by J. Saman
“Mom, I’m not driving a stranger across the country.” I’m trying to be firm here, but she’s not listening. She’s already decided on this, and I can feel her itching to run over to the phone to tell this Jessica woman—whom I’m certain I’ve never met—about the ride I’m giving her son.
“You know him. I just told you,” she huffs, annoyed that she has to repeat herself. “You met him when you were six.”
“Right. Let me amend that then. I’m not driving across the country with a man I don’t remember,” I widen my eyes for emphasis.
“You are. It’s the friendly thing to do, and if you’re going to be traveling in a car across this god forsaken country, it’s much safer if you do it with a man. I won’t take no for an answer, young lady.”
“Mom. No,” I stomp my foot like a small child because that’s how she makes me feel.
“It’s done.” She’s smiling like she just won. “I’m calling Jessica now and telling her that you’ll pick him up in three days. His name is Ryan and he’s a very nice young man. A computer whiz or something.”
Have I mentioned that my mother is mad old-school? Like she thinks that this is the 1950s or something. Even her furnishings are reminiscent of that era, and not in a cool mid-century modern way, but in a very floral, ugly, grandmotherly way.
“Mom. I don’t feel comfortable driving with a man I don’t know for several weeks.” It’s my last ditch effort. “Please understand that I can’t take him.”
“Katherine,” she grabs my shoulders again, leveling me with her most serious motherly expression. “If you don’t travel with him, then I will be calling you eight times a day at least to make sure you’re safe.” She means it. Shit. She just got me, and judging by her smug expression, she knows it.
“Fine,” I huff out, feeling like such an epic failure. If this was a few years ago, she never would have won. Losing Eric and Maggie has taken all the fight out of me.
Now I’m a spineless zombie.
“I have to go finish packing. Text me his info.” I lean forward to kiss her cheek, which she accepts stiffly. Maybe this guy won’t want to drive with me anymore than I want to drive with him.
“I’m going to call Jessica now.” She’s bubbly sunshine and now all I want to do is go home and crawl back into bed for the rest of the day.
And that’s exactly what I do. I go home, shut off all the lights and close the curtains, making the small apartment as dark as it’s going to get for this time of day. I hate this bed. I hate this apartment. I hate this life. So I sleep, ignoring the phone calls and chimes to indicate voicemails and text messages.
I wake an untold amount of time later to the familiar feeling of a vice wrapped around my chest. I dreamt of them again. Of the time that Eric and I took Maggie to the playground and she went down the slide by herself for the first time. The look of pride and triumph in her eyes is something I will never forget.
I drive by that park every day on my way to work. Followed by the ice cream store that we went to after the park. It’s the same place that Eric took me for our first date when we were twelve and then proposed to me nine years later.
It’s the same place they were on their way to the night of the car accident.
That’s why I need to get out of here.
I will never be able to move forward if my grief is constantly holding me back—at least that’s what my therapist says. In my gut I know I’m running away. I know this, but I have to.
I miss them too much. I can’t take it anymore.
Instead of getting easier, it’s getting harder, and I find I have to remind myself of my morning promise more and more throughout the day.
I don’t want to die. I just don’t want to live without them.
I don’t know how to live without them.
Eric and I met when we were twelve, when he moved into the neighborhood with his parents and older sister. And even though we were impossibly young, I think I fell in love with him instantly. He married me ten years later on the anniversary of our first date, and then a year later, we had Maggie.
Life was perfect.
We were happy.
Rolling over, I grab my phone and see that I have two text messages and one missed call, with a voicemail from an unknown number. I check the texts first and see that one is from Maya and one is from Ellie.
Ellie and I used to be best friends, and then the accident happened. She couldn’t handle my grief. I think it made her uncomfortable. And I get that. Grief makes people uncomfortable.
Deal with it!
It’s not exactly like I am having the fucking time of my life.
She completely bailed on me without a word and any time I run into her, I get the pity eyes.
Let me tell you, there isn’t much worse than those, because no one wants pity. Someone to listen? Sure. A shoulder to cry on? Absolutely. But pity is the worst, and that’s all I get from her. That and her talking about me behind my back. So when her text says, Heard you’re moving away. I think that’s a smart idea. Good luck with your life, I don’t respond. I mean, what can I say to that anyway? Thanks? Yeah, no.
Maya, on the other hand, is a good friend. One of the few who can tolerate being around me. Even my nursing friends can’t handle it. People talk shit about you when you’re happy, but they cannot stand you when you’re miserable. They treat you like it’s contagious.
I need out of this place, like yesterday.
Maya wrote that she’s bringing over wine tonight. I knew I liked that girl for a reason.
Finally, I get to the missed call. I hit the button to listen to the voice message and put the phone on speaker so I don’t have to move my position to hear it. An unknown male voice comes out of the speaker.
“Hi, I hope this is Katie Taylor—” No one has called me Katie since I was a child. Which suddenly gets me thinking. “My mother, Jessica Grant, gave me your number. She said that according to your mother, you offered to drive me out to Seattle. I have no idea if my mother was fucking with me or not—she can be a bitch like that—but if she wasn’t, please give me a ring back. If she was, then I’m sorry to bother you. Later.”
