Page 18 of Hers for the Weekend

Mom: When can we facetime with you and the new lady?! I need to know her sizes so I can knit her something.

Dad: You said Tara is a lawyer, right? You know we have lawyers in Iowa! I know how your people like to move in together. Maybe consider moving in close to me and your mom?

Dustin: It’s not very responsible of you to be so far away, wandering around doing whatever you want, when Mom and Dad are getting older. They need you here to take care of them.

Ah, Dustin was obviously starting to feel the tightening bonds of family and hoping his older sister would come take over. It was cute that he made it sound like she never came home at all, when the truth was that she just didn’t come home at the holidays, when her mom was at peak sentimentality, and she didn’t stay indefinitely. Or for longer than a long weekend. She fell back against the pillows and closed her eyes in annoyance, until the idea of Tara living and working in small-town Iowa made her laugh so hard her stomach hurt.

No one in the whole Quad Cities could make a decent mint julep or glass of sweet tea.

When Tara returned with coffee in to-go cups and cinnamon rolls from Barb wrapped in napkins, Holly had clothes on and her hair semi-tamed into double Dutch braids.

Everything in the suite had been perfectly packed or put back in its place, including the dolls. She wondered if Tara had, in fact, smuggled one into her suitcase. Knowing Tara, she would probably write Barb a check for it. Holly had never met anyone with a more meticulous sense of fairness.

“I know you’re tired,” Tara said, shaking Holly out of her thoughts, “but do you have any experience driving in snow? It’s not my most practiced skill.”

“Tara Sloane Chadwick, there’s a thing you’re not good at?” Holly teased.

“I’m from Charleston,” Tara said flatly. “It doesn’t snow much.”

Oh, Holly remembered, Tara did not like admitting when there was something she was bad at. Unlike cooking, driving in snow wasn’t even a traditional Southern belle accomplishment. It was almost like Tara was worried any flaw would be used to justify returning the whole woman for a refund.

“Well, luckily, I’m a Midwestern girl, and I could drive us safely through a snowstorm, blindfolded, in my sleep.”

“I don’t think that will be required,” Tara said, handing Holly the keys. “Just get us out of the DMV metro area in one piece.”

Holly flashed Tara a smile that she knew showed her dimples. “As you wish.”

“I hate that movie,” Tara grumbled.

Holly gasped. “Never mind, deal’s off. I cannot even pretend to date someone who hates The Princess Bride.”

“Give me twenty minutes to tell you why, and you’ll hate it, too,” Tara told her. “I’m a very persuasive debater.”

“Don’t you dare,” Holly warned her. She slipped into the driver’s seat, adjusting the position and mirrors, since Tara had driven the last stretch the day before. She leaned the seat waaaaay back to get it to a normal driving angle (Was it years of posture lessons? Why did Tara drive like she was wearing a boned corset? Holly quickly stopped thinking about Tara in a corset), buckled, and reached over for one of Barb’s cinnamon buns, which Tara was holding primly in her lap, trying to avoid getting frosting on her dress, some sort of vintage floral skirt suit.

The dress wasn’t warm enough for the weather today, much less the weather she expected they would find in Upstate New York, and she idly wondered if Tara actually hated Carrigan’s, because she didn’t own any warm clothes and she hated feeling like she’d dressed incorrectly for an occasion. As Holly was thinking this, Tara reached over and turned up the heat.

“These are not as good as your cinnamon rolls,” Tara observed, “but they’re not bad.”

Holly bit into one and confirmed Tara’s opinion. “The orange zest in the frosting is genius, but she’s overproved her dough. I’ll email her my recipe.”

Pulling out onto the road, through snow that was beginning to swirl menacingly, she glanced over. “Not to blaspheme, but do you mind if we take a break from Legendary Women of Country?”

Tara startled. “Oh, of course. The driver chooses the music. I didn’t mean to trap you with eight hours of country yesterday.”

“Please. Linda Ronstadt’s voice is a national treasure. I just think it might be time to mix it up.”

Tara scrolled through her phone. “Um, I have… Beth Ditto, Hayley Kiyoko, Lil Nas X, King Princess, Janelle Monáe, Tegan and Sara, Megan Thee Stallion, Melissa Etheridge, k.d. lang…”

“I’m sensing a trend.” Holly laughed.

Tara shrugged primly. “I am who I am.”

“Give me your best lesbian shuffle mix, bartender.”

The sultry voice of k.d. lang crooning about a constant craving washed over Holly. She smiled. She remembered watching YouTube videos of k.d. singing this song, as a teenager. She slid her eyes over to Tara. “‘You Can Sleep While I Drive’ might be more apt.”

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s on here. The duet, obviously.”

---