Rayne & Delilah's Midnite Matinee(61)

“Come on,” I say.

“For real. I could use my striking skills to keep it at a distance and wear it down. But those skills aren’t as useful against fifty opponents. Plus, I’m not scared of a duck bite. It’s not like they have huge teeth.”

“I’d say the winner of this debate is the God of Death, who’s now several minutes closer to claiming all of us,” I say.



Hour Four

Lawson’s taken over driving. I’m in the back seat. Beyoncé sing-along, as promised. Lawson is a good sport as he sings (badly) along (a bit behind us). Gas station nachos, as promised. We pass Chattanooga. None of us have ever been to Rock City. But we all think it sounds fun. Josie and I watch makeup tutorial videos on Dollywould on our phones until Josie gets carsick.



Hour Five

We’ve just gotten done talking about which celebrities we would eat and why, if we were shipwrecked with them. Josie and I watch a YouTube video of a girl listening to “All Star” by Smash Mouth and taking a bite of onion every time the song says “star.” Then we watch a video of a dude singing “All Star” but one beat behind the rhythm.

Josie takes a sip of the drink she bought at our last gas stop because it had a hilarious name—Dr. Fizz. “This honestly tastes like at the factory where they make garbage generic sodas. At the end of each day, when they clean out the pipes or whatever, it all goes into the Dr. Fizz vat.”

“I can only imagine. Even Dr Pepper tastes like everything. Like literally every flavor known to man,” I say.

“I am not enjoying this,” Josie says. “And yet I can’t stop drinking it.”

“Sometimes you have to see a generic soda through to the end,” I say.

Josie takes another sip and winces. “What’s weird to think about is how there’s probably someone in this world who’s rich because of Dr. Fizz.”

“Oh, I know! Like how there’s someone who probably drives a Lexus because they own a candy-corn company,” I say.

“A candy-corn magnate!”

“A monocle-wearing candy-corn magnate!”

Josie hands me her bottle for a sip. “You gotta. So you don’t die never having tried Dr. Fizz.”

“Shouldn’t one of you be sleeping so you can drive next?” Lawson asks, still behind the wheel.

We laugh and repeat back ‘Shouldn’t one of you be sleeping so you can drive next?’ in mocking, high-pitched voices.

Lawson grins and shakes his head but bears our torment with stoicism. This ability, more than anything else, gives me faith in his future with Josie.



Hour Six

“No, but listen,” Josie says.

“Uh-oh. When Josie says ‘No, but listen,’ that’s always trouble,” I say.

“I’m just saying, it’s sweet how humans are animals too, but we wear clothes and drive cars. We’re like dogs in sweaters and chimps in tuxedos.”

Josie seems nervous about something. When she is, she talks a lot about nothing. I probably seem jittery too. I am.

But the thing with a best friend is that you’re never talking about nothing. Even when you’re talking about nothing, it’s something. The times when you think you’re talking about nothing, you’re actually talking about how you have someone with whom you can talk about nothing, and it’s fine.

We pass Atlanta. At this hour, the traffic is light. The air gets heavier and thicker as we travel south. More lush and tropical. The landscape changes. Dense forests of towering, ruler-straight pine trees line the highway like the world is raising thousands of index fingers with a good idea.

It makes me wonder how Dad got to Florida. Maybe he drove this route. Maybe he had a heaviness in his heart to match the weight of the air. Or maybe his heart skimmed the tops of the pines. I wonder if it felt like he was shedding something as the miles fell away beneath his feet. Like he was pulling off a jacket that never really fit him.

This is, as far as I know, the closest I’ve been to my dad in ten years. Every minute brings me closer.

I still don’t know what I’m going to do about that.





Hour Seven and a Half

We stop at a gas station outside Vienna, Georgia. Delia and I run in to pee. Lawson gases up my car. I beat Delia back out. Lawson has moved my car away from the pumps and is leaning against it. He smiles as I approach.

I stop short of him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he says.

“I’m tired.”

“Me too.”

I close my eyes and pretend-snore, falling toward him, knowing he’ll catch me. He does, dipping me like we’re dancing. I give a quick yip of a laugh. It’s louder than I expect over the distant ocean-wave wash of cars on the highway behind us and the riot of crickets, cicadas, and frogs—the only sounds at the sleepy gas station.

I genuinely want to fall asleep in his arms, but even more than that, I want him to kiss me, and he does as he pulls me back upright.

Being alone with him for this brief moment feels like going to the freezer and eating only one spoonful of ice cream.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” I say.

He kisses me. “Hey.”

“I like you,” I say.