And then he hangs up and I have to just laugh at that.
This guy actually called his mother a bitch. Who says that on a voice message to a complete stranger? Then there’s the fact that he wants me to call him back if I’m willing to drive him. That means he’s interested in riding with me.
I don’t exactly know what to do with that.
I was sorta banking on him not being into it.
The way I see it, I have two choices.
Choice one: Call this guy back, offer him a ride and give it a shot.
Choice two: Don’t call him back and deal with my mother incessantly calling me all the time—which she will.
My fingers come up to the pendant resting flat against my sternum. I really don’t have a choice, do I? I’ll go insane with my mother calling me, and maybe I can just drop this guy off in Seattle and then be off on my own way. Or maybe I’ll make him crazy after a day and he’ll run for this hills.
Crap.
I hit his number before I can talk myself out of it, and the phone rings exactly three times before his voice fills my ear. “Katie,” he says like we’re old friends.
“Yeah, um. Is this Ryan?”
He chuckles softly into the phone. “Obviously it is, since you called me and I picked up using your name.”
“Right.” I close my eyes feeling just a little stupid and annoyed. So not digging the sarcasm. “And it’s just Kate. I haven’t been Katie since I was a child.”
“Sure. So was my mother fucking with me or what?”
“Can I ask you something?” I throw my arm over my eyes because this has to be the oddest conversation of my life and we’re only a minute into it.
“Shoot.” His tone is light and casual.
“Is driving across the country with a complete stran
Another chuckle rumbles through. “You’re not a stranger, Katie. We met once before. I was ten and you were six.”
I sigh. “It’s Kate, and I realize that according to my mother we’ve met before, but that was twenty-one years ago and I have no memory of you.”
“Well, I remember you, so to me that doesn’t make you a stranger.”
Okay, we’re going around in circles here. This guy is already pissing me off; no way I could tolerate being in a car with him for several days on end.
“Is that your way of saying yes?”
“Sure,” he says this like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Why the hell not? Beats the shit out of renting a car and going solo.”
“But you don’t even know me,” I’m practically pleading now. Why am I the only one who thinks that this idea is insanity?
“My mother told me a little about you, but she got that from your mother, so I’m going to reserve judgment since my mother is bat-shit crazy, and I’m assuming yours is as well.” I have no response for that. “Listen. I don’t have to be in Seattle for another four weeks. I’m up for a road trip if you are. Come to Philadelphia and meet me. If you can’t stand me, then no hard feelings and we’ll go our own way. Sound like a plan?”
I sigh. He makes some sense.
“I can do that. Text me your address and I’ll be there in three days.”
“Awesome. Later.” He hangs up and I toss my phone on the bed beside me, wondering what the hell just happened.
Chapter 2
Kate
I have no recollection of ever stepping foot in this city, though according to my mother and Ryan, I was here when I was six. Great. That means nothing to me.
Ryan texted me his address two days ago and said he was up for an adventure. Adventure wasn’t really part of my plan. This was more about escape, followed by trying to find a place that seemed like a good fit where people won’t stare at me like I am some horrifying creature.
So I’m sitting in my hotel room, chopping my nails to the quick as I debate whether or not I’m going to drive to his house or just go on my own.
All you have to do is meet him, Kate.
Right. That’s not exactly helping.
The idea of traveling across the country and having to share my time with another human isn’t appealing.
I need this time. I need this space, and I don’t want to answer or have to listen to another’s opinions on shit.
And he seems like the type of guy who has opinions.
I look over at the clock on the bedside table. 8:47. I’m supposed to be there at nine. I need to leave now if I’m not going to be late. I hate being late, even for strangers that I don’t want to meet. A frustrated crazed huff leaves my mouth, before I grab the suitcase I brought up and head out the door.
I’m pulling up in front of a moderately sized house in a decent neighborhood exactly twelve minutes later, but I sit in the car just staring at the house for another five. Finally, the front door opens and a woman with very dark brown hair stands there and stares at me.
Shit.
I’m creeping people out and the last thing I want is for someone to call the cops on me for sitting in my car.
The door shuts behind me with a quiet click, and I find myself trying to smile for this woman who is practically beaming at me like we’re long lost friends.
Her dark, almost black hair is cut very short and styled perfectly. Not even the strong wind is able to blow a hair out of place. As I get closer, I see her eyes are an intensely bright, vivid jade. They’re stunning, and she’s an exceedingly attractive woman, but her face rings zero bells in my head.
“Hello,” she coos, her arms outstretched like I should embrace her. I do, but awkwardly and with as much distance between us as I can manage.
She’s the opposite of my mother it’s not even funny. How these two are friends I’ll never know.
“I’m Jessica Grant,” she says, holding me at arms-length and examining me up and down. “My god,” she shakes her head, her hair unmoving. “You’re just darling.”
I smile. “Thank you.”
