Page 53 of Road Trip to Forever
The women depart with a wave and move through the sea of partygoers. Their giggles grow softer as they retreat, finding an open spot on the dance floor. I sigh as I watch Lola spin around.
A glass lands in my hands, and I turn my head to find Jack studying me. I nod my appreciation and accept the beverage, bringing it to my lips.
“Does it get easier?” I ask after a sip.
“Nope. Hurts like hell, doesn’t it?”
“It’s certainly not fun. Were you ever scared to tell Jo how you felt?”
“Every day.” He leans back in his chair. “The pros of doing the scary thing eventually outweighed the cons of keeping it inside. So, I did it. I think you should too.”
“Yeah. I should.”
Lola glances over her shoulder and waves at me. She holds up another slice of cake and takes a big bite, victory and triumph written on her face. I smile and lift my glass in her direction.
Three hundred people in the room, and she’s only looking at me.
I’m the luckiest guy in the world.
FIFTEEN
LOLA
“It’s road trip day.”I slide into the kitchen, my socks gliding over the tile floor, and beam at Patrick.
He looks up from the map on the table and returns my smile. “Hey. Have you recovered from your sugar coma?”
“Six slices of cake on Saturday, and I feel great. I also had a donut before you got here.”
“That’s got to be some kind of record. Your dentist must love you.” He pulls a pencil out from behind his ear. It’s wooden, the kind that needs sharpening after a few uses. “A guaranteed patient every six months.”
“Don’t you have our route memorized? You’ve looked at the map sixty times.”
“I do. I’m just double checking. One can never be too sure about the path they plan to take.”
“Wow.” I grab a glass of orange juice and take a sip. “Isn’t it a little early to be getting so philosophical?”
“That’s where you’re wrong, my friend. It’s never too early. How are you feeling?”
“Nervous,” I admit. “Excited. I can’t believe someone wants me to come and show off my designs in an actual show. I’m waiting for it all to be a joke. I’m not sure it’ll feel real until we get to Florida. Until I get my lanyard and see my name on the list of designers.”
“I’m going to keep a program and laminate it.” Patrick stands and leans against the counter. “Then I’m going to steal another one and blow it up to poster-board size and hang it in my apartment.”
“What are you going to do with a giant picture of a program from a fashion show? It’s not like it’s a van Gogh,” I say.
“It’s a conversation starter. ‘Oh, this? My best friend was in the show. That’s her name right there. Look how incredible she is.’”
Hearing Patrick’s pride and catching the gleam in his eyes makes me even more proud of myself than I already am. Of seeing this project through, committing to the work and having dozens of products I think are good.
Better than good.
They’regreat.
“You’d really hang it up?” I ask.
“In the foyer, right next to the photo of my family and the shot of us and our friends at Lake Winnipesaukee.” He grins. “There’s no changing my mind.”
“The family picture of you all at the beach? I love that one.”
