Page 78 of Take This Heart
“Take something pretty to wear!” Grandma Donna calls after me as I leave the room. “Do you need that pretty pink sweater I knitted for you?”
“Too hot, I think,” I yell back, so very grateful that it’s notwinter and I don’t have to wear that sweater today to make my grandma happy.
“And let us know as soon as you’re back so we can hear all about it!” Grandma Nancy calls.
“Will do,” I yell.
I rush to my room to shave all my bits and put a few things in a bag, tossing the lingerie in at the last second…while also telling myself that I will absolutelynotbe wearing it. A few minutes later, I hear Milo talking to Dad downstairs, and I glance out the window to see his black SUV idling. No more denying it, I’m going on a little trip with Milo.
I already feel overheated and weird. I glance at myself in the mirror. I look okay, calmer than I feel. And all right, maybe I spent extra time getting ready, so I’d look better than okay…possibly even my very best self. But I pace for another thirty seconds before I go downstairs.
“Hey,” he says when I walk into the room.
“Hey.”
“You ready?” He smiles carefully, like he might be nervous too, and it reassures me the slightest bit.
“Yeah,” I manage, grabbing my bag. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”
He laughs softly. “Come on, Whitman. It’ll be fun, I promise.”
I kiss Dad’s cheek. “Call me if you need anything. I can come back early?—”
“Don’t you dare. Besides, I’ll be busy here. There’s no peace with Mom and Grandma Donna hovering over me all the time,” he grumbles.
I’d laugh, but he seems more on edge. He’s actually not been himself lately. I don’t know if it’s all of us fussing over him or what. My grandmas are all moved in and are stayingindefinitely. Our house smells like banana bread and blueberry muffins every day now.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Dad?”
He looks at me apologetically. “I’m sorry, buttercup. I’m okay. Just a lot on my mind.”
“Okay. Anything you need, just tell me.”
He swallows and nods. “Noah and Grayson are coming for the weekend.”
“Hug Grayson extra for me.”
“I will. Have a good time.” He gives me a direct look and I nod. “Love you, buttercup.”
“Love you too.”
He looks at Milo. “You’re not too bad either,” he says, pounding him on the back.
Milo laughs. “Right back atcha.”
We get on the road and it’s awkwardly polite for the first few minutes. And then I start paying attention to his playlist. It’s all over the place—old Motown classics, indie bands I haven’t heard of, punk-pop, top 40, and the obscure.
“I’m having a hard time distinguishing your musical identity,” I say when FINNEAS fades into Otis Redding and that fades into Paramore.
“I’m a man of many layers,” he says with mock gravity.
It leads into a conversation about songs I like and I play a few for him. Just like that, the tense drive I’d dreaded feels lighter.
We talk about random things. His old roommate, who still crashes at his place sometimes. My brothers and how ridiculous and great they are. We argue over the best kind of road trip snacks when we stop at a Kwik Trip—sour gummies and beef jerky for him, and Chex mix, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, and Cherry Sours for me. We end up eating eachother’s snacks and agreeing that it’s all delicious and gut-ache inducing.
“You don’t talk about your life in Minneapolis much. Why is that?” I ask.
He glances at me and his eyes narrow. “Hmm. You’re right. I think…maybe because your life seems so much more interesting.”
