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↺ 018 : road trips & warning labels

"Nope."

"You know what I'm talking about."

"No, not really."

This was starting to frustrate me. "I'm still sorry."

"I'm sorry, too."

My curiosity got the best of me. "What for?"

"Remember karaoke night? I'm sorry about what I said. And the day you pretty much ran from Sweet Cube, I'm sorry about that, too. I feel like we were both being immature."

I twirled a few loose strands of hair. "How does acknowledging any of this help us move forward?" I thought I had it all figured out, but I didn't have it together at all.

"It doesn't. That's our job. As people." He met my eyes and smiled. "Might not be easy." It was never easy. "But if you're down, we could take this a little further. Move forward. Next level ... That sort of thing."

"And that means...?"

"It means we get to use this break to sort things out," he said. But I knew how it was going to go. How it was going to end. And I didn't think he'd like it one bit. "And maybe we can build something from that. Maybe ... Maybe after this, the past won't matter anymore."

He said nothing more, but I could hear his thoughts, clear as day. Maybe after this, there will be nothing holding you back. Nothing holding us back. I didn't know how to tell him he was alone in his yearning.

• • •

"YOU SHOULD COME WITH A WARNING," were his final words to me on that day. I was so exhausted from being in a car all that time that I forgot to ask what he meant.

At least I'd learned something new. I knew now that Nash didn't like to talk while he drove so he wouldn't lose focus. I also knew that he had a soft spot for LANY's what I wish just one person would say to me-he played it on repeat once we figured out how to connect my Spotify to it, thereby tainting my recommendations for all of eternity. Another thing I knew was that he needed caffeine in order to drive for more than forty-five minutes at a time, and that he hated the taste of coffee.

In short, we had to stop for a six-pack of Redbull.

Disheveled and a little out of breath, I hauled my tired self up the steps and onto the front porch, hand poised to knock. I hadn't quite told anyone I would be arriving today. It was supposed to be a surprise. If I just walked in like I owned the place (which I sort of did), I'd catch close to no attention. I wanted attention.

So I rapped my knuckles against the door five times and waited.

"Stop slamming my door like that! You're gonna wake up the entire blo-Lenny!" My mother immediately stopped her screaming when her eyes settled on me. I almost wondered what she saw when she looked at me. "Lenny, you're here." She reached out for a hug, and the rest was history.

In other news, my sister and her boyfriend were yet to arrive, and so four of us were sat at the dining table, hands clasped to say grace. As soon as that ended, Mom launched into conversation, earning the stink eye from my father.

"You know, your brother just got outta p jail."

"Mother," exclaimed said brother, "at least let us eat first."

"Dinnertime is the best time for catching up, Keegan. When will you learn etiquette?"

That was my cue to tune them out.

Despite being away from home for months, I fell back into routine easily. Eat dinner, clear the table, do the dishes (or leave them for Keegan), then go upstairs to my bedroom. Easy. But momma wanted to talk. And I was expected to listen. Or in today's case, talk.