Chapter 27 Bird
BIRD
I’ve been planning this for three weeks.
All I’ve told her is, “It’s a surprise” and “Bring your overnight stuff.” I’m taking a huge chance, because after a full week of arguments and an unrelenting string of no’s from Mom about borrowing her car, I’ve decided to do something I’ve never done before: ask Daniel instead.
I explain/lie that it’s Jessa’s birthday and I want to take her to see her favorite artist.
“Even though the concert is three hours away, it’s okay because I aced my driver’s ed class last year, and we’re meeting up with Charlie since the concert is only five minutes from him, and I’ve already arranged for us to stay with him overnight, so we won’t be driving back tired.
” I try to cover all my bases because I don’t know for sure what exactly Mom’s biggest issue is with this weekend.
If it’s relinquishing control over her car, or if it’s that she just doesn’t want me driving so far, or if it’s the fact that I’m going with Jessa.
Or maybe—and I suspect this might be the real reason—she doesn’t want to relinquish control over me.
Before he can respond, I suck in another breath and continue my practiced pitch.
“His roommate isn’t going to be there, so nothing to worry about on that end.
We’ll be driving during the day, and besides, Jessa has a cell phone.
I’ve been saving all my money for this one weekend and I already bought the tickets.
It’s all worked out. But if I asked Jessa to drive us, then it would ruin the whole surprise, and then we might as well not even do it. ”
I pause to see if he takes the bait; he’s still got that awkward thinking face he makes.
“And also, Daniel,” I add, pulling out every last thing I have in my arsenal, “didn’t you let Liv use your car to drive to Garrett’s family reunion two hours away last spring?”
I don’t leave him any solid reason to deny my request. If he says no at this point, then it can only be for one reason: I’m me and not Liv or Bailey or Aimee or Ava.
Because as much as we like to pretend there’s no difference and we’re just one big happy blended family, he has never—not even once—told either me or Charlie that we can call him “Dad.” Liv doesn’t call my mom “Mom” either, but that’s because she has a mom who’s still in her life—not as much as she wants her to be, I’m sure, but she’s there, at least. Charlie and I haven’t had that in a long time.
“Okay, Birdie. I honestly can’t think of any reason why not,” he finally answers, and I don’t know if he really means that or he’s just thinking the same thing that I was—if you say no, it proves you don’t think of me as your daughter. “I’ll deal with your mother; don’t worry about it.”
I fuel up Daniel’s car at the gas station near Jessa’s house.
I clean all the windows with the dirty/soapy water squeegee thing by the pumps.
I go in and buy us two very special gourmet gas station crappuccinos, two bottles of water, a giant pouch of overpriced beef jerky, a bag of chips, and a sleeve of waxy chocolate-covered doughnuts for the road.
At the register, I spot a cardboard display of small foil balloons mounted on plastic sticks.
They say things like HAPPY ANNIVERSARY and CONGRATS and HAPPY BIRTHDAY.
I grab the birthday one and add it to my order.
In the car, I pull my black permanent marker out of my bag and write UN- with a little arrow in front of the word “Birthday.”
Even with all that stalling, I arrived at nine forty-five instead of ten in the morning, like we planned.
I wanted to leave early in the day, even though it’s only three hours away and the doors won’t open until seven.
I don’t want to waste a single minute of this rare weekend of freedom by not being together.
I wait in the car for a couple of minutes outside her house before I decide I should probably just go up and let her know I’m here.
I ring the bell, and I almost don’t recognize the girl who opens the door.
Mack. Except this is not the Mack I met that night at Touchstone.
This Mack is clean and fresh and bright, and her hair is shiny and falls loosely over her shoulders.
She isn’t wearing any makeup, and it strikes me that she could be one of those au naturel, clean-faced Neutrogena models like Jennifer Love Hewitt.
“H-hi, hey, Mack,” I say.
“Um… hi?” she responds, looking confused. “Do I know you?”
“Um, um, n-not really. I’m Bird, Jessa’s friend? We met like a month or so ago?”
“Oh.” She nods slowly, but I can tell she doesn’t recognize me. “Sorry. Uh, yeah, come in. Jessa’s… somewhere.”
And then Jessa appears behind her sister. “You’re early!”
“Yeah, I couldn’t wait.”
“Mack, did you meet Bird?”
“I guess I did,” she says. “So where are you two going?”
“I don’t know,” Jessa tells her with a shrug.
“It’s sort of a surprise,” I whisper.
