Page 8 of Anywhere with You
That probably wasn’t healthy.
I was a little tempted to ask Cara if Lorenzo had ever boughthercruise tickets, not to be an ass but because I was genuinely curious. I’d surprised Bridget with tickets to a concert in Austin, once, and her response had been to complain about the drive and my ruining her weekend plans to take naps and watch reruns ofThe Jerry Springer Show, which was interesting as a time capsule of nineties fashion and as an argument against the continuation of our species, but not for any other reason.
I didn’t mention the cruise to Cara. I did call and talk to her about how to split the expenses, what landmarks we didn’t want to miss, and—most importantly—who would be in charge of the music.
“I’m obviously more qualified,” I argued.
“It’s a question of taste, and I’m not a fan of Led Zeppelin.”
It took me a moment to even guess at why she thought I was into Led Zeppelin. “Is that what you thought I was playing in the store?”
“Sounded like it.”
“It was Dolly Parton.”
“It definitely wasn’t. What do you think of Iron and Wine?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “White Stripes?”
“No. The Decemberists?”
“Franz Ferdinand?”
“The guy whose assassination started World War I?”
“No.” I sighed. “Okay, um…Taylor Swift?”
There was a long pause. “Do you actually like Taylor Swift, or are you just giving in?” Cara asked.
“Of course I like Taylor Swift. Everyone likes Taylor Swift.”
“Huh,” she said. “Who else does everyone like?”
“Pharrell Williams? Lizzo? Adele?”
“Okay, you can be in charge of music. No ABBA.”
I gasped. “What do you have against ABBA? No, don’t answer that. Save it for the road trip. We’ll need conversation topics.”
“I’ll be in charge of that,” Cara offered. “I’ll make a list. It’s funny. As much time as we’ve spent together, I don’t feel like I know you as well as I should.”
Neither of us said why, but I imagined she knew as well as I did—there had been dozens of dinners over the years, but Bridget and Lorenzo had dominated them. They had chosen the days, the menu, the conversations. It wasn’t as though Cara and I had sat there in silence, but we certainly hadn’t been the main attraction.
For the thousandth time, I thought: I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve known.
“Oh,” Cara said. “Don’t forget Beyoncé.”
“I could never forget Beyoncé. I saw her once at Ragin’ Cajun.”
Cara gasped. “I knew she was from Houston, but I’ve never seen her. Did you freak out?”
“Only on the inside. I…” I was about to tell her that I’d had to hold Bridget down to keep her from going to Beyoncé’s table, but that memory was tainted now.
Cara seemed to understand. She had her own tainted memories. “Well, I’m officially jealous. Oh! Add Olivia Rodrigo.”
“Got it. Text me when you think of anyone else.”
“Text me if you find another place you want to stop. I think we have a pretty good list so far.”
