Page 23 of Two Sticky Nuts

I’d like to talk about some patterns. Specifically, a few I’m beginning to see with Carter. It’s hard to put my finger on, but I’m getting notes of narcissist with a dash of—oh hell, I dunno—maybe impractical?

Stop, Mila,I tell myself. I’m just looking for a reason to say no so I can go back to my comfy-cozy safe zone. I need to find reasons to say yes.

“I’d love to show you my white fence. We can order a pizza.”

“Oh, I only do vegan paleo keto.”

What on God’s green dietary earth is that?“I can’t say I’ve ever heard of a diet that combines all three.”

“Yeah, I don’t do meat or carbs.”

“But isn’t keto all protein?”

“I basically stick to eating tofu, vegetables, and nuts, but only the kinds found in primitive caveman diets.”

Caveman tofu. Okey-dokey.

“You look put off,” he says.

“No. It’s fine. I can order your dinner from the pet store.”

“What?”

“Just kidding.”Not really.“I’m sure the Chinese place near my house can do some veggie stir-fry. Throw in some cashews and tofu.”

I find an opening in the far-left lane, which is where I need to be to get on the freeway. I’m about to merge when the driver in that lane floors it and closes the gap, preventing me from getting in. He missed my door by an inch, but only because I jerked the wheel to the right.

“Hey!” I yell with the window down. “I had my blinker on, dipshit!”

The guy flips me off.

“Fuck you, too, shitforbrains!”

“Mila,” Carter says, “your vibe is very aggressive. Take it down a notch, yeah?”

I glance over at him, thinking he’s kidding, but he’s not. His expression is all taciturn.

“That loser cut me off for no reason and almost hit us. Also, don’t tell me how to drive,” I snap and instantly regret it. Not because I wasn’t fully within my rights to say that to Carter, but because I really don’t know him. Maybe he’s a pacifist.

“My apologies,” he says. “But my mother was killed in a road-rage incident. I’m a little sensitive.”

Oh crap. That’s way worse than being a pacifist. “I’m so sorry. Did the guy go to prison?”

“Why do you automatically assume it was a man who killed her?” he says.

“I guess you’re right.”

“It was a squirrel,” he adds.

“Huh?” I want to look at him, but I need to keep my eyes on the road and scooch in so I don’t miss our turnoff.

“Very tragic. She was driving, and an angry squirrel ran out into the road. She swerved to miss it and plowed into a tree.”

“How sad. I’m so sorry you lost her that way.” I’m quiet for a long moment, trying to resist pointing out the fucking obvious.I can’t not say it!“But isn’t that more of just an unfortunate accident instead of road rage?”

“You see accident,” he says with a melodramatic tone, “I see a story. A story of nature lashing out at humankind.”

Ay-yai-yai. What’s with this guy?

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