Page 130 of Road Trip to Forever
A winner at the Florida Fashion Show.
“Oh my god. Is this real? Did she actually say my name?” I ask.
“Yeah.” Patrick sets me down on my feet and squeezes my shoulders. “She did.”
He’s crying and I realize I’m crying too, tears streaming down my face as people reach out to congratulate me. People I’ve never met offer their praise and then gesture for me to go to the stage, so I do, balloons raining from the ceiling and my vision blurring from my tears.
I miss a step and almost trip, righting myself at the last minute as Vivian reaches out to me, pulling me into a hug.
“I’m sorry. I’m probably getting mascara on your shirt,” I say.
“That’s okay,” she says. “It’s allowed under these circumstances. Your designs blew us away, Lola. Your creativity, your attention to detail, your overall love for fashion. It was impressive. You’re going to do big things, and I can’t wait to help you get there.”
“This is… I don’t know what to say. I wasn’t expecting this at all.”
“You don’t have to say anything. You can take the check and flowers and walk away.”
I burst out laughing. “That seems so rude. Am I supposed to smile for a camera? I see flashes going off.”
“Turn to your left,” Vivian says, giving me the patience and grace I’m not sure I deserve given that I’m a blubbering mess. “Smile. There you go.”
“Do I have clumps of makeup under my eyes?” I ask.
Vivian drapes her arm over my shoulder and squeezes. “Yes, but you look happy. That’s all that matters.”
Spots form in my vision from all the bright lights, but I can still see Patrick in the crowd. He’s standing on a chair, his fingers in his mouth as he lets out a loud whistle. I laugh again, burying my face in my hands.
I’m overwhelmed, just a little embarrassed, and so, so elated. Everything I never thought would come true justdid,and I don’t know what to do besides smile and wave, probably looking like a damn fool but at least I’m ahappyfool. A fool who tried and succeeded. There’s nothing else I’d rather be.
THIRTY-SEVEN
LOLA
Patrickand I are sprawled out in the grass, a full sheet cake sitting between us. Two forks balance precariously on the paper plates we bought at the grocery store, and cheap champagne bubbles up in the plastic glasses sitting by our knees.
The afternoon and early evening have passed in a blur, leaving me struggling to remember the last few hours. We FaceTimed my mom when we got back to the room after the announcement of the winners, only hanging up with her to call our friends. We spent an hour giving them details about the show and the wait to hear my name, laughing over the video Patrick captured of me on stage, my mess of tears probably already making embarrassing rounds on the internet.
After the celebrations died down, we slipped out of the hotel to find food, deciding on pizza and a box of tacos for dinner. I kissed Patrick’s tattoo as he ordered the large pepperoni and he smiled down at me, big and wide.
I’ve thought every day with him on this trip was been the best day of my life, but I was naive. This one, today, is really and truly the best one. I haven’t smiled this much in years. I alternate between laughing and crying, my emotions a pendulum as I process everything that’s happened and everything that’sgoingto happen with a new future ahead of us.
I left my cell phone up in our room, wanting some peace and quiet before we start our journey home in the morning. The screen kept lighting up, hundreds of comments and likes flooding my social media as my follower count increased by the second. Patrick could tell I needed some fresh air, some time with justus, and he led me past the pool brimming with tourists to a small garden off the main walking path.
He bought the cake at the hotel coffee shop, an eight-inch wide dessert covered in chocolate and whipped cream.A celebration,he’d said, sticking a candle on top and putting a party hat on my head.
My stomach already hurts, full from dinner and the first two slices of cake, but I forge on, picking up my fork to take another bite and wiping the crumbs from my mouth with the back of my hand.
“What time do we need to get on the road tomorrow?” I ask. I shove my plate away and give Patrick a warning look. “Please don’t say anything before eight in the morning. I will revolt.”
He grins, pieces of chocolate cake covering his lips and his dimples popping under the night sky. I lean over and kiss away the crumbs, using my tongue to help clean up the mess. He hums against my mouth and I laugh lightly, shoving his chest so he’ll let me go.
“I was planning on a six a.m. departure,” he says. “Does that not work with your schedule?”
“I really, really hope you’re joking. We might have to reevaluate this relationship.”
“Do you know how beautiful the world is before the sun rises, Lola? You can hear the crickets chirping. You get to see the sky light up for the first time. We’re literally in this massive rock floating though space, around and around again. How cool—”
I cut him off by pushing my fingers into his ribs, right above the spot where he’s the most ticklish. He head-butted me the last time I tried this, and left me with a bruised chin. Tonight I’m awarded a high-pitched squeal as he swats at my hand like I’m an obnoxious fly that won’t leave him alone, and I burst out laughing.
