Page 130 of Here We Go Again
“You couldn’t do that on your laptop? Or the notes app on your phone?”
Rosemary deposits one bag into the truck. It’s full oftowels. “You know I prefer to write on my typewriter. It stops me from editing as I go. Keeps me moving forward.”
Logan does know. She knows the sound of clacking typewriter keys as well as she knows the sound of the ocean, the sound of Odie snoring at the foot of the bed. The typewriter keeps Rosemary pushing forward into the unknown.
And Logan almost throws out her lower back loading it into the van because it also connects them both to Joe.
They have a road trip emergency kit and a basket of muffins from Nurse Addison and a small vial of what remains of Joseph Delgado, those few ashes they didn’t send out to sea. It’s 3,265 miles on the direct route between Bar Harbor and Vista Summit, but they have no intention of taking the direct route.
Maybe they’ll swing through Vermont. Yannis has reached out a few times and tried to lure Logan back with the promise of cheese. They’ll probably go to Massachusetts to visit her siblings, John and Phoebe, whom she’s been getting to know. Phoebe wants to take them to her girlfriend’s show in Boston (she’s a bassist, of course), and John wants to take them to the Emily Dickinson Museum in Amherst.
They’ll definitely head down to Ocean Springs to check in on Remy. Rosemary wants to see the Outer Banks and Logan wants to see the Blue Ridge Mountains, and they both want to discover all the things they don’t yet know they need to see.
They have six weeks before Logan has to be back in Bar Harbor for teacher training days at Mount Desert Island High School.
They have six weeks before they have to return to the real world. Six weeks of adventure and freedom and seeing cool shit. Six weeks to get lost together.
Logan slams the back door of the van and prays that the Gay Mobile can handle another cross-country trip. She walks around and finds Rosemary still standing by the passenger door, clacking her pale pink nails against her phone screen. Some things never change. “I’m so sorry, princess,” Logan teases. “Is all my packing disrupting your crucial screen time?”
“Sorry, sorry,” Rosemary mutters, even as she’s still typing furiously. “It’s my critique partner. They just emailed me their notes on the current manuscript, and I want to make sure I reply before we’re officially on vacation.”
Logan smiles. Some things do change, though. Like Rosemary saying sorry when her hyperfixated brain makes her a less-than-attentive partner. Or Rosemary using that miraculous brain to write the first draft of an adult fantasy novel in six months, entirely on Joe’s typewriter.
Like Rosemary willingly taking six weeks off from book revisions and prepping query letters to take a trip back home to see their parents.
Though Logan isn’t sure that Vista Summit really ishomeanymore. They went back for a Celebration of Life for Joe at the high school when they packed up the rest of their things and drove the Toyota Corolla to Maine. They flew back for a week at Christmas. The rest of the year was spent at the cottage by the sea.
But Bar Harbor isn’t reallyhome, either. At least, it’s not their forever home. Logan’s not really sure where they’ll end up long-term.
Rosemary finishes her email and slides her phone into the pocket of her dress. “Okay, sorry. I’m here. I’m present. Hi.”
Logan slides across the gravel in her Vans. “Oh, hi.” Her arms snake around Rosemary’s waist and pull that familiar scent as close as possible. Their mouths meet in the middle andthis. This is definitely home. This waist and this mouth and these moments.
“I actually made a playlist for this trip.” Rosemary sounds exceptionally proud of herself as she effortlessly boosts herself into the passenger seat and starts fiddling with the aux hookup.
“Excuse me, but you’re encroaching on my territory.” Logan swats her hand away. “If you don’t need me for playlists, then what am I even contributing to this relationship?”
“You can reach the high cupboards in the kitchen and you kill all the spiders.”
“That’s it?” Logan deadpans. “You only keep me around because I’m tall and slightly less afraid of spiders than you?”
“No, Pear, of course not.” Rosemary leans over to massage her shoulder. “You’re also really good at cunnilingus.”
“I’ll take it.” Logan pushes her sunglasses into her hair and backs out of the gravel driveway. “But just to clarify, we are going to listento audiobooks on this trip, too, right? Because I downloadedEmmaandPride and Prejudice.”
“Yes. We can listen to Jane Austen.” Rosemary cues up her playlist, and the first song is from theMamma Mia 2soundtrack, one of their favorite cozy, movie Sunday watches. It’s the title track. “Good choice,” Logan admits begrudgingly.
“Here we go again,” Rosemary says, sticking her feet up on the dashboard.
Logan stares at her legs and her nonsensical shoes, the way her toes bounce up and down in rhythm with the song. “I don’t think this time will be anything like last time.”
“Oh. I almost forgot.” At a red light, Rosemary reaches into the pocket of her dress and pulls out the vial of ashes dangling from a blue piece of yarn. She leans forward and hooks the yarn around the rearview mirror so that Joe’s ashes hang between them like a good luck charm.
Logan touches her fingers to the dangling vial. “We’ll take lots of nudes,” she says seriously. “For Joe.”
“For Joe,” Rosemary agrees with a solemn nod.
Logan raises an eyebrow. “Should we start now?”
