16. I Got You, Babe
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
i got you, babe
LOGAN
PRESENT DAY
SOMEWHERE ALONG THE CANADIAN BORDER
The week leading up to this trip was only slightly chaotic. In between lectures, comforting stressed out students during office hours, and grading final papers, we were both scrambling to book campsites and hotel rooms. I felt a little guilty typing in my credit card information while one of my students was in shambles at my desk, but I made her a cup of tea so it kind of makes up for it, right?
Chaos aside, everything worked out for the best.
Abi naps peacefully beside me while I listen to a podcast on navigating the aftermath of neoliberal policies. The border is still about half an hour away after a few hours on the road, reminding me that the worst part about living in Emerald Bay is just how far it is from everything else. It can be isolating, but it’s also the place I love most in the world.
When I left New York, I was running from my dad’s death; and from the person the grief was turning me into. Having to be strong for everyone but myself began to take its toll, and one day I looked in the mirror and simply didn’t recognize the man staring back at me anymore.
Dad’s passing was both traumatic, and somehow not, at the same time. We were as prepared as anyone could be; the hospice nurses were incredible, extremely empathetic, and we even had a death doula who walked all of us through the process and made everything more manageable.
But even though I could see inevitability in the distance, no amount of support could have prepared me for the day we finally reached it. Watching that man slip away right in front of me shattered my whole world.
I still remember every detail, the way the wind rustled the trees, the birds outside that seemed to be calling him home, the sun beaming through the window… and the sound of my father’s raspy voice telling us it was okay to let him go. He was my solace, and then he was gone.
Some days, the grief feels so fresh I swear I’ve traveled back through time.
Dad died in July, just after his birthday. He insisted on one last blow-out with all of his dearest friends. The house was packed and even though dad was so sick, he still blasted Springsteen and busted out his best dance moves.
The Devil’s not taking me until I’ve had at least twelve hot dogs and watched some fireworks.
We lit up the sky for him that night.
It was magical, and it was the perfect way for Declan Flynn to say goodbye to the people he loved most.
I sip my coffee, hoping my mind might wander onto something else if I give it some mild prompting. I start with to- do lists I’ve made in my head, books I need to read, papers that need to be graded, and then on to conferences to apply to…
But pretty soon I’m glancing over at Abi again, thinking back to the last trip we went on together: the sociology conference in San Francisco. We only had a couple days, but we made the best of them, finding restaurants with the most incredible food, some key spots from a couple of our favourite movies, and of course riding the trolley.
We even took pictures in front of the Tanner home from Full House .
Admittedly, she was a bit embarrassed when I wouldn’t stop singing the Rice-A-Roni song, but after a few rounds she joined in.
It was one of the best trips I’ve ever had.
I hope this one beats it.
I stop at a drive-thru close to the border to grab another coffee, and get Abi a little apple pie just in case she’s hungry when she wakes up.
The lineup for the border isn’t terrible, but I immediately begin to feel nervous. Whenever I go through customs, they always make me feel like I’m doing something wrong— like there are secretly drugs shoved into my car, or up my ass or something.
Or I get paranoid that I’ve accidentally packed a bomb.
Somehow.
Obviously my anxiety is totally normal.
I always start to over explain things to the border guards, say things they don’t care about… it’s generally a disaster.
But I rehearsed this time. I have a script.
We’re going to a high school reunion and Abi is my Canadian girlfriend. The car is bomb-free, I packed my bags myself, and no officer, I am not smuggling drugs.
Except Advil.
Oh, God, can I bring Advil across the border?
I reach over and tap Abi on the thigh.
“Abi,” I hiss. “Is it illegal to bring Advil into Canada?”
“What?” She groans, lifting her head. “What are you talking about?”
“There’s Advil in my bag. Is that illegal?”
She blinks, struggling to break through her sleep-induced haze.
“No,” she grumbles. “Canadians are generally pretty chill, so your very hardcore drugs are probably fine.”
“Okay, good. Great. I’m just a bit paranoid is all.”
“Could it be because you’re such a goody two-shoes that you get a buzz just standing next to something illegal?”
“Hey, I did the edibles in California!”
“ Did the edibles ?” Abi snorts, finding her bagel and taking a big bite. “Alright, grandpa, I’ll talk. You’re already sweating, you are clearly not cut out for this.”
“Sweating?” I tap my forehead. “Dry as a bone.”
“Yeah, well I give it ten seconds. You’ll be melting down the second the border guard opens his mouth.”
I put my hand on my chest, letting out what I intended to be a disgruntled huff, but it somehow comes out more along the lines of a shocked little squeak.
“I forgot how mean you are when you’re tired!”
She reaches over and boops my nose and I struggle to keep from blushing.
Abi’s reminded me multiple times that the guards’ job isn’t to laugh at my jokes, and my job isn’t to try to charm them, yet as we pull up to the booth I immediately feel compelled to put on a show.
The lady waiting for us, fortunately or otherwise, doesn’t seem like she’s the type to be easily charmed, and I decide to lay off a bit this time. If I had to describe her from memory all I’d probably be able to say is she was the definition of uptight, just a severe bun on top of a permanent scowl.
The process is simple enough. She asks how long we’re traveling for, who we’re visiting, the usual. Abi does most of the talking, even giving the guard her mom’s address when prompted. She’s so together, I think I might have just blanked if the guard asked me anything more complicated than my own name. Even then there’s about a 50/50 chance I’d say it was Abi King without a second thought.
Finally, the border guard asks us how we know each other, and without thinking I move into autopilot.
