Page 34 of The Checklist
Mike jolted, the lines on his face vanishing. “That was fast.”
“One of the many lessons I learned from my soros. The art of getting ready quickly and the finer points of Malthusian economics. Although that turned out to be less helpful.” Dylan shrugged and readjusted her scarf.
Mike chuckled, walking into the hallway and standing behind Dylan as she opened the door. Her body and mind resumed their old war over his sudden closeness, with her body attempting to lean in and her mind asking it to stay still and act like she had some semblance of self-control.
“I have something for you,” Mike said, reaching into his pocket and extracting a folded-up square of paper.
“What’s this?” Dylan’s brain stuttered to change gears as she accepted the paper, forcing her to acknowledge that lust and coherence were at opposite ends of the communication spectrum. The laugh lines on Mike’s face deepened as he watched her unfold the page, the top of which read,
A Highly Organized List of Places Dylan Asked Mike to Take Her To
“I didn’t ask you to take me anywhere. You showed up at my house,” Dylan said, over Mike’s laugh.
“I recall you specifically asking for a list.”
“I did. But this title is inaccurate. It should read, ‘A List of Places Mike Recommends Dylan Research.’ The list is basically void with this title.” Dylan laughed in spite of herself.
“I have a pen. You can change it in the car.” Mike smiled, leaning in toward her and nudging her with his shoulder so she was forced to look up at him. “Will that work? Or do you need me to retype it?”
“You’re obviously new to listing, so I’ll accept it ... this time.” Dylan felt herself smiling up at him, despite her most platonic intentions. Folding the paper and placing it in her back pocket, she asked, “Just confirming that the rest of this list is accurate. We are going to the Burke first, correct?”
“Correct. I thought I’d drive, since asking for a favor, then forcing you to sit in traffic feels like bad form.”
“Fine by me,” Dylan said as they crossed the street.
Mike pressed the clicker on the new-model navy-blue Subaru SUV so Dylan could hop into the passenger seat. Of course he would drive this car. She smiled at her seat belt and suppressed a laugh as he ducked into the car. Glancing at her over his own seat belt, he stopped. “What?”
“Nothing.”
Mike arched an eyebrow and began easing the car down the road at a careful four miles over the speed limit.
“It’s just, you would drive this car.” Dylan laughed the sentence out before she could stop herself. “It is the most consistently Mike thing in the world. If someone had asked me in high school what car you would drive as an adult, I could have guessed this car down to the color.”
“This car is amazing. What I’m hearing is that I’ve had consistently good taste.” Mike’s smile lingered on her for a second before he turned to face the road.
“I was thinking less amazing and more along the lines of a super safe dad car.”
“Well, it does have an excellent safety rating. Which I’m pretty sure makes me sound like I’m one birthday away from bringing snacks to soccer games.”
“Worse than that. It sounds likeI’m five years into juice boxes and fruit leathers.” Dylan snickered.
“I’d have way better snacks than that.” Mike looked incredulous. “Fruit leathers? Give me some credit. I wouldn’t humiliate my kids. I’d do a good job on snack day.”
“That is reassuring. Just because you drive a dad car doesn’t mean you are gonna be the cheap juice guy.” Dylan very much doubted that anyone would think of him as the Capri Sun dad. Sexy dad? Maybe. Crappy-snack dad? Probably not.
“No way. That guy drives a minivan.” Mike laughed, turning into the parking lot near the museum and throwing the car into park. Reaching for the door handle, he threw a sly grin over his shoulder. “For the record, this is the most predictable thing about me. I take risks in other places,” he said, holding Dylan’s gaze for a second before smirking and sliding out of the car without another word.
Dylan froze, hand on the door handle. She was pretty sure they weren’t talking about cars anymore, and now her mind was involuntarily going in all the directions her body had attempted to go earlier.
“Pull it together,” she mumbled before pushing the door open and making a mental note to leave this part of the conversation out when she talked to Stacy.
Without so much as acknowledging his ambiguous statement, Mike moved forward. “I wanted to show you this one first, because it is a great example of a traditional museum, but also because they have an exceptional education program.”
Dylan forced her mind to shift gears as they walked toward the front of the building. She had driven past the Burke a million times and been to the museum with her father almost as many. However, she had never really stopped to look at the building until now. The Burke, technically titled the Burke Museum of Natural History and Culture, was a city icon. While the boxy building itself was not that exciting, the museum made every inch of the landscape interesting. Indigenous art and statues were everywhere, blending into the grounds, some covered in the bright-green moss that, if left unchecked, would reclaim every surface of the city. But at the Burke, the moss was intentional, as if to signal that the museum was a part of nature itself.
“I always liked this place,” Dylan sighed, nostalgia tugging at her as they climbed to the front entrance.
“I know. Every time I visit, I feel like I should’ve taken a school bus,” Mike said, pulling the door open and fishing his wallet out of his back pocket. Dylan hustled to the counter to pay before Mike gotthrough the door. Whether or not he would admit it, she was pretty sure her job was more lucrative than being a PhD student working at a struggling nonprofit. Holding out her credit card, she opened her mouth to ask for two tickets. Mike cut her off, gently placing his hand on top of her outstretched hand and smiling at the teenager behind the counter. “Hi. I work at the Crescent and the UW. I have my ID.”
