Page 47 of Ice Ice Maybe
Nolan leaned toward Mom, frowning. “Sorry, I tried to get you that road trip you’ve been dreaming of, albeit a short one.”
Mom patted his arm. “You’re always so thoughtful, Nolan. Thank you.” To my surprise, she turned to Dad and said, “You know what, Everett? It’s only fair that we vote on it.”
“What are you talking about?” Dad asked with a snarl.
“Flying or driving,” Mom said. “All in favor of renting a car?”
Nolan, Mom, and I raised our hands.
I grinned. “That was easy.”
Dad fumed. “No. We are waiting, and that’s final.”
“It is not final!” Mom said with determination in her eyes. “If you’re so adamant about flying, you can go by yourself and we’ll meet you there.” She shook her head. “Honestly, what happened to your sense of adventure? What happened to the fun man I married? I don’t even recognize you anymore.”
Dad blinked, looking like he’d been hit by a truck. For a moment, I saw a flicker of something in his eyes. Sadness? Regret? Or recognition?
Finally, he sighed. “Fine. We’ll rent a car.”
Mom calmly turned to Captain Jack with not even a hint of victory gloating in her voice when she said, “Thank you for taking care of the bags for us.”
He nodded. “My pleasure.”
“I’ll take care of the rental,” Nolan said, wisely disappearing before Dad could say or do anything else.
Surprisingly enough, instead of going to the regular car rental counter, he talked with an agent at the luxury car rentals booth. What was he thinking of getting?
As we waited for him to return, Mom and Dad were silent, both on their phones. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement. This unexpected road trip might be what my parents needed, the beginning of them breaking out of their controlled mundane routines and trying to reconnect. I wanted that more than anything. And with Nolan with us, it would be anything but boring. Especially when he returned ten minutes later with a mischievous look on his face, jingling the car keys in the air.
“Okay, we are set!” Nolan said. “I’ll drive.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Dad said right on cue. “That’s why we hire drivers. We let the professionals do their jobs, so we can focus on other things.”
“I am a professional,” Nolan said. “You pay me to drive the Zamboni.”
Dad scoffed. “The Zamboni goes two miles an hour. That BMW will easily go over two hundred. Big difference.”
“I’m still driving,” Nolan said. “I insist.”
“We’re hiring a driver.” Dad stepped closer to him. “Iinsist.”
Nolan didn’t back down. “What’s the problem? You don’t trust me?”
“Your assumption is correct,” Dad answered.
Nolan held up three fingers. “Okay, three things … First, I have a perfect driving record. You’re all safe in my hands. Two, it would be a pleasure to be your wife’s chauffeur for a few hours.”
Mom blushed. “Honestly, Nolan, if you were any sweeter, I would pour you on top of my pancakes.”
“I was thinking the same thing about you,” Nolan said, before turning back to Dad. “And number three, even if we wanted to hire a driver, we couldn’t.”
Dad placed his hands on his hips. “And why is that?”
“Because there’s no room—the car only seats four.”
“I don’t like where this is going,” Dad said. “I hate compact cars.”
“I never said it was small,” Nolan said.
