Page 72 of The Accidental Honeymoon

“There’s still time. Still lots of time.” She pins me in place with her eyes.

Yeah, we’re going to have the talk about feelings soon.

twenty-five

CALLA

“I’m wearingthe entirely wrong shoes for this,” I mutter.

The field is a swamp of enthusiasm, mud, and poor decisions waiting to be made. People in bright orange jackets wave the slow-moving line of cars to open parking spots. When it’s finally our turn, Jay parks his SUV as I peer out the window into the sunlight. It’s bright and unseasonably warm today. Great weather for a demolition derby. Or so I assume; this is the first one I’ve ever been to.

We step out into the mire. My Converse soak through immediately.

“Perfect.” I cringe, but soldier on. This isn't my first time trashing my Converse.

"Calla, are you sure you're up for this?" Jay’s handsome face is etched with something that might be concern. Maybe it's just the sunlight playing tricks, though.

"Are you kidding? This is like a slice of home," I announce. “Seriously, it reminds me of my mom and dad. You haven’t met my parents yet, but they’re very… entertaining.”

Yet? I say that as if Jay will meet them any day now. In reality, I’m just praying that video of me drunkenly marrying Jay never makes it to Facebook. That’s where my parents hang out.

We trudge over to the main event. In the center of the bracket of stands, a large field of mud stands at the ready. All around it is pure chaos. The 'Smash 'n' Bash Extravaganza' is in full swing, featuring men with beer guts and trucker caps, women in cutoff denim jackets, and more muddy cowboy boots than I can count.

The air smells of wet grass and cheap lager. I take a deep breath.

Jay looks skeptical, but willing to be convinced. "I thought you hated this kind of thing."

"I have a complicated relationship with redneck culture," I say, shrugging. "On one hand, ew. On the other, I am from Georgia. Some part of me can’t help but love it."

Jay’s film crew appears and starts trailing us, hoping to capture every awkward step in a mud puddle and every sidelong glance between us. I can't help but think about how they’ll edit this later. They’ll cut and splice until we look like a perfect, happy couple.

We slosh our way toward the makeshift stadium. Thousands of fans are already filling the bleachers. An announcer's voice crackles over the PA system, hyping the crowd for the first round of vehicular mayhem.

“Can we stop for a snack?” I ask.

“I offered you some trail mix in the car!” Jay looks at me like I’d just kicked his shins.

“I want real food.” I feel my cheeks burning. “I can buy my own popcorn if that’s the issue.”

He pulls out his wallet and eyes me. “I just want you to live past forty.”

“And I want to enjoy the time I have on this planet.” I hold out my hand, scrunching my fingers. “Gimme, please.”

His lips twitch with humor as he hands me a stack of twenties. We line up at the concession stand. It’s a rickety setup of folding tables and mismatched coolers stocked with cans of soda and plastic-wrapped hot dogs. Jay buys a bottle of water. I ask for a Coke and a hot dog.

He takes a swig of his water, his eyes flicking to me and then away. "Calla," he starts.

I already know what he's going to say. Or at least, I hope I do. I don't think I can take him apologizing. "Yeah?" I reply, paying close attention to my hot dog.

He hesitates, running a hand through his perfectly tousled hair. "About last night?—"

The PA system roars to life, drowning him out. I flinch at the sudden volume. Jay just sighs and looks toward the track. A convoy of battered sedans and pickup trucks are lining up for the first event. The crowd surges with anticipation.

Yup, this is happening all right.

I stand on my tiptoes to reach Jay’s ear. "We should find our seats," I yell over the din.

He nods and starts to lead me up the slippery bleacher steps. A couple of times he pauses, making sure I am following him closely.

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