Page 65 of Game Changer
“Are you ever going to tell me where we’re going?” With my feet on the dash, I’m leaning back in the passenger seat while Ethan remains tight-lipped about where he’s taking me. We’ve been driving for almost two hours without a lick of a hint from the signs on the highway.
We stopped at a store before we hit the road, where Ethan bought my favorite road trip snack without having to ask. I didn’t pay it much attention the last time we went on a trip with his family to the Grand Canyon when he came into the gas station with me and never left my side. We picked out our snacks together, and then he snatched the Takis from my hands before I could reach the checkout counter. He insisted his mom told him to pay, but the credit card he used hadhisname on it, not Mary’s.
My heart threatens to burst when I glance down at the Taki bag in my lap, the same flavor and everything. He’s remembered every detail about me, down to my favorite movie and designer brand.
The revelation has those three little words threatening to slip from my tongue until another green sign whizzes past us, drawing me from my stupor. “Sedona?” I ask.
He shakes his head with a smile, reaching over to interlock our fingers. “No. Now, will you stop guessing? You’ll see when we get there.”
~
“You’ve got to beshittingme! Ethan, tell me you’re joking.”
I fell asleep at some point, only to awaken in an entirely different universe.
Las Vegas, Nevada, the party capital of the United States, envelops us at every turn. Neon signs and lights are a tease even though the sun is still up, but the city makes up for it with the bustling of people littering the streets. Different vendors are stationed on corners selling a variety of objects, and the buildings are taller than any I’ve ever seen. I’m craning my neck to try and get a glimpse of the rooftops when I shout, “This is insane! Have you been here before?”
“Uh, no. First time, actually.” Something about his tone seems off, and when I rip my gaze from the view to glance at him, I see a version of Ethan I thought had disappeared for good.
He’s got a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, and his eyes never leave the road in front of him. Cars surround us on every side as we travel down what I’m assuming must be the strip everyone talks about, and although our morning yoga sessions seemed to have helped with his anxiety, he’s told me that traveling is a trigger for him.
“Shit. Are you okay?” I feel like an idiot for not remembering his travel anxiety until now. How could I have forgotten? It makes this impromptu trip more meaningful. Bringing me here is taking a lot of courage from him, and I don’t take it lightly.
He exhales a shaky breath. “I’m fine. There’s just . . . a lot of people here. I’ll feel better once we get to our hotel, but we have a stop to make first.”
~
I assumed the “stop” would be grabbing food from a grocery store for the night or replenishing the gas we’d burned through to get here. I’m utterly speechless when we walk hand in hand into a little boutique nestled in the heart of the strip. It’s girly and pink, with greenery and decor aligning with its aesthetic. The dresses on the racks are so me.
“I don’t even want to ask what we’re doing here.”
“I’m buying you a dress for tonight. Take your pick.”
I whip my head to his. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m dead serious.”
“Ethan.”My voice drops into a whisper as the sales associate makes a beeline for us. “With what money? I don’t have enough to pay you back for this.”
“It’s a good thing I’m not asking you to, then, isn’t it?”
Ihuffand cross my arms over my chest. The last thing I want is to be a charity case, and while he hasn’t given me a reason to feel that way, it’s difficult not to when everything, even the purchase of a new dress, is foreign to me. Goodwills were my second home. Everything I own that’s in my closet is second hand except for the sweater Maddie got me for Christmas sophomore year. My best friend didn’t understand why I cried over it.It’s just a sweater, she said. But what she didn’t realize was that it was the first article of clothing I’d ever owned with the tags still attached.
And now I’m about to add a second piece to my collection.
Ethan, whose hands are still shaking from the anxiety coursing through his veins, squeezes my hand to comfortmeinstead. “I want to do this for you,” he whispers. “I set aside the money I got back from taxes the past few years to have moments like these.”
I scoff. “To buy dresses for women?”
“No,” he replies. “To buy dresses foryou.”
The admission is still hanging in the air between us when the sales associate reaches us and begins rambling about the different sales they’re running. My hand is slick as it clutches his, and I’m unable to say anything when he lets go and ushers me ahead of him to walk with the woman to pick out dresses to try on.
“Is there anything specific I should look for?” I call over my shoulder. I’m overwhelmed by the different fabrics and textures flooding the racks. “Length or color requirements?”
The raspy laugh he gives in response makes the hair on the back of my neck stand at full attention. “I’ve grown quite fond of the color pink when it comes to you, but no, no requirements.” His grin grows wider when I feel my cheeks heat beneath his scrutinizing stare.
“Surprise me, Maya.”