“She’s my Canadian girlfriend.”
My perfect preparation, coming in clutch.
Abi pinches my thigh so hard I almost lurch out of my seat, but the guard only nods, handing our passports and IDs back through the window.
“Enjoy your trip, folks.”
“Thank you for your service!” I chirp.
And with that, a foot on the gas, and a dream, we officially enter Canada.
“It smells different here!”
Abi chuckles, looking very happy to be returning to her bagel.
“Sometimes it still amazes me how much of a dork you are.”
“True, but you adore me anyway.”
“I do.” She grins, licking some peanut butter off of her thumb. “So I’m your Canadian girlfriend now? That official?”
“It depends, I’ll have to make sure you’re up to snuff first. Don’t want to pick the first Canadian I see now that I’m here, you know? I got options.”
She rolls her eyes, but I can tell she’s grinning as she chows down on the rest of her food. I get it, there’s something pretty magical about a road trip, and I’m definitely feeling whatever that is as I pull us into the gas station.
“Well, I’ve thought it out over a long two minutes, and I’ve decided it would be an honor to have you be my Canadian girlfriend.”
I take her hand, gently kissing her knuckles. Her cheeks blaze and my heart pounds against my ribs.
“Fiancée,” she corrects me with a slight rasp stitched into her voice. “Remember?”
It’s just pretend.
No big deal.
“My mistake.” I give her fingers a gentle squeeze before flicking my head toward the gas station. “Now come on, I wanna buy one of those Coffee Crisp things you were telling me about the other day. You made them sound like God’s gift to the sugar junkie.”
When we get inside, Abi heads straight for the fridge, grabbing a couple of energy drinks and some Gatorades to keep her going for the drive. Meanwhile, I peruse the… extremely distressing candy selection. The Smarties here are… chocolate? And what the hell are Hickory Sticks?
“I don’t understand this country,” I murmur, grabbing both items regardless.
When it comes to junk food I have a mission to find the best of the best, and you can’t rank something if you don’t know enough about it, so it’s fair to say this is definitely going to be some very important research.
As I’m searching for more novelty snacks, I spot one I recognize on the bottom shelf.
A Ring Pop, apple-green.
Abi’s favourite.
And I even think her birthstone might be green. Well, I know it is.
It’s kind of serendipitous.
Our favorite word.
I crouch down, picking it up before glancing over at Abi through the aisle. She’s busy with her own mission: filling up a giant slushie container with as much sugar as she can legally walk away with. I quickly pull the Ring Pop out of its wrapper, hiding it up my sleeve as I strut over to her.
She notices me just as I lean up against the edge of her little kiosk.
“Hi, beautiful,” I purr. “Come here often?”
Abi doesn’t miss a fucking beat, no surprise or haughty little huff, just casually sliding into our usual style of banter.
“To the slushie machine?” She gives a small shrug, her face less than impressed. “It depends, who’s askin’?”
“Me, and— wait a second… What the hell’s behind your ear?”
She’s already in the midst of rolling her eyes as I slip the candy into my palm, deftly pulling it out from behind her ear.
“Oh my god!” I gasp. “You said you needed a ring, right? It must be kismet!”
She sips on her slushie, barely reacting as I slowly lower myself down to one knee and hold it up to her. There’s a brief moment of confusion, and then she realizes what I’m doing, her eyes widening as she quickly looks around the gas station.
I’ve committed to the bit.
“Logan…”
“It’s too late. I’m already down.”
“Logan, you are not ?—”
“Dr. Abigail Autumn King, will you marry me?”
There’s a couple beside the register that’s giving us a… particular look, and I can see the clerk just past them filming us on his phone. I’m hoping it doesn’t go viral, or I might have some explaining to do in a couple weeks.
Abi laughs, a little more nervous than normal, but still clearly amused.
“Logan what are you doing?”
“If you say no I’m not paying for your candy.”
She squeaks, her eyes glittering.
“You’re making me marry you under duress? You’re not even doing a good job of it, anyone else would have gotten up off the floor by now!”
“That’s a yes! You said ‘making me marry you!’ She said yes!”
“There is no possible interpretation of what I said that— Logan! ”
But I’m already out of reach, doing victory laps around the tiny little store as the cashier cheers me on. Abi can barely hold herself together, but she makes a valiant effort as she lets me finish my celebration. I return to her to find her hand outstretched, waiting for me as the two of us dissolve into laughter.
This is so fucking stupid. I’m a 36-year-old man.
I pay taxes. I have a mortgage.
And now I’m back down on one knee, trying to shove a Ring Pop onto my best friend’s finger.
“Well,” she huffs, once again struggling to keep a straight face after I’ve tried and failed for the 5th time to get the ring on. ”Thank you so much for embarrassing me less than 10 minutes back in my home country. Really, I’m sure we’re making an amazing first impression.”
“Well, I’m gonna be your husband,” I reply, getting to my feet and plucking her slushie from her hand. “Humiliating you is the name of the game, right after stealing all your stuff. Haven’t you read the pre-nup?”
As we make our way to the front of the store I grab two bags of gummy worms for the road, and we pay for everything before heading straight out to the car without another word. Inside the vehicle, Abi slips her metallic pentagram off of the small leather cord around her neck, and starts securing the ring pop in its place, tying it carefully around each end before letting it hang loose against her chest.
I smile, popping a gummy worm into my mouth as I start the engine.
“Didn’t think you’d actually wear it.”
“Well, it’s my ring, isn’t it?” She asks with a wink. “Gotta show it off somehow.”