“Phone,” he insists, open hand extended.
Whatever.
I give him my cell, unlocking it first. He probably knows my passcode from his FBI hack job, but I don’t care. I have no more secrets to keep from him.
“We don’t need to connect our phones in order to speak. This isn’t your motorcycle.” I dare to reach for the shifter again, while peeking at what he’s up to with my phone.“Can I drive now?”
He enters an address into my GPS, then snaps my phone onto the holder. “Please proceed.”
“I get why you think I might not know the route to the condo, but I’m concerned you don’t trust your own memory.” Grinning like a devil, I tap the greenGObutton on my phone. “Old age catching up to you?”
His response is cut off when the voice of my GPS blasts through my car speakers.
Let’s go on an adventure. Proceed to the highlighted route. Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Reed face palms, his shoulders shaking with raucous laughter. I drive out of my parking space, oscillating between mortification and pride over my choice of GPS voice.
Here we go. You keep eyes on road. I’ll keep eyes on cookies.
Ten minutes into the drive, I begin to wonder if Cookie Monster is having a stroke. Downtown is in the other direction. And much shorter than theforty-five-minutejourney we’re taking.
I glance at the phone screen to double-check I haven’t strayed. Nope. I’m following the blue line like a good little monster.
At the next red light, I cock a brow at my navigator. The real one, not the fake puppet voice. “Dimples, where are we going?”
Reed’s knowing smile shines so vibrantly it’s a road hazard, much like those blinding LED headlights all cars seem to have these days.“You’ll see.”
“Is that all you’re telling me?”
Channeling his twin, he slips seamlessly into a vocal impression of my beloved patron saint. “Just do as I say, and you get all the cookies. Yum, yum, yum.”
Thank goodness I’m stopped at a light. We crack up. Guffaws and all. I laugh so much my eyes spring twin leaks.
Once I’m able to formulate words, I toss, “Cookie Monster has never let me down. I refuse to believe he’d fail me now.”
SIXTY-FOUR
Green Acres is the place for me
REED
I’m takinga risk with this move. Emphasis on the wordmove.
My brother thought it was hilarious when he declared I can no longer claim gambling sobriety after making a wagerthisextreme.
The silly fucker doesn’t know my cookie the way I do. This is hardly a gamble.
Incidentally, he always thinks he’s hilarious. If it weren’t this, it would’ve been something else.
Anyhow.
Living in the condo with Lila would be fine. Great, even.
I want more for her, though.
She’s worthy of the perfect home that suits her hopes and dreams. One that makes her as happy as she makes me. She deserves to receive the joy she gives to others. As long as it’s within my power, that’s what I’ll give her until the day I die.
Lila isn’t downtown. City streets, traffic, neon lights, and unfeeling pavement?Nah. Not my girl. In fact, she also isn’t suburbs with tiny yards and copy-paste homes.
