"You're kind of pushy, you know that, right?"
"I just know when I'm right," he said, pulling into the drive-thru. "What would you like?" he asked as a nasally voice screeched over the intercom.
"A burger and fries is fine," I said. "Coke to drink," I added.
"Two number fours with Cokes to drink," Nathan said through his open window.
"We won't be serving lunch for another ten minutes, would you like to wait?" the voice squawked over the intercom.
Nathan looked at me questioningly. "I guess that's fine. I'll give Fran a call and tell her I'll be a few minutes late.
"We'll wait," Nathan said into the intercom.
"Pull forward, please."
Stopping in front of the drive-thru window, Nathan handed over a twenty to the cashier who looked harassed, although the day really had just started. "If you park in one of the spaces over there, we'll bring out your food when it's ready," she said, handing over our drinks and change.
"Will Fran mind that you're late?"
"No, she really only hired me to keep her company. I try to lighten her load by handling all the grunt work, but she's a tough old bird," I answered, taking a sip of my soda.
"You sound like you enjoy it," he said.
"I do. It's nice to be accountable to something that makes me feel normal," I admitted, momentarily forgetting who I was talking to. He had an easy laid-back manner that had me disclosing information best left unsaid.
"What do you mean normal?" he asked, taking a sip of his own drink.
"Oh, you know how life seems disjointed while you're in college. You're neither an adult out in the working world, or a teenager who can count on your parents to solve all your problems," I lied, covering up my slip of the tongue. "It's nice to be off the limbo fence now."
"It must be hard to have lost both your parents. Do you have any other family?"
"No, it's just me," I lied again.
"That's rough," he said, eyeing me critically like he expected me to have a sudden meltdown.
I shrugged my shoulders. "I try not to think about," I said pointedly so he would change the subject.
"There's no one back home who misses you?" he persisted.
"Why? Are you changing your mind about adding my head to your collection?" I joked, hoping he'd get the hint.
He looked as if he wanted to ask me another question, but must have thought better of it. "Don't you mean 'boobies in my trunk'?" he asked just as an employee from the restaurant approached his open window.
I bit off a laugh as the employee eyed us like we had two heads or something before thrusting our food at us and scurrying away. "I'm pretty sure we've traumatized her," I commented as I handed him a fry out of the bag. "You better hope she doesn't take down your license plate number."
"Wouldn't be the first time," he joked, merging onto the highway.
"I knew it all along. You're like that Ned Dundy guy."
"Who?" he asked, taking the burger I had unwrapped for him.
"The serial killer who lured girls into his car."
"You mean Ted Bundy?" he asked, laughing.
"Whatever. He was mentioned in one of my psychology classes along with some other freaky dudes."
"I took a class in college once that concentrated on the study of serial killer behaviors. It was interesting," he replied.