“You like Zeppelin?” I ask.
“I like pop music, I suppose. Tyla Silk and all that.”
Yikes. “Okay.”
She snaps her gaze to mine. “You don’t? She’s incredible. Her lyrics are so deep.”
“All right.” That annoying shit they play everywhere? Yeah. Maybe she needs someone to show her what a good taste in music is.
Scout crosses her arms and gazes out the window.
After another minute or two of silence, I urge the red light to change to green so we can get to my parents’ faster. It’ll be a disaster; I already know. Especially because it’s Sunday afternoon. Which means everyone will be hanging out there for football.
Everyone.
The tension in the car raises the temperature by ten degrees, and I want to shut off the heat, but little Scout shivers in her coat, then flips the vents toward her. So I turn it up higher, sweat dripping down my back. It’s stifling.
“I don’t know if you saw, but I texted you a few questions about the wedding plans?—”
“You can make all the decisions.” She looks out her window, then digs into her pocket and grabs a tin of lemon drops, slipping one between her lips. As if not even thinking,she starts to put it back, then freezes. Slowly, her eyes find mine. “Do you want one?”
It melts my heart. Or maybe it’s the insane inferno inside this car. “Yeah. Sure.” I open my palm and she places it there carefully. Like a treasure.
I pop the sour sweet in my mouth and try not to bite it too soon.
“But what flowers do you like?”
She shifts in her seat. “Whatever. Flowers are nice.”
“What’s your favorite?”
“Why do you want to know?”
I blink a few times. “Because that’s something a husband should know about his wife.”
Her eyes widen as if this is a shocking revelation. It seems strange to me, too. This woman is about to be my partner in life.
“Um, I don’t have one.”
Somehow, we reach my parents’ place before I die of heatstroke.
Scout busts open her door just as I reach the side and attempt to open it for her. She stares up at our modest house. The one that somehow fit my big family. It looks normal from the outside, hiding the chaos lying inside.
She seems to hesitate about what to do, and that makes me concerned because Scout isn’t indecisive. So I take her hand before she can change her mind.
“Come on,” I say with a little tug.
She glances at where we’re joined and follows me.
Even before I throw open the door, the screams of my nieces and nephews, shouts from my brothers, my father, and uncles are all pulsing through to the porch.
“Um, it’s… It gets…” I rub a hand through my hair. “It’s loud. Sorry.”
We step into the entryway, and a few kids rush past us. My nephew, Andrew, clings to my knees. “Uncle Apollo!”
I scoop him into my arms and kiss his forehead. “Hey, buddy!”
“Who’s that?” he asks, pointing at Scout, whose blue eyes grow big and wide with what looks like fear.
