Page 46 of Road Trip

“I don’t have a hairy ass,” I said, “and you’ll be the one who will remember you left your sweet kicks behind twenty miles from here.”

Matt huffed. “Please. Like I even own sweet kicks.”

“Right? Shoes are probably illegal in California anyway,” I said.

“I’m dating an idiot,” Matt said. He tried to glare, but the corners of his mouth quirked up in a smile instead. Turned out that getting his dick sucked this morning had made him almost agreeable.

What? Like we weren’t gonna try that again while we had the chance?

It meant that we were scrambling to leave by checkout time, but it had been worth it. And it wasn’t like we were in a rush since Matt had said his dad would be cool whenever we arrived.

I took one last look around the room and we left.

It took about three hours to get from Yuma to San Diego and about half that time before we started to see anything green again. But somewhere around Boulder Oaks, the scrubby bushes at the side of the road grew denser, and the long grass that waved in the breeze wasn’t bleached yellow by the sun. The hills in the distance were verdant. By the time we hit El Cajon, there were palm trees, and for the first time it really felt like California.

“Hey,” I said, ignoring the directions to Del Mar that were showing on the map. “It’s California. We should go to the beach.”

Matt gave me such serious side-eye that I figured he was going to refuse, and then he said, “It’s California. We should get In-N-Out and then go to the beach.”

I felt a rush of gratitude. I knew he was probably desperate to see his dad, but here he was agreeing to push it back by an hour or so just because I wanted to. His dad might have said we could turn up at any time, but I would have bet anything Matt wanted it to be sooner rather than later.

I wanted to tell him how much I’d miss him, but it was such a pointless thing to say when we both knew it. Also, I didn’t want to fuck with his happy day, you know? I had been his best friend for most of our lives, way before we were anything else, and I knew how much his dad leaving had hurt him. Even when he didn’t show it, I knew. He didn’t talk about it much, but it was such a big thing that it didn’t matter how many years ago it had been—Matt was still living in its shadow. I wished I could have been happier for him today, but all I could think about was how bad it felt for me.

We went and found an In-N-Out that was pretty close to Mission Beach. I snapped a few photos of my Double-Double and sent them to Luke, knowing he’d be jealous as hell at this definitive proof I was in California while he was stuck in Cape Charles. Now that I knew I was driving home alone, I kind of wished I’d invited him and Charlie. Though to be fair, there probably would have been a lot less making out with Matt and sucking his dick if my little brother had been along for the trip. So, on balance, I was glad it was just me and Matt. And I was glad that I’d discovered something new about myself, and about us, on this trip. It would just break my heart when I had to leave him here and go home to Virginia.

I didn’t tell him that, and he didn’t say it either. What was the point of saying it? It was like weather—interesting the first time you felt a change coming, but then it set in and you didn’t need to point out the gray skies and rain because everyone else had eyes as well, and it wasn’t as though talking about it would clear those clouds.

There weren’t any clouds in San Diego today. It was a gorgeous, hot day with a brilliant blue sky. Perfect California weather. Matt and I finished our In-N-Out and then we drove to Belmont Park to see the beach.

We got out of the car and looked across the parking lot. The tracks of the Giant Dipper rose in gentle waves above the rest of the small amusement park.

“We’re not going on it,” I said.

“Nope,” Matt agreed, narrowing his eyes at it.

“Because you’re allergic to fun?”

“Because it’s made of wood and is a century old.” His mouth quirked. “But also because I’m allergic to fun.”

We walked down to the beach instead, taking off our shoes so we could walk barefoot in the sand.

It was gorgeous. High tide, because the sand was only a thin white strip. A lifeguard tower stood in the sand, beach umbrellas dotted all around it. There were girls in bikinis and guys in board shorts. There were families too—toddlers in swim diapers, parents wrangling too many kids, and hairy old men with beer bellies that overhung their Speedos. One of the old men was eating an ice cream cone.

“We need to find the ice cream place,” I said.

“Ocean first,” Matt said. And then, when the cool water was tickling his toes, he said, “It’s thePacific. I’m standing in the Pacific.”

Right.

Back home, when we’d sneaked out in the middle of the night and gone to the beach, we’d been swimming in the waters of the Atlantic. We’d crossed an entire continent to get here. And now I was going home and leaving Matt behind to swim in a different ocean, hoping like hell that somehow we could make this work.

I swallowed around a lump in my throat. I wasn’t going to spoil our last day, so I decided to tease him a little instead. “So tell me,” I said, “what, pacifically, do you like about this beach?”

Matt’s mom said “pacifically” and I knew it drove him crazy. He turned to me with narrowed eyes and prodded me in the chest with a fingertip. “No. Don’t you dare.”

“What? I’m just asking a question. What, pacifically, is it that’s upsetting about that?” I managed to keep a straight face for all of five seconds, but when he scowled at me, I cracked up laughing. “Be pacific!”

“You’re such a dick,” Matt said. I liked that I was the onlyperson he said that to where it wasn’t the prelude to a fight, but a compliment.

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