Page 87 of Backslide
“Hang on,” she whispered at me, a finger in the air.
So I did. Stood there waiting like an idiot. Because I’m a fucking sucker.
“Cara,” she said. “I am literally a professional. People entrust me with million-dollar budgets. Please just have a little faith. Yes. Fine. Bye. No, don’t call me to check in. No, don’t!”
But Cara had clearly hung up.
“God help us all,” Nell groaned, looking up to the ceiling and then at me. “Okay. So, here’s the deal: Cara feels like shit. She and Ben need a day to chill, but they have a bunch of errands they need to do on the coast, like forty-five minutes away.”
“Yeah. I know. I told Ben I’d handle it for them last night.”
“Right,” she said, a hand on her hip. “That’s cute. I love that both of you thought Cara would entrust that task to you alone.”
“Excuse me, but I’m a functional adult. Why can’t I handle it?”
“Well, for one thing, you’re not Cara.”
“Cara doesn’t want to go.”
“Right. So, that’s why she asked me.”
I shake my head at the absurdity of it all. “Okay—so you’re going instead?”
“Yes. But I need a car.”
I shrug. “Okay. You need to borrow my rental?”
Nell bit her lip. Sighed, clearly steeling herself. “Unfortunately, I need your driving skills too.”
I cocked my head to the side. “Wait. Are you one of those New Yorkers who never learned to drive?”
“No!” she protested. “I went to school in California.”
“I know,” I said quietly, because I know that one stings for us both. And suddenly I was reminded of her driver’s ed classes.The ones she mentioned that day when I finally called. After… everything.
I felt like scum.
“I learned to drive,” she said. “But… I haven’t driven in a really long time and I’m rusty. Too rusty to drive those windy roads. It’s John’s day off, and no one else here seems to have a car and no plans today, so… I’m out of options.”
I leveled her with an amused look. “You’re out of options?” Like I was the bottom of the barrel and she wasn’t bothering to pretend otherwise—fair enough. “Hey, thanks.”
“Actually,we’reout of options,” she said, clearing her throat. “Unless you want to call Cara back and tell her we can’t help.”
And so here we are—driving toward the Sonoma coast. In complete silence. And the view, both in and outside the car, is breathtaking.
I have lived in California for a while now. I resisted it at first. Turned down the multiple opportunities that kept landing in my lap, drawing me out here like it was inevitable. I guess because of what the place represented about my past. But, since I finally gave in and made the move, I have fallen head over heels for this state.
And one of the things I love most is how much it changes from place to place. There is so much variation in such close quarters.
People are fond of saying that in California you can go to the beach in the morning and ski in the afternoon. That’s technically true, I guess, though, if those locations are anywhere near each other, the water will be freezing, and the snow will be pretty damn spotty.
But there’s so much more than that here. I have visited deserts to drink date shakes in the shadow of towering dinosaur statues. I have seen Central Coast rocks crowded with gluttonous elephant seals, and old mission towns with Spanish-style porticos above New Age hipster wellness shops. An entire Danish-style fairy-tale town that would makeHans Christian Andersen proud; and the “Garlic Capital of the World” that reaches your nose miles before you reach your destination.
I have seen impossibly bountiful farmers’ markets, perused by world-famous chefs, and mini-mall parking lots crowded with Hollywood types waiting hours for the best soup dumplings, the most luscious al pastor tacos, the most decadent Italian subs. I have eaten pie and burgers in Pasadena and West LA, and burgers from drive-thrus that can’t be beat. I have tubed down rivers and surfed waves in the ocean and taken dusty hikes around reservoirs blocks from art galleries and cool kids boutiques. I have sat below fairy lights in the countryside; and behind home plate all over the state. I have even checked out the LA River, which is nothing like a river at all.
But I have never seen anything in California like this.
Because, for a second, my mind plays tricks, and I wonder if this is the Scottish moors instead.
