We’re several miles farther south and two candy bars, one bag of chips, and a small box of mini donuts down when my phone vibrates in my backpack. It continues on at a steady beat that announces a phone call. And then another, and another. My first instinct, even after two months, is that it must be Mrs. Nash calling from the old rotary phone in her living room. My stomach dipsat the thought that I’m too far away to help her if something’s wrong, then bottoms out when I remember that both she and the rotary phone are gone now.
But someone sure is eager to get in touch. “Check that for me?”
Hollis reaches down to the bag beside his foot and finds my phone in the front pocket as it begins to ring again. “Your dad,” he says. “Want me to answer for you?”
“Oh god, no. Do you know how freaked out he’ll be if a strange man picks up my phone? Put it on speaker.”
Hollis complies, and my dad’s voice is already shouting, “Hello? Hello?” before I can say a word.
“Hi, Dad,” I say. “Is everything okay?”
My father’s thick Long Island accent that somehow never faded despite thirty years of not living there now fills the car. “Is everything okay? You tell me, Millie. What on earth is going on?”
“Not much. Just driving.”
“Your mother has been sick with worry.”
“Oh, don’t blame Millie just because I’ve been practically bedridden wondering if she’s all right,” my mother says. Bubbe—my paternal grandmother—could’ve guilted a fish into walking on dry land, and I’ve always found it fascinating that she somehow managed to pass some of her talent on to her daughter-in-law.
“There’s really nothing to worry about. I’m fine. Like I said in my text.”
“Nothing to worry about?” Dad says halfway between question and exclamation. “We don’t hear from you for days and then see you sucking face with a stranger, wearing broccoli in your hair in the middle of nowhere. And then you ignore our multiple inquiries—”
I don’t understand why my father starts sounding like a billcollector whenever he’s concerned. “Again, like I said in my text, I didn’t have my phone on me.” To be precise, I didn’t have my phone at all. But they don’t need to know that.
“You didn’t tell anyone where you were going, who you were with—”
“I told Dani.”
“You could’ve been dead in a ditch for all anyone knew, Millie.”
“I wasn’t, though,” I point out. “You can tell by the fact that you are currently having a conversation with me.”
“But youcould’ve been,” I hear Mom say from farther away. Based on the loud whirring noise in the background, she must be using the blender.
“Well, I’m definitely not now,” I say. “I’m just on vacation.”
“A vacation?” Dad sounds incredulous. “A vacation is lounging on a beach, Millie. Exploring a national park. Not taking part in some produce parade and doing the PDA with a stranger.”
“Doing the PDA?” Hollis mumbles. “Now I see where you get your way with words.”
“Who was that?” Dad asks. He’s a bill collector with the hearing of a bat, apparently. “Who’s that with you?”
“That’s Hollis,” I say. “He’s the guy in the video. And he’s not a stranger. We’re friends.”
“Oh, friends, huh?” Dad says. “Maybe I’m too old-fashioned, but in my day a man didn’t kiss a woman like that if he thought of her as just a friend.”
“Welp, that’s what we are. So.” I bite my lip, knowing my face must be beet-like at this point. Part of me wishes Hollis would jump in and save me somehow, but I also know if he did I’d be annoyed that he thought I couldn’t handle my own parents. Besides, what could he even say to get them off my back? Somethinglike “You’re right, sir. I was balls deep inside Millicent this morning, so ‘just friends’ may not be the most accurate representation of our current relationship?” That would go over well. Besides, based on what I know about Hollis, having sex with someone and being just friends with that someone aren’t mutually exclusive in his view.
“Are we on speakerphone?” Dad asks, startling me out of my thoughts.
“You are,” I confirm.
“Good. Hollis, tell us: Why should we trust you with our daughter?”
“Oh my god.” I groan. If I weren’t driving, I would cover my face with my hands. This is worse than when my father gave my prom date a brochure on proper condom usage. Like then, I know he means well, but...
Hollis clears his throat and sits up straighter. “You don’t have to—” I begin, but he lays his hand on my thigh and says, “You should trust me with Millicent because she’s decided she trusts me. That should be enough.”
