We’re coastingthrough forest on a two-lane highway. Snow dots the trees. I roll down the window so I can smell the wood fires on the winter air.
At least we’re not going in summer, I remind myself. A weekend away would be ten times more awkward if I had to make small talk in a swimsuit.
“So do you have any rules for spending the weekend with your family? Dos and don’ts, topics to avoid? Besides the obvious,” I add hastily.
“Yes. Don’t be late.”
It’s pitch-dark outside.The radio is playing ’90s music, and I’m humming along. See? Born way too late. I missed my window.
“Let’s go to Paris.”
“What?” I turn down the music.
“Just you and me.”
I can’t read his face in the dark.
“I can take you to Paris right now. We can spend the weekend, or a whole week—as long as you want.”
The light from a passing car catches his eyes, turning them luminescent green.
“You’re not blaming me to your family when you don’t show up. I took one for the team for you and your social circle.” I shake my head. “Why don’t you want to see your family? Your sister seems nice.”
“Half sister.”
“Right. Look, I hate camping, too, but I think you’re being a little dramatic. Just drink, eat—I made more of those endive things you like—and nod along when Uncle Richard makes questionable comments about his housekeeper.”
That earns me a slight smirk.
“It’s actually Uncle Gino, so watch out.”
“Honestly, even though you just wrecked my life—”
“I was your winning lottery ticket, and instead of cashing it in, you made a shitty scrapbook with it—”
“—I’m looking forward to this weekend.”
“No, you’re not. You’re freaked out. I know you.” He glances at me.
“Fine. I’m thinking positive. I’ve been listening to a manifestation podcast.”
“I’d rather spend a week in Paris with you.”
“Really?” I snort. “Because I’d be dragging you to all the museums and all the pastry shops, and it would be really basic, and we’d have to stand in line at the Hermès store and be in there for like five hours while we wait around for them to decide if I’m worthy enough to get a bag.”
“My sister says if you have a man with you, they’ll just hand you one. Because they know he’s paying. Because they know he’ll do literally everything to leave immediately, up to and including spending a bunch of cash on an overpriced handbag.”
“They have amazing handbags.” I sigh wistfully.
“Since when do you care about designer purses? You never have a fancy handbag. This is the first time I’ve seen that.”
“I want to be the girl with the designer handbag. I’m trying to impress your family.”
“You won’t.” He says it darkly. “They don’t trust any woman who’d want to be with me.”
It might be all the cheese, but I grab his hand briefly on the gear shift.
“Our safe word can be Paris.”
