Page 44 of The Now in Forever
A couple hours later,we’re all showered, dressed, packed, and in Ed’s car headed to Portland. Ed insisted on driving since he invited us, but my car looks far more reliable than his white Datsun Hatchback. Anh needs to sit shotgun; the roads are windy, and she gets car sick even on days when she’s not hungover. So, I’m sitting in the back, the ocean whizzing by, feeling the cracked leather seat underneath my fingers. A couple of empty cans of cold brew rattling around on the floor next to me. “I really think we should’ve taken my car. It’s not too late to turn back.”
“Don’t be silly. This car is a tank.”
Anh’s head is leaning against the window, her soft snores almost matching the beat of the song on the radio.
“Must be my riveting company,” Ed jokes softly.
He pushes in an actual cassette tape and pulls onto the highway, Tom Waits droning out of the stereo. It’s so perfectly music he would listen to, I laugh.
“What?”
I bite my lip, finding his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Tom Waits is just very on-brand for you.”
“Come on, now. I’m going to take that as a compliment.” He points to Anh’s seat. “There’s a whole box of tapes under there. You pick something.”
I sort through Dolly Parton, The Clash, Sonic Youth, and a mixtape. I read the list on the paper insert—a lump in my throat forms as I land on the first song by Say Hi. I hand it to Ed, and he pops it into the player. As the first track plays, I wonder if he’ll recognize it from when we met in the bookstore.
He nods as the soft notes hum through the car. “I love this song.”
“Me too.” I smile. “So how long does it take to get there?”
“Probably around two hours or so? Actually, will you turn on the map on your phone so we’re sure we’re headed the right way?”
I type in Posh Hotel Portland, and the little blue line pops up, two hours and twelve minutes. Placing my phone in the center console, I settle back into the seat and watch the landscape change as we leave the coast behind and head through the forest, mossy trees on either side.
The song changes, deep base filling the car.
Boom—boom boom. Boom—boom boom.
Ed smacks the steering wheel to the beat.
As the first words come over the speaker, we both sing along. Unplanned synchronicity. It’s so good. In the chorus, Ed’s voice goes so low, it rumbles something deep in my core.
“Just Like Honey.”
When the song is over, Ed clears his throat. “Hattie, about that night.”
My pulse ticks up. Now? Ed wants to talk about this now, with Anh sleeping in the front seat? “Ed it’s fine. Let’s just forget it, okay?”
“Forget it?”
“Yeah, that night just didn’t mean as much to you as it did to me, and that’s fine. It’s been years. I’m over it. We don’t have to rehash it all.”
“But it did meana lotto me. Wait, you’re over it?”
The car hits a pothole, jostling the vehicle. Anh stirs in the front seat. “Ugh. Mind if I change this?” Anh reaches into the back, and I hand her the box of tapes.
“Knock yourself out.”
Anh puts on Fleetwood Mac’sRumoursand turns it up. “Remember that summer you played this nonstop?”
I nod. “The summer after Chad and I split.”
“Right. That was the same summer we went to Puerto Rico—oh, and you changed your book club pick. The only time we ever allowed it. What was the first one you chose called? Do you remember? It was that one about the guy that stubbed his toe and started the apocalypse.”
Ed and I both say it at the same time. “Vex.”
“Yes! That was it. You know it, too?” Anh asks Ed.