“You’ve grown into such a beautiful young woman.” Her smile drops into a knowing frown and I don’t want to hear the next words that I know are coming out of her mouth. “It’s such a shame about your family,” she says this with no remorse in her voice. She may as well have been lamenting about the weather. I don’t respond. Anything I say will not be polite, and I’m not usually in the habit of being a bitch to elderly strangers.
“Mom. Back off.” A male voice startles our little moment, causing my eyes to flash over to the front porch. A guy who can only be this woman’s son is standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, and an annoyed expression marring his face.
He’s tall. Like giant tall. Well over six feet. His hair is as dark as his mother’s, and sort of all over the place in a way that says he just rolled out of bed and didn’t bother to brush it into submission. His eyes are also the same jade green, but his are encased in dark-framed glasses. A moderately thick beard lines his jaw, but not in an unkempt way.
His face is handsome, no denying that.
“No one is in the mood for your bullshit platitudes.” Well shit. I’ve never heard anyone speak to their parent like that. Ever.
I absolutely cannot help the small smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. “It’s fine,” I say, waving off her feigned look of horror. Whether it’s directed at me or her son, whom I assume is Ryan, I have no idea.
“I meant no harm, dear,” his mother snaps, still looking at me. I smile, because this is just getting worse by the minute. “Please come in and meet my son,” her voice drops with obvious aggravation when she says the word son. Would it be too weird if I just ran for my car and fled?
“Thank you.”
Ryan is standing there with his large arms crossed over his larger chest, eyeing me like I’m either the answer to his prayers, or the reason for his eternal damnation. Hard to gauge actually.
“I’m Ryan,” he says as I approach the porch, his hand outstretched now to shake mine.
“Kate,” I say, slipping my much smaller one into his and allowing his entire hand to engulf mine. I swear this guy makes me feel pint-sized.
“Nice to see you again, Katie. Come in and I’ll grab my shit.” He opens the screen door and I freeze. I thought he said he were going to talk about this first?
“Um.” He doesn’t stop walking so I’m forced to follow. “Ryan?” I call out because suddenly he’s gone. Like, nowhere to be seen, gone. There is an older man sitting on a recliner in front of the television, watching college football and completely ignoring me. “Hello,” I say hesitantly, looking around hoping to be rescued, but by what I’m not entirely sure.
“Oh, don’t mind him dear,” Jessica says, waving him away like he doesn’t exist. “Ryan will be out in a moment. Can I get you a drink? I have vodka, gin,” she starts to list on her fingers. “Oh, I can make bloody Marys.”
“No thanks. I have to drive.” And it’s nine in the morning, I don’t add.
“Another time then.” She walks away from me into what I assume is the kitchen area and I’m left standing in the middle of the room with a mute watching television and waiting on a guy who assumes he’s already traveling with me.
How did I get here?
And the worst part?
My first reaction is that I’d love to tell Eric all about this because he’d get the biggest kick out of it. My fingers go up to my necklace, rubbing it gently, hoping for some comfort to ebb the familiar empty twist of pain.
“All right, Katie. I’m good to go,” Ryan says walking back into the room with a large suitcase. That’s it. The guy is moving across the country and only has one suitcase. I guess I can’t talk since I only have two boxes and two suitcases, but still.
“I thought we were going to talk about this first?” I hedge, looking down at the dark green carpet before craning my neck to meet his eyes. “You know, to see if we’re on the same page with this trip and everything?”
“Look,” he sighs, running a hand through his messy hair. “I need to get to Seattle in around four weeks and I don’t fly,” he says that last part firmly. “You’re driving around the country. I’ve always wanted to do that, and you seem like a nice chick.” His arms cross against his chest again. “I’m not overly chatty, open to pretty much anything except country music and have enough money that this could be a lot of fun. You in or out?”
I cross my arms to match his stance. “What’s your opinion on classic rock?”
“Could take it or leave it.”
“Do you smoke?”
“No. Do you drink?”
“Anything except beer and gin.”
He tilts his head considering my answer. “I guess I can live with that.”
“I have a list of places I want to visit, and I don’t do nasty ass motels that never wash the linens.”
He nods in agreement. “I’m cool with both of those stipulations, as long as they include D.C., New Orleans, Vegas and SoCal.”
All seem reasonable and were already on my list.
And he’s tall and foreboding.
He could kick the ass of anyone we came across. As much as I hate to admit it, traveling across the country by myself is not the safest. I sigh internally, because I have no idea what I’m in for with this guy.
“All right. Let’s go.”
“Awesome,” he grins. “I won’t even complain about the Prius.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Smart move.”
“Yeah. Though I’m sure it’s super fun to drive and all, I guess the whole saving on gas thing is a good idea.”
“It’s not bad. You’ll be pleasantly surprised,” I grin back.
“Katie.” He tilts his head like I’m crazy. “I’m six-foot-three. Something tells me that pleasantly surprised with regards to riding in a Prius across the country is not what I’ll be feeling.”
I shrug. “Yeah. Maybe not. But that’s the situation so…” I trail off, turning away from him and heading towards the door past the strange, mute, football-watching, older man.
-->