Page 18 of The Dating Coach
"This is not going to fit," Henry declared, staring at Karen's third suitcase with the expression of a man facing an impossible physics problem. "The laws of spatial dynamics are working against us here."
"Then we'll bend the laws," Karen shot back, attempting to stuff what appeared to be a portable hair salon into my already packed SUV. "I have needs, Henry. Wilderness needs."
"We're going to my family’s cabin, not the actual wilderness," Frank said, eyes never leaving his mobile game as he sat among the coolers in the back. "There's running water and electricity. Even WiFi."
"Barely WiFi," Karen countered. "What if I need to livestream our inevitable lost-in-the-woods disaster?"
I leaned against the side of the car, ostensibly supervising but really watching Gemma orchestrate the chaos with quiet efficiency. She'd already reorganized half our supplies, creating space where none existed, all while keeping Mia's spirits up with gentle teasing about her overpacked book bag.
"No one needs five books for a weekend," Gemma was saying, though her smile took any sting out of the words.
"Says the person who packed organic chemistry flashcards," Mia retorted. "For a vacation. A literal vacation from studying."
"It's not a vacation, it's a strategic retreat," Gemma corrected, but she was laughing.
"If you two are done debating the definition of vacation," I interrupted, "we should probably hit the road before traffic gets worse."
"Shotgun!" Karen announced, then caught Gemma's look. "What? I get carsick in the back. It's a medical condition."
"That you developed thirty seconds ago?" Gemma asked dryly.
"I'm very delicate," Karen insisted, already climbing into the passenger seat. "Like a flower. A flower that needs front-seat access to the aux cord."
Which is how I ended up driving with Karen commanding the music, Gemma behind me where I could catch glimpses of her in the rearview mirror, and the others crammed in with our embarrassment of luggage. Frank had somehow ended up with a cooler on his lap, which he'd named Wilson and was treating like a traveling companion.
"Road trip rules," Karen announced as I pulled onto the highway. "Driver controls speed, shotgun controls music, and everyone else controls their complaints."
"That's not—" Henry started.
"Shh," Karen interrupted. "Music Queen is speaking. First up, we're starting with the ultimate road trip playlist, carefully curated for maximum sing-along potential."
What followed was an eclectic mix that ranged from classic rock to pop hits to show tunes. By the time we hit an epic six-minute rock anthem, even Gemma was singing along, her usual careful control abandoned in favor of dramatic head movements during the guitar solo.
"Car headbanging style!" Frank announced, and suddenly everyone was moving their heads in unison, except for me because I preferred not to die in a fiery crash.
"You're no fun, Delacroix," Karen accused, then immediately launched into an uplifting power ballad with enough enthusiasm to make up for my lack of participation.
I caught Gemma's eye in the mirror during the chorus, and she grinned at me – wide and unguarded and absolutely beautiful. The sight hit me like a check into the boards, sudden and breathtaking. I almost missed our exit, too distracted by the way happiness transformed her face.
"Earth to captain," Henry called. "Exit 42, remember?"
"I know where I'm going," I said, taking the exit perhaps a bit faster than necessary.
"Do you though?" Frank asked. "Because that looked like the driving of a distracted man. A man distracted by—"
"Wilson," I interrupted. "You should make sure Wilson is secure. Wouldn't want your cooler friend getting injured."
"Don't bring Wilson into this," Frank said, clutching the cooler protectively. "He's innocent."
The drive to the cabin took three hours, made longer by Karen's insistence on stopping at every "quirky" roadside attraction she spotted. We now had photos at a giant wooden moose, a disturbingly large ball of twine, and something that claimed to be the world's smallest church but looked suspiciously like an outhouse with a cross on top.
"This is definitely cursed," Mia decided at our latest stop, examining a sign for "Mystery Spot – Where Gravity Doesn't Apply!"
"Everything's cursed to you," Gemma said, but she was smiling as she said it. "Last week you said the library coffee machine was cursed."
"It only accepts exact change and makes demonic noises," Mia defended. "If that's not cursed, what is?"
"She has a point," I said, earning a grateful look from Mia and an eye roll from Gemma.
