I considered that.
He watched me before sighing. “See? Normal people don’t need to think about that answer.”
I rolled my eyes. “Tell me more about these Pop-Tarts.”
His eyes lit up. “Oh,nowyou’re interested.”
“You made them sound medically concerning.”
“That’s because they are.”
I shook my head. “I am beginning to understand your country.”
“Nobody understands my country.”
“That is reassuring.”
Ten minutes later we were arguing about peanut butter.
Dean maintained that seventeen varieties were perfectly reasonable.
I disagreed.
By the time the conversation reached beef jerky, he was halfway through explaining the cultural significance of gas-station food while I was laughing too hard to interrupt him.
Dean pointed at me. “And this is exactly why you need a road trip.”
“You have not yet provided a single convincing argument.”
“I’ve provided dozens.”
“You’ve described bad coffee, questionable food, and becoming lost.”
“And that’s a road trip.”
I stared at him. “Your country is exhausting.”
The conversation drifted after that. Neither of us seemed particularly interested in sleeping.
Dean
By three inthe morning neither of us was asleep.
Snow continued to fall against the windows. Luka lay curled against my side beneath the tangled sheets, one hand resting on my stomach.
“You’re thinking too loudly again,” I said into the darkness.
His laugh reverberated through me. “I was not aware thoughts had volume.”
“Yours do.”
For a while neither of us said anything.
Then Luka shifted. “What areyouthinking about?”
“My dad.”
He lifted his head. Even in the dim light I saw concern in his eyes. “He’s fine.”
