“Huh?” I look over at him just as he opens his door.
Tina and Ryan both turn their heads around to stare at us over their shoulders. Oliver gets out of the car and reaches his hand out to me.
I stare at his hand and then look up at him with wide eyes. “What are you doing?”
“We’re walking to the rest stop,” he says.
I look at the traffic around us. We haven’t moved since the last time I observed we were at a standstill. Even so, I hesitate. I’m not sure why Oliver wants to help me. This feels like a trap.
“Ryan can meet us there, but at this rate, we can get there faster on foot,” he says.
I have to pee so badly that I’m inclined to go with him even if this will be the most miserable walk I’ve ever been on. I look at Tina, but I can’t read her expression through her sunglasses. I slide across the seat and get out on the same side as Oliver. The driver of the car behind us honks their horn.
I turn around to glare at them. “No one has moved an inch!” I shout, waving at all of the cars at a standstill ahead of us.
“Stop, Priscilla,” Oliver scolds. “You’re going to get us run over.”
He grabs my arm, dragging me with him. I shake out of his grip. “I’m coming,” I say. “You don’t need to touch me.”
He looks over his shoulder at me with a raised brow as we weave our way through the parked cars to the other side of the road. “Oh yeah? Just the sight of me is enough?”
I frown. “Huh?”
He shakes his head, smirking. “Nothing.”
I roll my eyes. We make it to the shoulder and walk quickly, easily passing every car on the road. Neither of us says anything for a minute. With each step that I take, I’m acutely aware of Oliver walking next to me. The absence of words between us feels louder than any small talk. I’m left with the rumbling of engines from the cars on the highway and the thoughts in my head that seem to get louder with every step I take.
Oliver fidgets. He crosses and uncrosses his arms. I tilt my head just a little so that I can get a better look at him. His eyes are locked straight ahead. His mouth parts a little and then closes again, like he’s debating on whether to say something.
“So, you really have to pee, huh?” he finally says.
I raise an eyebrow. I turn my head all the way to look at him. “What an awkward way to break the silence.”
He turns to look at me and smirks. “I’ve been told I’m really good at dishing out awkward comments.”
“You’ve got that right.” I can’t help but think about the comment that put a stop to our almost-friendship, and how he finds ways to remind me of it once in a while. “But yes, I really have to pee.”
“We could run,” he offers. “We probably have about a mile to go. Maybe less.”
I picture what running would do to my poor bladder, and have a vision of me wetting my pants. I don’t think I could ever live that down. “I’m not sure my bladder can withstand that level of movement,” I say. “But maybe we could walk a little faster.”
I pick up the pace. Oliver matches my steps.
“Do you think Ryan’s going to propose today?” I already know the answer but I have to play dumb.
He shrugs. “I’m not giving you a yes or a no until you decide to call a truce.”
Given that I stole the ring right out of his pocket and he doesn’t know it yet, I don’t think it would be fair for me to call a truce right now.
“I’ll just assume that’s a yes.” I walk a little faster. He has to jog a few paces to catch up with me.
“You can assume whatever you want.” He tries to act casual about it, probably so that I’ll drop my guard, but he’s a littletoocasual. Or maybe I just think that because I know what he’s trying to hide.
I can see the ramp for the rest stop up ahead. The buildings begin to come into view. It’s like the light at the end of the tunnel for my poor bladder. The cars next to us begin to move, but we’re still walking faster than most of them. I look back over my shoulder. I can’t see Ryan’s car behind us anymore.
We’re still ahead of the traffic by the time we make it to the rest stop. When I get out of the bathroom, Oliver is pacing the lobby, his hands shoved into his coat pockets. There’s no way he hasn’t noticed the missing ring. Surely the emptiness of his left pocket is a huge red flag. He keeps pacing as I approach him, his chest rising and falling with an anxious breath.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. “You’re sweating.”
