Page 102 of Better Late Than Never

“Wow,” Savannah said as we drove through farm country. “It’s a lot… drier than I thought it would be?”

“It’s a lot like Southern California.” I gestured to the left. “Complete with wineries everywhere.”

“Ooh, can we tour one of them?” she asked.

Both of my sons groaned.

“If you guys go to a winery,” Landon declared, twisting around in the passenger seat to eye her, “I’m just buying a bottle and sitting out in the parking lot getting shitfaced while I wait.”

I laughed. “I’ll be right there with you.”

We shared a fist bump. Savannah grumbled something about us being philistines with no class, but there wasn’t any heat behind it.

“Are you guys sure you’re not hungry?” I asked. “We’re still about forty minutes out from my place.”

“I’m good,” Quinn said. “I stuffed my face in Madrid.”

“Same,” Landon said. “Just don’t tell Mom we came to Spain and ate at McDonald’s.”

I snorted. “Secret’s safe with me. I think every American I know ends up eating there when they come through Madrid. It’s familiar, it’s cheap, and you don’t have to worry about it disagreeing with your stomach right before you get on another plane.”

“See?” Landon twisted around again. “See? Dad gets it!”

There was some tsking and muttering from the backseat. I just chuckled. Quinn and Savannah were definitely proud of their more refined and adventurous palates. Landon was adventurous too, and he’d try damn near anything someone put in front of him, but he was pragmatic about it, too. As far as he was concerned, a layover was not the time to try some wildly new dish.

I couldn’t agree more.

“Well, if you’re feeling really adventurous,” I said, gesturing at some exits coming up, “there’s a Taco Bell in Jerez.”

All three kids scoffed.

“Taco Bell?” Savannah asked. “InSpain?”

“Yep. And it’s damn good, too.” I paused. “Plus they serve booze.”

“No shit?” Quinn sounded interested. “They serve booze at Taco Bell?”

“This is Spain, kid. You can get beer at Burger King.”

Landon eyed me. “Okay, now you’re just making shit up.”

“I swear to God!” I laughed. “McDonald’s too! You can order a meal with a beer instead of a soda.”

The kids were oddly quiet for a moment.

It was Savannah who finally said, “I can’t tell if he’s messing with us.”

I rolled my eyes and thrust my phone at Landon. “Look it up.”

He took the phone. Then, sounding more than a little dubious, he said, “Hey Siri. Does McDonald’s serve beer in Spain?”

The phone’s robotic voice replied, “Yes, McDonald’s serves beer in Spain.”

The stunned silence from all three kids made me laugh.

“See?” I said. “I wasn’t messing with you.”

Landon scoffed. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice that when we were in Madrid. Unless that one didn’t serve beer?”

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