He changed my plan by trying to open the passenger door behind me. I pressed the lock button to prove a point.
“This isn’t an Uber,” I told him, only half joking, and unlocked the doors.
He walked around the car, opened the passenger door, and sat down next to me. This was different. Usually my only passenger was pint-sized Elodie, but here was this big guy sitting next to me with his knees touching the dashboard, smelling like my coconut body wash.
“You can adjust the seat,” I told him.
I put the car in reverse and my gear shift stuck for a second. It had been doing that lately. My reliable Lumina had been on this earth for more years than I had and was one of the few constants in life since I bought it for five hundred dollars on my eighteenth birthday. It was the first thing that was solely mine, and I didn’t ask for a penny from my dad.
I was the only one of my friends to have a job in high school, working part time and weekends as a server at a local pizza place. My small group of friends would complain, trying to pull me away from work to go to parties, to the lake, to smoke weed in the parking lot of the elementary school where we hung out. Yes, elementary school. We were mildly delinquent, but at least I could pay for my own delinquency. All of them relied on their parents for allowance, and all three of them had since moved away. One went to Kentucky for college, one to Colorado for a change of scenery and a more exciting life, and one to Kansas for a soldier who promised to love her forever.
“Ugh,” I groaned, and jiggled the gear, frustrated at my car and the lie of forever. No one could ever love someone forever. After all these years growing up, love itself was the biggest lie I’d been told throughout my life.
“Yeah, my car and my house are falling apart. I know,” I said, before Kael could.
He looked over at me, confusion clear on his face.
“Didn’t say anything.” He shrugged and looked out the window.
I jiggled the gear one more time and it finally moved. I looked at him again and I swear there was a tiny bit of a smile on his face. It was hard to look away from. He annoyed the shit out of me and I hated that his first impression of me outside of the spa had been a big, bright banner of my failing life. My tires crunched down the gravel driveway and we were on our way.
I picked up my phone and saw my dad’s name across the top. I didn’t need to read the text to know he was asking me where I was. I also didn’t need to respond, because why would I? I knew he’d lecture me anyway, and I’d rather keep it to one instead of two.
Yay for Tuesdays.