Page 41 of Baby, It's You
I roll down my window and then she also rolls down hers as I back the truck up. I hand her my phone. “Choose from my playlist.”
She touches her heart in mock honor. “This is escalating quickly. First you give me a gift, now I get to go through your phone,” she teases me.
I look at her out of the corner of my eye and say, “Eight-seven-three-four,” before glancing back to the road.
“What?” she asks.
“That’s my password. Use my phone whenever you want. I’m not someone with anything to hide.”
With one eyebrow raised she says, “My best friend would love you. You’re like every girl who has ever been cheated on’s wet dream.”
I chuckle and ask, “Have you been cheated on?”
She is momentarily distracted while she punches in the code and begins looking through my music. Realizing the question is probably not one she wants to answer, I’m about to tell her that she doesn’t have to when she responds.
“Nope! I don’t date.” Olive snorts. “No relationship equals no cheating and lying. Problem solved.”
I’m wondering who did a number on her to make her think every relationship is like that when I hear a song start playing. “Right Down the Line” by Gerry Rafferty surrounds us, the notes to the intro smooth and provocative.
I meet Olive’s eyes. “I love this song.”
“Same.”
She lifts her hands in the warm breeze and sways them, singing along to the words as I head out onto the main road.
The song ends while we sit at a red light and I quietly say, “You know, not all guys are like that.”
“What?” she asks.
“Not all guys are bad in relationships; not all guys are cheaters or liars,” I respond, louder this time.
“Of course not,” she tells me. “Seymour and Jane, Mr. Ray and Mrs. Sonjia, Rob and Missy; there are good relationship guys out there, they are just all old or married.”
I stare at her for a long moment, wanting to tell her,Me, Olive, me. I’m faithful and I like you.I’m too shy, though, to try and cross that boundary she has set between us.
“Green!” she exclaims, pointing to the light and snapping me out of my thoughts.
I turn back towards the wheel, cursing myself for not speaking up.
“Let’s play a game.” She claps her hands together.
“Okay, sure,” I respond.
She jumps right in. “Would you rather have bug eyes or a monkey’s ass.”
I throw my head back, laughing. “What does that even mean?”
“Like a million little lenses together that give you the crazy wide vision, bug eyes. Or a butt that sticks out to attract your mate, like a baboon.”
“I think only the female baboons have that,” I tell her.
She shrugs her shoulders. “Okay, so you're hypothetically a woman, too.”
“Okay, I guess the butt, then.”
“Oh, of course. Such amaleresponse.” She rolls her eyes playfully.
“I couldn’t handle having that type of vision; my mind would explode from trying to process so much,” I defend my response. “Also, you can judge someone’s Would You Rather answer, it’s universally known. So, give me a nice butt.”
