Page 60 of Road Trip to Forever
Lola is fast asleep, the magazine in her hand close to falling to the floor. I make my way to her side of the bed and pry the reading material from her grip. I set it safely on the bedside table next to her water bottle, the one with a Pride flag sticker and aread banned booksdecal affixed to the metal. The covers are only halfway up her body, and as I pull them to under her chin, I can’t resist brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes.
“Love you, Lo,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
It takes forever to fall asleep with her so close. I can hear her soft inhales, the sound of the sheets rustling against her legs as she moves, flipping onto her side. I eventually drift off to a dream of Lola in a field wearing a white dress. There’s a crown of flowers on her head, and she buries her face in my shirt. She kisses the spot on my chest directly above my heart, and she asks if I’m happy.
I repeatyesa thousand times, a million times, because with her, it’s impossible to be anything but.
SEVENTEEN
LOLA
“I’m goingto be honest, Lo. I’m not sure I like you being in charge.” Patrick stumbles on an uneven part of the sidewalk and curses under his breath. His hand reaches out and grabs my arm for stability, righting himself before he can fall. “Where the hell are you leading me?”
“Keep your eyes closed for two more minutes,” I say. “We’re almost there.”
We step off the escalator at L’Enfant Station, dodging someone with a violin and a stroller as we head up Seventh toward Independence. It’s warm outside, the temperature steadily climbing toward uncomfortable, and I wipe a bead of sweat from my forehead. I can see our destination up ahead, the entrance gleaming under the late morning light.
“Okay.” I stop us in front of the building and tap his shoulder. “Spin and open.”
Patrick turns in a slow circle. He opens his eyes, squints, and parts his lips as he reads the small words on the top of the glass. “The Air and Space Museum?”
I squeal, unable to contain my excitement. “Surprise!”
“Lola.” He looks at me over his shoulder, mouth wide and jaw slackened. “How did you remember this? It’s been on my bucket list since we were kids, but I haven’t talked about visiting in ages.”
“Not since we were in seventh grade science class and Mr. Parker showed us that video series on planets. You pinched me so hard and whispered about how neat it would be to see the stars. I remember everything you say, Patrick, and today, we’re going to see the stars.”
He blinks once, twice, then charges toward me, sweeping me off my feet in a tight embrace. My arms loop around his shoulders, drawn to him like a magnet. I laugh into the collar of his shirt—the blue one with melting popsicles on it—and I hear him laughing, too, rumbles of elation vibrating against my chest.
“This is incredible,” he whispers in my ear. “You are incredible.”
“I wanted to make you happy.”
Patrick’s smile is crooked and wide as he sets me on the sidewalk. He blinks again, and I think his eyes are glistening with tears. “It doesn’t take much to make me happy,” he says, stepping close, the toes of his shoes bumping against mine. “You’re enough. I don’t need anything else.”
I snatch the words up and hold them close to my heart. Later, when I’m alone, I’ll ruminate over them and weigh every syllable, every swoop of letters. I’ll wonder if he knows he’s enough to make me happy, and think of ways to prove to him that he is.
I feel warm and fuzzy, like it’s the first snow of the year when everything is covered in a fresh blanket of white. When you’re curled up on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate and a cozy quilt, watching the snowflakes fall and land on the window, each one different and uniquely beautiful.
It’s perfect.
Every experience with Patrick, every memory we’ve ever shared stands out, but this moment might be the most important one yet. The elation on his face is just for me. His exuberance is just for me,becauseof me, traversing a depth far greater than friendship.
I see the shift, and I feel it too, the gravitational pull toward a word, a definition, a title far different from the one we’ve held for two decades. It’s slow and steady, a candle burning through the night until nothing but wax remains. Unhurried yet purposeful, the universe guiding us and nudging us along toward the peak of something powerful and remarkable.
My hand finds Patrick’s, and he squeezes my palm. I tug him toward the main doors where a bored attendant at the turnstiles scans the tickets on my phone and hands us each a map.
We tumble inside the lobby, grateful for the air conditioning as we join the tour groups lined up against the walls. Children run by and their parents chase after them. An announcement comes over the public address system, reading off showtimes for the short films playing in the theaters. It’s loud, it’s chaotic, it’s overstimulating, but I smile anyway.
How can I not? With the awe on Patrick’s face and the reverence in his eyes, nothing in this entire world could ruin my mood. When he’s happy, I’m happy, and right now he’s full of pure joy.
“Hold on,” I say.
I sidestep us out of the flow of traffic and pull my AirPods case from my purse. I hand one to Patrick and he puts it in his ear, laughter bursting out of him as a song plays.
“‘Starman?’” he asks.
He’s grinning, and it’s my favorite face of his.
