Page 33 of Here We Go Again
“The Grand Tetons, then.”
Logan giggles into her thermos. “GrandTeet-tons.”
Rosemary squeezes the binder like a stress ball. “No, we won’t be going out of our way to see any mountains that look like butts or boobs or ball sacks.”
“Whoa. Hale just said ball sack.” Logan clutches her chest. “Am I still sleeping?”
She ignores that. “There will be no detours at all today. We are going to Cheyenne, andstraightto Cheyenne.”
“Come on, Hale. Can’t we stop and see some cool shit along the way?”
“Yes.” Joe nods. “I would like to see somecool shitbefore I die.”
“Too bad. Now, everyone. Get in the van.”
“Someone needs to take Odie to use the bathroom in that patch of grass over there.” Joe points to the tiniest patch of green beside the hotel.
Logan puts her finger on her nose. “Not it.”
Rosemary rolls her eyes. “Damn dog.”
Logan starts humming the tune to “Cruella De Vil.”
If she doesn’t scare you, no evil thing will.
Rosemary snatches up the red leash and drags Odysseus over to the grass, where he sniffs every individual blade before choosing the perfect place to relieve himself. She stomps back over to the van and finds Joe and Logan are talking in hushed tones. They stop as soon as she approaches.
“What?”
“We’re conspiring to rescue the 101 Dalmatians from your evil lair,” Logan answers without missing a beat.
Rosemary rolls her eyes again. “I’m on first shift.”
Twin Falls looks perfectly normal in the daylight, a flat town with all the regular fast-food options but not nearly enough trees for Rosemary’s liking.
Rosemary plugs the directions into her phone and sets it carefully in the dashboard holder she bought for the drive.
“We have to go south for a bit before we can go east,” sheexplains. “We’ll take I-84 toward Salt Lake City and then get onto I-80, which will take us as far as Illinois. Then it’s I-90 all the way to Maine. It’s pretty much a straight shot from here.”
“Cate fucking Blanchett, even your driving directions arestraight.” Logan grabs her hoodie and shoves it behind her head as Rosemary navigates their way back to I-84.
“Okay, I have to ask…” Joe begins delicately. “Logan, is there a reason you seem to believe Rosemary is a heterosexual?”
Rosemary’s body flushes hot, then cold, then goes completely numb. She doesn’t want to have this conversation. Not while trapped in this claustrophobic van.
Logan snorts into her sweatshirt pillow. “Because Haleisstraight. Look at her dress.”
She glances down to see the Ralph Lauren floral midi-dress she put on this morning. She loves this dress. The fabric doesn’t irritate her skin, and it’s tight against her subtle curves in a way that makes her feel secure. Like a hug from her clothes. She owns this dress in three different patterns and she incorporates them into her wardrobe rotation every summer.
It’s like her vanilla lotion or her Essie’s Ballet Slippers nail polish or her French braid. It’s one less decision she has to make every day, one less source of anxiety.
And she resents the idea that wearing this dress somehow makes herlessgay.
Feeling returns to her hands and she flexes her fingers like a falcon’s talons perfectly poised at ten and two. “Actually, I’m not straight,” she spits out. “I’m a lesbian.”
Those three syllables conjure the panic she felt the first time she said them aloud, bursting into Joe’s classroom one morning during spring of her senior year. Four years of agony and confusion, feelings she tried to ignore by dating boys, feelings she psychoanalyzed each night as she fell asleep, before finally saying that word and feeling like it fit as perfectly as her favorite pair of shoes.Lesbian.
Logan cackles in the passenger seat. “Wow, Hale. You do still have a sense of humor.”
