hope it’s a she anyway.”
“It is a she. Her name is Gwen, and no, she’s not upset with me.”
“What made you think she was?” he asks after I finish texting Gwen a quick apology for not getting back to her sooner, letting her know I was out but I would call her later.
I don’t know how much I should tell him, but I find myself wanting to talk to him about it. “I think she was hoping I would join her at school, but I reminded her college was never my plan, and I thought I hurt her feelings.”
Rafe looks over at me, assessing my features. “She didn’t know you didn’t want to go to college? Doesn’t sound like a great friend.”
“She is,” I defend emphatically. “It wasn’t an option for me until recently, and it had been years since we talked about it. I think she just assumed I would because that’s what almost everyone does.” I look out the window at the traffic as we speed down the expressway.
“Why wasn’t it an option before?” he prods.
“My mom needed me a lot more right after her accident,” I answer, but it’s not even close to the whole truth. I don’t like putting the blame on her, but I’m not ready to tell Rafe more at the moment. I don’t think I’m ever going to be eager about explaining my past to him, or anyone else for that matter. I don’t want to forget about it, but sometimes, I wish I could.
“What do you want to do if you aren’t going to college?”
I fidget in my seat. I wonder if he’ll think I don’t have enough drive or ambition when he finds out. I turn to look at him so I can see his reaction when I tell him, not that I’m expecting him to show much emotion. His face doesn’t usually give much away. “It’s pretty simple. You might think it’s lame,” I caution. He glances over at me expectantly before focusing back on the road. “I want my ranch—the house I grew up in and our land. I want to raise horses and maybe get a few cows.”
He doesn’t respond for a long moment, nor does his expression give me any indication on how he feels about what I said. I wipe at imaginary dirt on the thigh of my jeans, feeling self-conscious, but it doesn’t lessen my desire or change my mind. I’ve known the life I wanted for as long as I can remember, and I’m okay if others don’t see the appeal.
When I look out the window, I realize we’re still heading down I-96, which goes straight for Detroit. The city is the last place I want to go. “I don’t think that’s lame,” Rafe finally says, interrupting my thoughts. His hands tighten on the leather steering wheel taut enough that I can hear a creak.
“It’s okay if you do.” I give him an easy out. “Some people know they want to be doctors or lawyers, and I know what I want too, it’s just a little different. Where are we going?” I hope the change in subject will do two things—end the conversation and find out where we’re going.
“You’re not trying to bail on me, are you? We still have dinner and a movie.” Rafe cuts his eyes to me.
“No,” I chirp quickly. “I was just curious why we were heading into the city.”
His shoulders fall a little as he relaxes into the seat. It makes me think he really believed I was going to bail.
Shit.It wasn’t my intention to take her downtown. It’s my usual route, and I wasn’t even paying attention to where I was going. It’s also a bad idea. Half the people in the city know me, and none of them would call me Rafe. Hell, they would all wonder what the fuck I was doing taking a woman to dinner. Not my usual MO.
“I was just enjoying the company and driving.” I don’t know where the flowery shit comes from, but it must do the trick. She bites her bottom lip to smother her smile. I take the next exit ramp and make a few turns to get us back on the freeway in the direction of the burbs.
“What about you? Where did you go to school?” She looks over at me. The light coming in the windows from the streetlamps zooms across her face, and it reminds me of the lights at The Dollhouse dancing over her skin. Then, though, she would never look at anyone, especially not the way she’s looking at me now.
“I didn’t do college either.”
“Really?” She sounds both skeptical and approving. I watch her scan the G-Wagon’s interior. She’s probably wondering exactly what I do to afford this car. I wait to see if she’ll push and ask more. I can tell she wants to, but instead of voicing her questions, she looks out the window. I want to praise her for the little bit of trust she’s showing me and tell her how dangerous it is. She shouldn’t trust anyone. Least of all me.
I pull into a Japanese steak house I’ve heard a few people say was good. I’d much rather be at Kira’s Hibachi. I hate eating at places where the cook doesn’t know there will be consequences for fucking up my food, but everyone at Kira’s knows and reveres me, so their behavior would not go unnoticed.
She opens her door and steps out. Looking up at the sign, she places her hand over her flat stomach. “It smells good.” She grins at me, and my insides twist. The hair on my arms and the back of my neck tingles. I have never had such a visceral response to another person. It’s as terrifying as it is amusing.
I watch her shiver a little in the cool night air. The skin on her shoulders is slightly pink from the afternoon sun. I want to trace my fingers over it to see if I can feel the heat, or maybe I want to drag my nails over it so she can feel the burn.
