Page 16 of Anywhere with You
“An angel. Aren’t you, fluffy puff?” Her voice devolved into baby talk.
I heard his happy panting in the background and was surprised by how acutely I missed him. I wasn’t one of those people who referred to their pets as their fur babies or maxed out their credit cards buying him outfits. Badger was, indeed, a sweet little fluffy puff, but he didn’tnotice or care who was taking care of him. He even seemed to prefer my parents, so they could all just have each other. Jerks.
“How’s the trip going so far?” Mom asked carefully.
“It’s great,” I answered a little fiercely. “It’s fun to be with someone who doesn’t keep trying to feed me and convince me to move into my childhood bedroom.”
“I’m sorry for loving you so much.”
I laughed. “You sound like Grandma Singh.”
“Are you accusing me of stealing phrases from my mother-in-law, the world expert on guilt trips? Yes. Yes, I did. But you’re really having a good time? You know I worry.”
“I know you do,” I said, moving to the register. “But it’s been really nice, actually. I’m already tired of being in the car, but the drive has been beautiful.”
“And your friend?”
I sighed. “I’m not tired of Cara. Yet.”
She had come into the convenience store and was standing beside me, grinning, holding up her family-size pack of Oreos to show that we’d picked out the same thing. When she heard me, she dropped her smile and pretended to be offended.
“She drives like there’s a cop around every fucking corner,” I complained. “Not one mile over the speed limit, the whole way. This trip is going to take forever.”
“What a monster,” Mom said blandly.
“Yeah, well,” Cara said, leaning toward the phone, “Honey drives like—”
“Oops, sorry Mom. Going through a tunnel. Call you later.” I hung up.
Chapter Ten
We weren’t far from our next adventure. Sir David Attenborough’s voice on the GPS no longer gave us irritating directions like “For the next one hundred thirty-four miles, stay on US-87 North.” No one needs that bullshit, not even from Dave.
White Sands National Park had made both of our lists.
Cara and I picked up some tacos in Alamogordo, and I ate while I drove, despite Cara’s repeated reminder that I could just pull over.
“If it was a better taco, it would be worth my concentration,” I said. “As it is, the road is more interesting than what’s happening in my mouth.”
The road was completely straight and empty. Maybe New Mexico didn’t have spring break this week.
Cara and I had exhausted our chitchat, but she had, true to her word, made a list of conversation topics to keep us occupied on the drive.
“I’m sorry,” I said to Beyoncé as I turned down “Texas Hold ’Em.”
Cara ignored me. “What are your favorite things about yourself?”
“Skip.”
“I am not a CD player, and that’s not how this works.”
I pouted.
“Come on,” she said. “This isn’t even a hard one. I’ll go first. I like that I’m curious.” She stared at me as I drove, as though expecting me to roll my eyes. When I didn’t, she went on, “I think it’s something most people have, but most people lose as they grow up. All those questions—why is the sky blue, what happened to the dinosaurs, how much salt is in the ocean?”
“Nerd questions,” I pointed out.
“Exactly,” Cara said. “I want the facts. I want the answers. Some people say they were born in the wrong era. Not me. I need to google.”
