The Girl He Used to Know(63)

“And then what happened?”

“She said hi. And then she asked me how my day was going and I said fine. Then the microwave dinged and I took my mug and told her to have a great rest of the day before I walked out.”

Tina seems delighted by this revelation. “How did that make you feel?”

“I can’t describe how it felt other than to say it felt natural. In the past, I would have misread her signals and started rambling. Then I would worry about what I’d said, which would make me ramble even more, making it worse. This time I didn’t. A couple days later, Stacy and I were walking out at the same time and she held the door for me and asked me if I had plans for the weekend. I told her I’d probably do something with my boyfriend and she asked me his name and how we met. I told her a little about Jonathan and how we’d dated in college. She thought that was so romantic. Then, before she got into her car, she said, ‘Have fun with your boyfriend,’ and I said, ‘Have fun with your boyfriend too!,’ because of course I did.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Tina asks.

“Stacy is married,” I say.

“So close,” Tina says, and then we both crack up and we are still laughing when my time is up.





35


Annika


CHICAGO

SEPTEMBER 2001



“You are … not great at this,” Jonathan says when I try to pull his car up alongside the curb and bounce off it instead.

“Sorry!” I say.

“It’s okay. You can’t really hurt it unless you hit something big.”

Jonathan’s car is nicer than the old truck he used to drive. It’s a shiny silver color and when I asked what kind it was, he said it was a sedan.

He doesn’t drive it that often because he usually takes the train. I like the way it smells inside: new, although Jonathan said he bought it when he moved back from New York.

“I told you I was a bad driver. If I remember correctly, those were my exact words.”

“You’re not that bad. You just don’t do it enough.”

We’re visiting my parents this weekend, and Jonathan decided the town of Downers Grove would be the perfect place for some basic driving lessons before we tackle something harder. I don’t tell him I’m hoping he’ll give up on me before we reach that point. Chicago traffic has a paralyzing effect on me; I literally cannot drive the city streets. Between cabs, the L, and my own two feet, I shouldn’t have to, but Jonathan thinks I need to broaden my horizons a little.

“Annika, stop!” Jonathan slams his foot down on the floor in front of him, hard. It startles me.

“Why did you do that?” I ask, stopping so suddenly my seat belt locks up. Oh. Maybe because that wasn’t my light that turned green.

“You don’t know how much I wish there was a brake pedal on my side.”



* * *



Another fifteen minutes of jerky starts and sudden stops is all either of us can take, and Jonathan switches places with me. I’m limp with relief and slump against the seat as he drives us back to eat lunch with my parents.

My mom and dad were thrilled to hear that Jonathan and I had reconnected, and even more thrilled when I told them we were driving over to see them. That’s how this whole driving-lesson thing got started. I told Jonathan that my mom and dad usually drove over to Chicago to pick me up whenever I wanted to come home.

“It’s only half an hour,” he said. “Why don’t you get a Zipcar and drive over yourself? It would be good practice.”

“Because I hate driving. I found a job and an apartment downtown so that I wouldn’t have to do it.”

“It’s not about the driving.”

“It’s not? What is it about?” I seriously didn’t know.

“It’s about doing one thing every day that scares you. Wasn’t there a famous woman who said that? I feel like there was.”

“It was Eleanor Roosevelt and you know it. And I’m not scared.”

“Mmmmmm.”

“I know what that sound means.”

“Then you know there are going to be more driving lessons in your future.”



* * *



Jonathan wants us to head home by four so he’ll have time to go into the office for a few hours. He said something this morning about Brad wanting him to get a jump on Monday, which sounded like a good way to ruin a perfectly lovely Sunday. We say good-bye to my parents and get back in the car. I’m thrilled that Jonathan doesn’t suggest that I get behind the wheel.

“Why can’t you tell Brad you don’t want to work on Sundays?” It would be nice if he and I could watch a movie or do some other relaxing activity together when we get home.

“Nobody would admit that to their boss. It would mean we weren’t team players and that our personal lives are more important.”

I wrinkle my forehead in confusion. “Aren’t they?”

“Of course they are, but we can’t admit it.”

“I don’t understand this at all, and I don’t think it has anything to do with the way my brain works.”

Jonathan laughs. “It’s corporate culture. No one has to understand it as long as we play by the rules.”