“Let me go grab the rest of my stuff and I’ll be right back,” Jessa says, and jogs off, leaving me and Mack alone in the entryway of their house.
She sizes me up as we stand there, and grins a little. “So, how long have you and my sister been friends?” she asks, and I can’t be sure, but I think she might be asking something else.
“N-not too long,” I answer. “We met right before the school year started, but it feels like a lot longer than that.”
She nods and hmms.
“Um,” I begin, keeping my voice quiet, “can you keep a secret?”
She steps closer to me; her eye contact is intense. “Do tell,” she says.
“I’m taking her to a Tori Amos concert up near Bentley Falls College.”
“Good job, Bird.” Her smile is enormous. “She’ll love that.” Just then, Jessa comes into the room, and Mack makes like she’s zipping her lips and throwing away the key.
Jessa sees and draws her eyebrows together, asking, “What did I miss?”
“Nothing,” we both say at the same time.
“Go,” Mack says, gently pushing Jessa toward the door. “Have fun.”
“O-kay,” Jessa says, turning around to look at Mack. “And you’re sure you don’t want me to—”
“Go!” she repeats, and then blows us kisses as she shuts the door on us.
As we walk to the car, I glance back at the house. “She seems good,” I tell Jessa.
She looks over her shoulder too, but when she turns back to face me, she doesn’t look like that makes her happy.
“Yeah, for now,” she mutters. But before I can say anything else, she pivots in that practiced way of hers, her whole demeanor changing seamlessly. “So, no hints, huh?”
“Nope. I told you, it’s a surprise.”
She smiles and shakes her head, looking at our feet for a moment before she speeds off down the driveway toward Daniel’s car, shouting, “Race you!”
She wins.
“Okay, first things first,” I begin, once we’re both in the car. “We have caffeine—or probably more like coffee-flavored high-fructose corn syrup—aaand…” I reach into the plastic bag behind her seat to pull out the gas station balloon. “For you.”
“Happy Un-Birthday?” she says with a crook in her non-pierced eyebrow.
“Yeah, it was a whole deception thing. I told Daniel it was your birthday and that’s why I needed to borrow his car for your surprise.”
“So bad,” she teases. Her fingers tickle at my thigh through my jeans, another tease.
“I know, I know. But this might be one of those rare instances where the end really does justify the means.” And I try to push away the thought of how, more and more, I’m sure that our plan to break up our friends was absolutely not one of those instances.
But I don’t want to spoil our time—our precious time.
“How Machiavellian of you.”
“Thanks… I guess? And second things… um, second. I know you probably brought your own collection, but I bestow upon you all my very best CDs for our little road trip.” I hand over my bag that has my Joni Mitchells and Ani DiFrancos, and that Tori Amos album that we totally scream-sang together start to finish while driving around aimlessly that night.
“You are in control of the radio for the next three hours.”
“Oh my god, yes!” She takes my bag and then reaches into hers to pull out an overstuffed binder full of her own CDs. “Score! Thank you, Daniel’s car, for having an actual CD player!”
“I thought you’d like that.”
“Wait, did you say three hours?”
I nod.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Away,” I answer.
“Mm, I like the sounda that,” she muses as she buckles her seat belt.
I make sure my printed directions are within reach on the dashboard and check all my mirrors before carefully pulling out.
The first hour of the drive, we go through the chocolate doughnuts and crappuccinos and Jessa has taken us on a tour of the highlights of the Velvet Underground’s entire catalogue since the 1960s.
She keeps her hand on my knee or at the back of my neck the whole time, and once we get on the highway, she even leans across the seat and kisses my cheek.
It’s the perfect kind of day. Overcast and cool but not so cold we need the heat on.
Windows cracked for fresh air. I’m feeling so good until I see the construction signs ahead, the roadblock, the neon-orange DETOUR signs forcing us off the only route I’ve planned for.
“Uh-oh,” I say as I reluctantly follow the signs. “We’re lost.”
“The detour?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me see the directions.”
“No, it says where we’re going.”
“Okay, well, how many miles till we were supposed to do something?”
“Like thirty miles, I think.”
“Well, just take the detour for thirty miles and then we’ll assess. Sound good?”
“Um, I—I—g-guess.”
“Hey, even if we do get lost, I don’t mind being lost with you.”
I laugh because it’s true. “Me neither.”
The song comes to an end, and I try to be subtle in my suggestion. “You know, I’m kinda in the mood for some Tori.”