Page 64 of Road Trip to Forever
“Large coffee with one cream and half a packet of sugar.” She hands over my drink with a disgusted grimace. “Why don’t you just drink a cup of tar?”
“Tar tastes too good.” I knock my drink against her cup of tea in a cheers, and we take a sip in tandem. “Hurry and try these donuts. They’re fantastic.”
“Which flavor do I start with? This is overwhelming.”
“The hardest decision you’ll have to make today. Do powdered sugar.”
Lola glances over at me, her hand halfway to the box, and frowns at the bruise around my eye. “You look like you were in a fight.”
“Worth it, though.”
“Do you need some ice for your cheek?”
“Nah, I’m fine.”
“Any sign of a headache popping up?”
“Nope. We’re in the clear.”
I shift the Jeep into drive and pull out of the gravel parking lot. It’s hard not to yawn as we set off on the highway, sleep-deprived after closing down the bar with Hank and his buddies last night. We listened to their life stories until the early morning, the bartender all but throwing us out on the sidewalk.
Lola fell asleep the second her head hit the hotel pillow, not bothering to take off her sneakers or wash her face. I unlaced her sneakers and collapsed next to her, getting a few hours of shuteye before our alarms went off just after sunrise. It was a struggle to get moving, loading our bags into the back of the car in disorganized disarray. I wouldn’t be surprised if I forgot a sock—or half my sanity—in that hotel room.
“These donuts are the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” Lola says around a monstrous bite. “I’m rejuvenated. I need a hundred of them.”
“Twelve is all you have. Better ration them out.”
She lets out a tiny whine and licks her fingers clean of sugar. I try not to watch her tongue as it darts out of her mouth, but I fail miserably, a lecherous idiot gawking at her from across the car.
“Want to play a game?” she asks, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.
“What kind of game?” I answer, my eyes regretfully darting back to the road.
“It’s a question game of things to ask your road trip partner to make sure they aren’t a serial killer.”
“Oddly specific. Sure. Let’s hear one.”
“What’s your favorite Christmas present?”
“That’s going to determine if I’m a serial killer?”
“It might, like if you say a lump of coal or a pair of socks.”
“I love getting socks as gifts,” I say, and Lola raises her eyebrows. “All right. Favorite Christmas present. That’s easy. The autographed baseball cards you got me. Hands down the coolest thing I’ve ever received.”
“David Ortiz and Tony Gwynn. Do you still have them or did you toss them out when they retired?”
“Did I—Lola. They’re my most prized possession. I’d never get rid of them.”
They sit on my desk at school in a tiny frame, right next to the photo of me and Lola on Halloween our sophomore year of high school. We went as Meg and Hades from theHerculesmovie,winning the costume contest and a fifty-dollar gift card to Olive Garden.
“That’s not saying a lot, Patrick. You never get rid of anything.”
“Fair.” I laugh. “But those are important. What about you? Best Christmas present?”
“The special edition ofPride and Prejudiceyou got me.”
I grin. I mowed lawns every weekend for six months straight to save up enough money to buy her the book. She used to check it out from the library regularly to reread, and I thought she ought to have her own copy. I bought myself one too.
