Page 14 of Road Trip to Forever
I huff out a laugh and take a sip of my drink before answering.
You’re hilarious, Jones.
I only do crossword puzzles in public. Sudoku is too easy.
How’s your date?
Three dots appear then disappear. Minutes pass, and I tap my foot while I wait for a response. There are conversations happening around me, but I don’t hear them, too busy staring at my phone.
Two out of ten.
At least she didn’t dine and dash.
Or, I hope she didn’t. Maybe the bathroom excuse isn’t real, and I’m dumb enough to believe it.
The bar is low, isn’t it?
The bar is in hell, Patrick.
Gotta run. I’ll text you later!
I double tap the message and click my phone closed, setting it face down so I’m not tempted to pick it back up and heckle her with a million questions. Why is the date so bad? Does she want me to come and grab her so her night can take a turn for the better with our friends?
I’d do it if she asked. It wouldn’t matter how far I’d have to drive.
Lola prefers flings over long-lasting relationships, not sticking around long enough to learn what side of the bed someone prefers to sleep on or if they take milk or cream with their coffee. It’s been like this for years, since we were in our early twenties and she lost her dad to cancer.
It was sudden, barely enough time to say goodbye before he was gone. His death wrecked her. The bright girl I knew faded away and only a shell of herself remained.
And, as if losing the man she admired more than anything in the world wasn’t enough, when Lola was at her lowest point, the most vulnerable she’s ever been, the guy she was dating—for a year and a fucking half—broke up with her at her father’s funeral.
He didn’t want to help her through her grief, he told her, patting her shoulder and handing her a bouquet of wilted flowers.
A metaphor of love, I guess.
I punched him in the nose after the service. The bloody knuckles were worth it.
Lola’s gotten stronger over the years. Therapy helps, but she still carries an anxiousness with her, the fear of letting anyone get too close, too connected, because they’ll leave, too. It’s why she enjoys bouncing from place to place, traveling the world without getting settled or reliant on another person. It gives her an out, an escape for when she needs it.
I know how she operates, but I don’t understand it.
Iwantcommitment. A steady partner. A routine and the same plus-one to all the weddings I’m invited to. Splitting holidays between my family and hers. A life with someone else isgood. It’s fun and it’s exciting and I enjoy knowing a person for longer than a week or two. I like learning their habits and what makes them smile.
I’ve dated women—a couple for a month or two, a few for close to a year. Every relationship has been… okay. Not bad, not great. Amicable breakups and knowing we won’t stay in touch down the road.Almost perfect, nottotally perfect.So close, but so, so far.
The only time I feeltotally perfect,I’ve learned, is when I’m with Lola.
Eating dinner together. Listening to her talk about her day or watching her with a needle stuck between her teeth as she stitches up a hole in one of her dresses. Saturdays with our friends and picnics in the Common. The time we were driving back from Acadia National Park and got stuck in a hailstorm. We parked under a highway overpass for an hour and talked about the stupidest things: If we would rather read minds or stop time. Who the Zodiac killer might be. If pineapple belongs on pizza. It felt like it did when we saw each other every day as kids, andgodI’ve missed those moments.
I’m greedy for her time when she’s in town, always looking for opportunities to see her and finding excuses to stay around her a little while longer. A late train. A second piece of cake even though I’m full and might explode with another bite. Watching a movie she’s excited about despite already seeing it.
Twice.
My mind has turned cruel over the years. Traitorous and imaginative, looking at my best friend in a way that’s going to get me in trouble one day. I’ve wondered how it would feel to press my lips to her ankle, to her shin, to the top of her knee and further up.
The sounds she would make if I kept going.
If she would beg and say please.
