Chapter 5 Rhiannon
RHIANNON
The first ten minutes are awkward.
Not unbearably so, but there’s this silence that feels like it needs to be filled. I focus on driving—the truck handles differently than my car, wider and heavier—and Carter stares out the window at the passing landscape.
Campus gives way to residential neighborhoods, and suddenly we’re driving through a postcard.
Every house is decorated. Not just decorated—committed.
Mountain Springs goes all out for the holidays.
Inflatable Santas wave from lawns. Reindeer made of white lights graze in front yards.
Roof lines drip with icicle lights in blue and white and rainbow colors.
One house has an entire nativity scene with a light-up baby Jesus that’s frankly a little terrifying in its intensity.
A group of kids in puffy winter coats are playing together outside, shrieking.
“It’s like the entire town threw up Christmas,” Carter observes.
Despite myself, I smile. “It’s a lot.”
“It’s amazing. Look at that one—” He points to a house absolutely drowning in lights. I slow the car down. There’s a projection screen on the garage showing a loop of Santa and his sleigh. The mailbox is wrapped like a present. “That electric bill is going to be insane.”
“My mom would love it. She’s one of those people who starts decorating the day after Thanksgiving.”
“Same with mine. My dad pretends to hate it, but he’s always the one on the ladder hanging lights.”
I focus back on the road.
“I kind of love it. It’s fun to decorate.”
He’s smiling now, watching the neighborhoods slide past. “My apartment doesn’t have any decorations. Jake wanted to get a tree, but I vetoed it. Seemed like too much effort when we’re barely there.”
“That’s sad.”
“Nahh, it’s practical.”
“It’s sad,” I insist. “Christmas needs decorations. Even cheap or simple ones.”
“You sound very confident about that.”
“I am. My freshman year, M—someone”–—I bite my lip—“convinced me we didn’t need to decorate our dorm room.
Said it was pointless. We spent the entire December in this depressing beige box while everyone else had lights and mini trees and stockings.
” I grip the steering wheel a little tighter. “Worst Christmas ever.”
“Worse than spending it in a research cabin in the middle of nowhere?”
“We’ll see.” But I’m watching a house with white lights shaped into stars hanging from the eaves, and it makes something in my chest ache. “At least the cabin will have a fireplace. And probably some kind of pine trees outside happening.”
“Nature’s decorations.”
“Exactly.” Despite myself, I smile and I feel something in my shoulders relax slightly.
“For the record,” he says after a moment, “I’m going to try really hard not to fuck this up.
The research, I mean. I know my attendance record isn’t great, so you might not have the best impression of me, but I do actually care about this.
I’m taking school more seriously and everything.
While still being super chill, obviously. ”
I don’t know how to respond. It feels like an olive branch, or maybe a pre-emptive apology.
“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” I manage.
“Rhi.” He waits until I glance at him again. “You can be honest. You think I’m a slacker.”
My face goes hot. “I don’t—”
“It’s okay. I would think that too, based on the evidence.” He leans back against the seat. “But for what it’s worth, there’s usually a reason I’m not in class. And it’s not because I’m hungover.”
What reason? I grip the steering wheel a little tighter.
“Okay,” I say quietly.
We drive in silence for another few minutes. The highway stretches ahead, clear and mostly empty. Snow lines the sides of the road, piled up from the last storm.
“Can I ask you something?” Carter’s voice is careful.
My stomach clenches. “Sure.”
“Why’d you volunteer for this? I mean, Professor Bam made it sound like it’s good for your transcript, but you could probably get research experience a dozen other ways. Why go away over Christmas when you seem to love it?”
I should have prepared an answer for this. Should have anticipated the question. Of course, he would ask.
I consider lying, but it feels so wrong. I settle on a half-truth.
“My family’s really into Christmas.” I pick at my cuticle. “Like, aggressively into it. There are matching pajamas. A themed dessert table. We sing carols. In harmony. This year, it just felt like too much.”
“Yeah.” There’s understanding in his voice. “I get that.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. Just goes back to looking out the window.
The highway hums beneath the tires, steady and hypnotic.
Snow flurries drift past the windshield like lazy confetti, and the mountains in the distance look dusted in powdered sugar.
Carter’s humming along to the radio’s Christmas music, off-key, unbothered, completely unselfconscious in a way I’ve never been in my entire life. He drums his fingers on the dashboard in rhythm.
We’ve been driving for two hours.
Two hours of polite conversation about field sites and mineral compositions, and I can practically feel the awkwardness simmering.
He glances at me, smirking. “You’re thinking so hard.”
I focus on the road.
Not on his green eyes.
“I’m driving through a snowstorm with thousands of dollars’ worth of university equipment in the back. Thinking is my duty.”
“Uh-huh.” He stretches, yawning. “Okay, Professor. How about a game? Keep us awake.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Okay, like...?”
“Two truths and a lie.”
I laugh. “You’re kidding.”
“You’ve never played?”
“Not since freshman year. I don’t go out much.”
Because Matthew wouldn’t have liked it. Not one bit. He wouldn’t have said it outright, though. But he’d be cruel to me for the next few days. Wouldn’t answer my texts. Wouldn’t call. He’d let me know in his own way that this was not how his girlfriend should be behaving.
“Perfect. Time to relive your wild youth.”
I sigh, but the corner of my mouth betrays me. “Fine. But I’m driving, so I go second. You start.”
