Page 52 of Road Trip to Forever
“Mean people suck.”
“What if we made a pinky promise to each other?”
Lola scoots closer. Her knee presses against the Band-Aid on my shin, the bandage covering the cut I got when I fell off my bike last week. “What kind of promise? We already promised to be best friends forever.”
“Yeah. But maybe if we both still don’t like people when we’re older, we can marry each other.”
She taps her cheek, deep in thought. “How old is old?”
“Thirty-five?”
Lola sticks out her hand. I wrap my palm around it and give it a shake. “Deal. I don’t know if I’ll like people then, but if I do, I’ll marry you.” She giggles and drops onto her back, arms sprawled across the floor. “Lola Walker. That could be my name one day.”
“Or I could be Patrick Jones. My uncle took my aunt’s last name.”
Her head turns so she can look at me, and I take her in as she grins from ear to ear. “I like the sound of that, Pattycakes.”
“Are you okay?” Lola of the present comes into focus, the blurry past sharpening into pristine clarity.
“I’m good,” I say. “Just reminiscing.”
“Would you really marry me?” she asks.
“Of course I would. I hear there’s a tax break for married people.” She elbows my ribs and I chuckle.
“Even though I get bored with things quickly and have to change the song on the radio after only two seconds because I have to know what else is playing on the other stations?”
“Even then.”
“Even though I forget to eat half my meals?”
“That’s okay. I set alarms to remind you to eat.”
“What?”
“Did you think the message I send you every day at 12:09 in the afternoon is random?” I ask.
“I… I don’t know what I thought,” Lola whispers. “I always remember to eat after you text me.”
“Good. That means I’m doing my job. It sounds like you’re trying to give me reasons I—or anyone—wouldn’t want to be with you instead of telling me all the reasons we’d be lucky for even a second of your time.”
“I’d never push you away, Patrick.”
“And I’d never run away from you. It’s been twenty-four years, Lo, and I plan to stick around for the rest of our lives. You’re never going to get rid of me.”
Lola’s grip around my hand tightens and she scoots closer. Her eyes bounce to my mouth, the spot she grazed three hours ago.
The kiss might have been accidental, but that look right now certainly isn’t.
I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking. To ask if she wants to sneak away and find a dark corner, far from the crowd. Just us, so we could talk or laugh or—
“There you are.” Jo appears in front of us, red-faced and smiling in a dress that matches Lola’s. Jack stands beside her, his tie unknotted and hair a mess. “There’s one dance left before Henry and Emma leave. You’re coming with me.”
“My feet are killing me.” Lola groans and slips off her heels. She kicks them under the chair and stands, looking at me. Our hands fall apart, and I’m colder without her touch. “Are you joining us?” she asks me.
I can see that she wants me to say yes, but I’m afraid of what might happen if I do. I don’t want us to have a conversation about what a possible future could look like with an attentive audience. It’s going to have to wait.
“Nah,” I say. “I’ll be on shoe duty. You two have fun.”
