“Angry?”
“Yeah.”
“What are our options?”
There’s something exquisitely weird about Levi Ward telling me his phone’s passcode (338338) and letting me poke around his music folder. His collection doesn’t include a single embarrassing Nickelback song (I hate him). It’s a mix of nineties bands—my decade of choice—except that they’re all...
I opt for shuffle, settle back into my seat to gaze at the beautiful landscape, and give him the only criticism I can think of. “You do know women make music, too, right?”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.” I shrug. “Just that the entirety of your music library is angry white boys.”
He frowns. “Not true.”
“Right. That’s why you have exactly...” I scroll down for a few seconds. More seconds. A minute. “...a grand total of zero female-performed songs on your phone.”
“That’s not possible.”
“And yet.”
His scowl deepens. “It’s just a coincidence.”
“Mmm.”
“Okay—I’m not proud of it, but it’s possible that my musical taste was influenced by the fact that in my formative years I, too, was an angry white boy.”
I snort. “I bet you were. Well, if you ever want to work through that rage productively I could recommend some singer-songwriters—” There’s something on the side of the road. I crane my neck to see better. “Oh my God.”
He gives me a worried look. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I just—” I wipe my eyes. “Nothing.”
“Bee? Are you... crying?”
“No,” I lie. Poorly.
“Is it about female singer-songwriters?” he says, panicky. “I’ll buy an album. Just let me know which one is best. Honestly, I don’t know enough about them to—”
“No. No, I— There was a dead possum. On the side of the road.”
“Oh.”
“I... have issues. With roadkill.”
“Issues?”
“It’s just... animals are so cute. Except for spiders. But spiders are not really animals.”
“They... are.”
“And who knows where the possum was going? Maybe she had a family? Maybe she was bringing home food to kids who now wonder where Mommy is?” I’m making myself cry harder. I wipe my cheek and sniffle.
“I’m not sure wildlife abides by the rules of traditional nuclear family structure—” Levi notices my glare and instantly shuts up. He scratches his nape and adds, “It’s sad.”
“It’s okay. I’m fine. I’m emotionally stable.”
His lips curl up. “Are you?”