Page 82 of Salty Pickle

“Yes,” she says.

I chuckle and order all three. “Fries with that?”

“Yes.”

“Cheeseburger?”

She laughs. “Nice try.”

We pull up to the delivery window to wait. The sky is bright with colors. “Is it hard to see the sunset in Manhattan with all the tall buildings?” she asks.

“Not if you’re high enough.”

“I see. So, if you’re able to get to the top of a building, then you get to see sunset.” She yawns.

“That’s right.” I pass her the first shake and set the other two in the center console, then balance the packet of fries between them.

I half-expect the goat to protest she’s not getting anything, but when I check my rear-view mirror, she’s lying down in the hay we spread. Both girls are settled.

The highway is quiet as we drive back. It’s peaceful and easy, Lucy munching french fries beside me, sipping from each of the three shakes as she goes.

“You have to try the strawberry,” she says, holding the straw close to my mouth.

I snatch it between my lips. The shake is icy cold and sweet, not artificial tasting at all. “It’s good.”

“It is.”

She turns on the radio, and I expect to hear country or folk come out, but she settles on a top hits station. “They better play some Taylor, or I’ll call in until they do.” She settles down in her seat, resting the cup on her belly.

“What’s your favorite Taylor song?”

“Oh, that’s hard.” She takes a sip as she thinks. “Shake It Off is my mantra, and I sing that one a lot. But probably not my favorite.”

I wonder what she’s needed to shake off, other than her parents. That man from college? People who make fun of her lifestyle?

Did she have to shake me off after our first argument in my office?

But I say nothing, just let her think about it.

She eventually says, “I think it changes as I change.”

“You’ve had a lot of favorites, then?”

“Sure. I’m younger than her, but she’s been a force as long as I’ve been old enough to know what songs can do.”

“What was the first one that mattered?”

“Oh, You Belong to Me for sure.”

“You were a romantic. What were you, thirteen?”

“Twelve. Big year for figuring out your romance aesthetic.”

“I was sixteen when that song hit.”

“You remember your life when Taylor Swift songs came out?” She’s amused.

I remember the song because of the girl I was dating at the time, but I decide not to say that. “I got my driver’s license that year, and it played a lot on the radio.”