The You I've Never Known(44)

What? You saved Hillary’s life. Do you want to hurt her feelings? Anyway, you gotta keep it. He put it in your name and everything, so it’s already yours.





Every Argument


I can think of gets shot down: “I still don’t have my license.”

So get one. All you have to do is pass the driving test. You know how.

“Dad’ll have to sign for it.

(Which means he’ll have to

approve this whole thing.)”

Talk him into it. How can he say no? He won’t have to take you places.

“Even with the insurance

paid, I’ll have to come up

with money for gas.”

Do what everyone does.

Go out and find a job.

“Dad doesn’t want me

to work. He insists he’s

responsible for my needs.”

Point out if you’re earning your spending cash, he’ll have more of his own money to spend on booze. Or maybe say Zelda instead. No need to underline the obvious.





Excellent Point


Not that I’m sure it—any of it—

will work. But, hey, what have

I got to lose, and I already know where I can apply for a job I’d like.

Syrah hatches a more imminent

plan. Let’s take her for a spin.

The keys are in the ignition.

You might as well get used to her.

“You think we should? What if

we get caught?” We most definitely shouldn’t, of course. But I really, really want to. I still can’t believe it.

No cops out here, insists Monica.

Anyway, don’t drive like an ass.

They can’t tell if you got a license just by looking at you, can they?

Another excellent point.

“Okay. Let’s go.” The girls argue over shotgun, and eventually

reach a compromise. Syrah

will claim it first, then switch, with Monica on the inbound.

It takes a few minutes to orient

to the strange vehicle, figure out important stuff like how to turn on the heater, not to mention

the radio. I let Syrah take charge of choosing the station. It’s late afternoon, and the November

light has faded into an auburn

sky, so we’ll be doing this with

headlights on. Luckily, they work fine. In fact, everything seems

to be working fine. The engine

turns over easily, hums like

a beehive, and while the Focus

isn’t exactly a performance car,

it’s got plenty of pep when I hit the gas pedal. Speaking of gas,

“Check it out. The tank is full.”

Which leads to bickering. Syrah takes the lead. We could go all the way to Sac.

Don’t be stupid. Two hours each way?

That’s too far. Her dad will be home.

He never gets home before midnight on Friday. In fact, that’s early for him.

How do you know? You’re not there every Friday. Him and Zelda could get in a fight.





The Suggestion


Makes me pull over onto

the shoulder. “Okay. Change

seats. Let’s go back. I feel like a criminal. Besides, I’m getting hungry, aren’t you?”

You crack me up, says Syrah, exiting the front. You underage drink, you smoke weed and inhale, but driving without a license makes you a criminal? Whatever.

Monica settles in and as we

turn toward home, she says,

Hey. How come you got the car?

What about your boyfriend?

Did he get one, too?

“Will you please stop

calling Gabe my boyfriend?

I have no idea why I got the car, or if he got one, too. Are you in a different time zone?

We found out about this

together, remember?”

Her fingers tiptoe across the seat, to my knee and up my leg, then come to rest on the inner thigh curve. I’m glad he’s not your boyfriend. He’s so not your type.





I Won’t Argue That


Not with our current connection.

I don’t want to quarrel, don’t want

to feel confused, and at this moment I’m totally sure that Monica is my type, so I’m relieved to see the only vehicle parked in our driveway belongs to Syrah.

Monica was right. When Dad and Zelda do fight, his early return can upset our plans. I’m glad tonight doesn’t seem to be one of those times. Of course, it’s early. “You coming in, Syrah? Afraid we’re stuck with frozen pizza rolls.”

Yech. No thanks. Anyway, I promised Dad I’d babysit the twins so he and Marla can go out for their anniversary.

That both relieves me and makes

me a little queasy with anticipation about alone time with Monica.

We grab our stuff out of Syrah’s car, start toward the house. Did you bring your keys? asks Monica. It would suck if your car got stolen the first day.

True, and to be safe, I lock the doors of my 2012 candy-red Ford Focus.





Thinking About Dad


Coming home early

reminds me I’d better

give him a heads-up.

First I click up the furnace.

As always, it’s freezing inside when I get home.