“Deal.” He taps the steering wheel, pretending to think. “Alright. One—I once got banned from a bowling alley for life. Two—I’ve been to seven countries. Three—I broke my wrist rescuing a kitten.”
I glance at him. “The bowling alley thing sounds way too specific to be fake.”
“Maybe that’s why it’s the lie.”
“Hmm.” I take another second. “You don’t strike me as the world-traveling type. I’m guessing the countries one’s the lie.”
He grins. “Incorrect. Seven countries, baby. My parents love to ‘broaden horizons.’ The kitten story is fake. I’m allergic.”
“You’re allergic to cats? You just plummeted in my personal ranking.”
“Tragic. My one goal in life is to score high in that.” He smirks. “Alright, your turn, Miss Serious Science.”
I grip the wheel tighter, pretending to think. “Okay… One—I got caught sneaking into a lecture hall after hours to use the spectrometer. Two—I once dyed my hair blue for an entire summer. Three—I’ve never been drunk.”
Carter lets out a short laugh. “That last one’s the lie.”
I hesitate just long enough for his grin to grow. “Nope. That one’s true.”
“Bullshit.”
“Believe what you want.” I hide my smile behind a sip from my travel mug. “I’m an upstanding citizen.”
He squints at me. “Okay, first of all, no one who says ‘upstanding citizen’ has ever been one. Second, you totally dyed your hair blue. I can imagine it now. ‘Screw you, mom! I’m sixteen now and I can do what I like, you can’t stop me!’”
I laugh at his impression of teenage me. It’s scarily close to the truth.
“Wrong again. It was purple. For three days. I looked like really a bad anime character.”
He bursts out laughing—real, full laughter that fills the truck and makes something in my chest warm. “Oh my god, that I need to see.”
“There are no photos.”
“There are definitely photos.”
“There are not.”
“Challenge accepted.”
I glance sideways at him. “You’re awfully competitive for a guy who claims to be ‘chill.’”
He shrugs. “You bring it out in me.”
That shouldn’t make my stomach flip, but it does.
The truck feels smaller all of a sudden, the air warmer.
He clears his throat. “Alright, round two. My turn.”
“Okay, Mr. World Traveler. Impress me.”
He grins, eyes still on the road. “One—I once got a tattoo in a foreign country and instantly regretted it. Two—I can juggle. Three—I used to sing in a band.”
The last one catches me off guard. “You? A band?”
“Why is that so hard to believe?”
“Because you seem too chill for that. Bet you don’t know more than three chords.”
He clutches his chest in mock offense. “Cruel. Also wrong. I know at least five chords.”
I bite back a smile. “Tattoo’s the lie.”
He flashes that lopsided grin. “Nope. It’s on my shoulder.”
I bet his shoulders are nice and rounded. And tanned.
“Seriously? What is it?”
He hesitates. “A compass.”
“That’s… actually not that bad. It’s kind of cool. I thought you were going to say you got a Simpsons character or something when you were drunk in Europe.”
“Yeah,” he says softly. “My brother picked it.”
“That’s sweet.”
He looks at me for a second too long before turning back to the window. “Your turn.”
I tap the wheel, trying to steady my heartbeat. “Okay. One—I was almost expelled my first semester. Two—I can’t drive stick shift. Three—I’ve kissed someone in a campus building.”
He laughs. “Nobody learns stick anymore and, you? Expelled? No way.”
“Why not?”
“You just told me how much you like to be organized. Kinda nerdy, kinda not expel-y.”
I gasp. “That’s offensive.”
He grins. “Fine. The kissing one’s the lie.”
“Nope.”
“Wait, you got almost expelled? What the hell did you do?”
“Accidentally set off the fire alarm in the chem lab during a midnight study session.”
“Accidentally?”
“Yep.”
He laughs so hard he almost spills his coffee. “Okay, I take it back. You’re way more interesting than I thought.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” I say, fighting a smile. “I’m an introvert. I don’t want people asking to hang out with me too much.”
He gives me a mock salute. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
The game fades into comfortable silence. Somewhere on this road between the snow and the laughter, I forget to be anxious.
Forget to be perfect.
Just for a minute, it feels easy.
Just for a minute, it feels like breathing.
The silence this time feels different. Less awkward, more... companionable? Maybe that’s wishful thinking.
My phone buzzes in the cup holder between us. I glance down long enough to see it’s my mom. Again.
“I can answer it for you,” Carter says. “If you need to.”
“It’s fine. I’ll call her later.”
Another buzz. Another text.
Carter tactfully says nothing.
“My mom,” I explain, even though I don’t owe him an explanation. “She’s upset I’m not coming home. She doesn’t really understand why I’d choose work over family time.”
“That sounds hard.”
It’s such a simple response, but something about it—the lack of judgment, the lack of advice—makes my throat tight.
“Yeah,” I say. “It is.”
My phone buzzes a third time, and I make a decision. I pick it up and, without looking at the messages, put it on Do Not Disturb. Then I toss it.
“There,” I say. “Problem solved.”
Carter’s mouth quirks up at the corner. “Aggressive and not solving the problem at all. I like it.”
“What about you?” I ask, because it seems only fair. “Family upset you’re not coming home?”
His expression shutters slightly, but he answers. “My mom was disappointed. My dad too. They had this whole thing planned.”
“It sucks, doesn’t it?”
“It was my choice.” He pauses. “Sometimes you just need to not be somewhere, you know?”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I know.”