When I get to my car, I put the call on speaker and place the phone in my lap.
“We’re not doing a big thing tonight, but if you and Derek want to head to Milo’s, we’re going to order some food and celebrate with our parents,” I tell her, starting my car.
“Derek! Put your shoes back on. We’re going to Milo’s!” she calls out before she lowers her voice again to let me know they’re on their way.
We each exchange a “love ya, bye!” and end the call. Before I pull out of my parking spot, I put Taylor Swift on the stereo for the drive home. Milo would have rolled his eyes at my choice of celebration music, but the video evidence of him and Derek singing every single word of “Style” at the top of their lungs at the concert we went to last summer proves my MVP likes my favorite singer a little more than he likes to let on.
I’m able to get out of the parking lot in no time, but the triumph of my quick exit is quickly diminished when I find myself sitting in the middle of bumper-to-bumper traffic on the main road leaving the stadium. It should only take twenty minutes to get to Milo’s house—my house—but in this congestion, it would be closer to double that.
After a half hour of stop and go, I make it to the four-way intersection that leads to the highway. Once I’m on the highway, it should only take about fifteen minutes to get to Milo’s. He lives in the same town as the stadium, he’s just on the other side of it. If I weren’t competing with thousands of people trying to get home, I would go straight through and take the more scenic route.
When the light turns green, I accelerate ahead… and then everything goes black.