She shakes her head and inches across the seat toward me. “I wasn’t, though… I was just frustrated because I worry… about stuff…”
My eyebrows furrow as I downshift for a steep hill. “About what? Marriage stuff?”
She shrugs and then looks down at her hands as she picks at her fingernails. “I just don’t want to end up alone. That’s all. I mean, if I don’t have you, then all I really have is my sister, but you know how she is—she barely even has time to talk to me on the phone. And Ella’s got her own life now.”
“You won’t ever be alone,” I promise, reaching over and taking her hand. “You’ll always have me, no matter what happens.”
She presses her lips together and it looks like she’s on the verge of crying. “I just want to make sure that I have you forever… that you and I”—she glances up at me, gesturing her hand between us—“that this will never change because I don’t want it to change. I love being with you, Ethan. Even when I’m filthy and smell like a garbage can.”
It’s midafternoon and the sunlight reflects in her blue eyes, her blond hair is pulled up in a messy bun on her head, and she’s wearing a tank top with no bra and cutoffs. Her eyes are a little wide and have the slightest bit of fear in them because she’s basically handing me her emotions to do with as I please.
She’s fucking perfect and hearing her say that she doesn’t want anything to change between us makes me want to pull the car over and fuck her again and again. Whether I’ll admit it aloud or not, I want this—her and I. I want to travel with her. Kiss her. Touch her. Whenever I want. But at the same time I’m terrified. And I hate that I’m so scared of the idea, the idea of wanting someone so much. Yet, I can’t help it. I’ve been through too much—seen too much with my parents—that I get what comes with wanting someone so much. I’d basically be opening myself up to anything, even heartbreak. And Lila too. And the last thing I ever want to do is hurt her. “I want it too,” I admit, and she releases a trapped breath in her chest. “But I’m also worried… about what we could become. I just don’t want to rush stuff, you know. I don’t want to get so caught up in doing what people think they’re supposed to do, like…” I trail off, getting a little uncomfortable. “Like getting married and settling down… I don’t want to do it too fast and ruin the perfect we have right now.”
She nods, understanding, because I’ve told her enough about my mom and dad and their shitty relationship that she gets my fear of becoming like them. “I know… I’m worried too.” She sits back in the seat and faces forward. “My parents weren’t that great and the last thing I want to do is become them.” She pauses and it makes me nervous, wondering what else she’s going to say. “However, at the same time, I look at Ella and Micha and they’re so happy.”
“I know,” I say, and then frown. “But how do we know that we’ll be happy instead of angry and sad all the time, like our parents? I just want to make sure that I—that we—don’t turn out like them. Hating each other… yelling at each other… hurting each other… I want to make sure that we’re in the right place where we both want the same things.” And I’m not sure I’m there yet.
She swallows hard. “Well, we can’t know for sure—no one can see the future. We just have to be willing to take the risk.”
She waits for me to agree and I want to tell her right then and there that I’m ready to take that risk. That I want to be with her forever, because I know I do, but images of my mom and dad screaming at each other surface and then I picture Lila and me in the same place, yelling at each other because I want one thing and she wants something else. My lips end up staying sealed, refusing to part and just finally say what I want.
I stew in my own regrets for the rest of our journey down the mountain while Lila stares out the window, looking sadder the more time goes by. By the time we reach the small town at the foothills, it’s getting late. The sky is bright orange and pink as the sun sets behind us. The few buildings, gas stations, and houses lining the street are shadowed by the mountains and the town is pretty quiet, only a few vehicles driving up and down the street.
“Do you want to stop at that café up there?” I ask, pointing at a small neon sign at the entry to Dina’s Café and Diner. Then I force a smile, even though it hurts. “I’m sure you’re getting sick of canned food and Pop-Tarts.”
She shrugs, finally looking at me for the first time since we stopped talking. I realize she’s had her head turned because she’s been crying. The evidence of it is all over her bloodshot eyes and red, streaked cheeks and it’s all my fault.
“Dinner sounds good, I guess,” she says, her voice strained.