Chapter 61
HAPPINESS IS A SIDE OF QUESO
Daphne
Everything about today is the best.
The best.
After hiding out for a few days in the woods, with Oliver learning how to dye my hair and me drawing all over his arms to show him what a good idea tattoos would be in his new life, and us hiking and talking and napping and laughing, we’re back on the road.
He got a new car while he was in town picking up hair dye and my new wardrobe—paying extra for the used car salesperson to not ask any questions about him paying in literal cash—so we’re riding in style in a small hybrid SUV with Angelina Juliana Priestly strapped into a booster seat in the middle of the bench behind us and our winning lottery ticket from back in Pennsylvania in the cupholder between us.
I made Oliver a side bet involving shower sex that I could sneak it into the first car we find with Pennsylvania license plates so that they can redeem it when they get home, so we’re on the lookout for Pennsylvania cars too.
He’s in a Get Cocked T-shirt in honor of our favorite rock band. He’s also wearing a baseball cap for some microbrewery called Brew Dudes, both of which I snagged for him at a thrift shop early this morning.
I’m in a long-sleeved, summer-weight flannel that hides my tattoos, with my now flaming-red hair tied up in a ponytail. My new dye job isn’t bad—Oliver says I’d look good no matter what color I made my hair—and I wish I’d brought my wig.
We have the radio dialed in to the symphonic pop station, and we’re both singing at the top of our lungs, though he’s getting half the words wrong. When I realize he’s doing it on purpose, I laugh until I cry.
He’s excellent at getting words wrong.
Truly, it’s a talent.
The skies are blue, the road’s flat, and we’re headed toward Colorado.
Oliver wants to see a sunrise and a sunset from the top of a mountain, so that’s what we’re going to do. Camp on top of a mountain.
Every time we stop, we both pay cash for gift cards. We’re not giving any money away today—we want to not be recognized—but I have plans for distributing the rest of what Oliver has in the trunk.
“Can I ask you a question?” I ask over a taco lunch that we picked up at a food truck in one of the little towns we drove through.
We’re at a picnic table in a park a little farther down the road.
Our tip wasn’t that big comparatively, but it was big enough that we didn’t want to stay in the taco truck’s parking lot.
He lifts a brow that’s accompanied by a smile. “Now you’re asking if you can ask? This should be good.”
“Prepare for disappointment.”
He laughs and gestures with his taco for me to ask my question.
“You weren’t driving when Kurt flipped his dad’s Maserati, right?”
“I was not,” he confirms before taking a big bite.
“So…why didn’t you drive for so long?”
An old Oliver look, this one straitlaced with narrowed eyes, makes a rare appearance while he chews.
“I’m not going to make fun of you,” I tell him.
“Yes, you are.”
I drag a finger over my left boob. “Cross my heart.”
He’s shaking his head as he wipes his mouth with a napkin, then swallows. “If you laugh, you have to sing whatever song I pick for you tonight at karaoke.”
That’s the other part of our plan.
I found a bar that has a mechanical bull and karaoke.
I’m teaching Oliver to live today.
Or possibly how to crush his balls. But hopefully not.
“Deal,” I say.
He grabs a chip and dips it in the takeout queso container we’ve been sharing. “Did you know the human brain doesn’t fully develop until you’re about twenty-five?”
I blink slowly at him because he’s right.
I do want to giggle a little.
This is turning out to be the most Oliver answer ever.
“I did,” I tell him while my face definitely does some gymnastics moves. “Bea’s always talking about it with her brothers. She only has one with a fully developed prefrontal cortex so far, and he’s kind of a caveman in other ways, so we’re not sure he’s done. The other two, definitely not.”
“Yeah. That’s why,” he says, then he crunches into his chip.
“Because your own brain wasn’t fully developed?”
“Wouldn’t take a driver who was under thirty either.”
I open my mouth.
Then close it.
“Go on,” he says, sounding more bored and irritated than the smile on his lips and the twinkle in his eyes suggest he is. “Ask it.”
“You never let Margot drive you either?”
“Nope.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“Even though girls are smarter than boys?”
Another smile. “Yes.”
“But your brain’s been fully developed for a few years now. You could’ve been driving yourself sooner.”
“Every last ounce of brainpower went into saving M2G from bankruptcy.”
“Bankruptcy?”
“It was bad, Daph. It was very, very bad. We weren’t imminently at bankruptcy, but we were close.”
I munch into my own taco while I mull that over. “No wonder you look so old.”
He laughs again, then throws a napkin at me.
“Boring,” I tease. “If you really want to throw something, throw a chip covered in queso.”
He stares at me, his face doing that thing I’ve come to recognize as him consciously fighting his instinctive first reaction. It’s like he’s actively suppressing the urge to tell me to grow up.
But I think he’s doing that for himself.
Not because I called him boring. More likely because he’s spent a lifetime training himself to suppress his lighthearted side, and he recognizes it, and he’s trying to override habit to get back to who he’s supposed to be.
And that makes my heart hurt for him.
He should’ve always been free to be who he is.
He shakes his head, looking off into the distance, and then he frowns. “What—” he starts.
I turn to look at what has him distracted, and that, my friends, is my fatal mistake.
The giggle hits my ear a nanosecond before Oliver’s finger lands in my ear.
His wet, sticky—“Did you just put queso in my ear?”
I spin back and find him dancing away from the picnic table, laughing so hard he can barely bolt in a straight line.
I grab napkins and rub at my ear—oh my god, I need a shower—and take off after him, laughing too. “I know where you sleep, you jerk!”
“Not if I leave you here.” He dodges around a tree, his entire face split in the widest, happiest smile I’ve ever seen. Eyes glowing.
Having fun.
I chase him all over the picnic area and finally dive into him when I leap over the picnic table.
He oofs as we both tumble to the ground, but when he rolls so he’s on top of me, he’s still smiling.
He brushes a loose strand of hair back from my face, and then he lowers his lips to mine and kisses me until I can’t breathe.
“Forgive me?” he murmurs against my neck after he pulls out of the kiss.
“I’m so proud of you,” I murmur back. “And you owe me a thorough ear-cleaning.”
He snickers.
I crack up too.
Who would’ve guessed that he had this in him?
Certainly not me.
But I’m thrilled to be the one with him as he discovers his playful side.