Page 82 of Road Trip to Forever
“That one. She asked, ‘When are you the happiest?’ And I didn’t have to think very hard about the answer. I immediately said, ‘When I’m with Patrick.’ She leaned over, patted my hand with those four rings she wore across her fingers and said, ‘Then you have nothing to worry about. It’ll all work out.’”
“Are you?” he asks. “Still happiest when you’re with me?”
“When I’m with you, Patrick, I’m the happiest person in the world. I feel like I can fly.”
He nods and wraps his palm around mine, intertwining our fingers and squeezing once. Our joined hands drop to his thigh. “I’m happiest when I’m around you too, Lola,” he says. “When I’m with you, I’m invincible. I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”
It’s not an outrightI love you, but it’s close because it’sPatrick, and those words are worth more than any weight of gold.
* * *
“I needyou to close your eyes,” Patrick says.
He taps his hand on the steering wheel to the beat of a song, a nervous energy thumping through the cab of the Jeep. He keeps checking the clock and the watch on his wrist, or his phone at a stoplight, as if the time is going to be different between them.
“Okay.” I close my eyes tight. “Whatever it is, I’m already excited.”
I hear the turn signal click on. We make a left, then a right, and then a left again. The car slows to a gentle roll, then shifts to park.
“Stay there,” he says.
“Couldn’t go anywhere if I tried,” I answer. As tempted as I am to cheat and look at my surroundings, I follow his instructions and wait until my door opens.
“One step down.” He guides me to the sidewalk. “There you go. We have a short walk, then you can look.”
“A short walk? Plenty of time for a question from theis your travel partner a serial killer? list. If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?” I ask. “You’d stay in Boston, right?”
“I don’t know. Lately I’ve been thinking I might want to branch out a little. See the world,” Patrick says.
“Like Rhode Island and Connecticut? New Hampshire would be cheaper. No state tax.”
“No.” He laughs and maneuvers me around a bump on the pavement. “I’m talking about a trip. Maybe next time you go somewhere abroad, I could tag along for a few days if it were okay with you.”
Never in the fourteen years that I’ve been traveling has Patrick ever come with me on a vacation out of the country.
We made vague plans once in our mid-twenties. The year after my dad passed, I needed a distraction and to get away.
We decided on England since it was close, a short six-hour flight from Boston. We’d take the train to Brighton. Eat fish and chips. Visit Buckingham Palace and Camden Market. Stop by Daunt Books and the Waterstones that’s five stories tall.
The closer we got to our departure date, the less enthusiastic Patrick was, so I wasn’t surprised when he asked if we could raincheck. Seven days away from home is a long time for someone who craves the familiarity of consistency and order.
He had to get ready for the school year, he told me. A first-time assistant principal with a laundry list of to-do items. Bulletin boards. Safety protocols. Updating the filing system from paper folders to digital copies.
We never rescheduled.
“You want to take a trip?” I ask, almost opening my eyes in surprise.
“I do,” he says.
“I would love that. Of course you’re welcome on my trips. Whenever you want.”
“Okay.” He squeezes my hand. “We’ll plan something. I’d like to visit Japan. I know you’ve already been, so I don’t expect you to—”
“I’d go again,” I say right away. “With you. It would be more fun with you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I nod, then grin. I can’t see him, but I know he’s grinning right back. “Let’s go to Japan.”
