“Anyway,” I say, “once it became clear that I had my own ideas and dreams and wasn’t his salvation or some fun accessory tomake his shitty personality pop, I think Josh started to resent me. He did a good job of hiding it, though. I didn’t notice until the Instagram thing. In retrospect, there were clues, but... I don’t know. I thought he loved me. There wasn’t reason to question it.”
“Yeah. I know how that is,” Hollis says.
I guess he does. Maybe his relationship with Vanessa wasn’t that different from mine with Josh—just shorter-lived and longer ago. We were both used by the people who claimed to care about us. Except Hollis looked at his parents’ fractured marriage, his father’s tendency to jump from coed to coed, and Vanessa’s deceit, and saw evidence that lasting love is a lie; while I put three tablespoons of my elderly best friend in my backpack and booked a flight to Florida to prove that it isn’t foolish to keep believing someone might genuinely care for someone else for a lifetime.
As the water signaling we’ve reached the Keys appears outside my window, sparkling in the morning sun, I know it’s not much longer until we discover which of us is right.
19
•••••
“You haven’t said anything for a while. It’s making me nervous,” Hollis says as we travel across yet another bridge.
“Sorry,” I say. “I don’t really feel like talking.”
“That’s okay. We can just listen to music.” We gave up on the radio an hour ago after the supposed classic rock station played Nickelback. Surprisingly, Hollis was more upset about it than I was and insisted we listen to my road-trip playlist again. So I imagine hell has reached record-low temperatures.
“Never Going Back Again” comes on, and I automatically reach out to guard the on/off button for the stereo. “Okay, I know you don’t like Fleetwood Mac. But this one’s super short and it isn’t even Stevie Nicks singing, so please can we just—”
“Millicent,” he says. “I wasn’t going to turn it off. I don’t mind this song, and I know how much you like it.”
“Wait,” I say. “No. Stop that. Stopnotbeing rude about my music. It makes me feel like you feel sorry for me, and there’s no reason for you to feel sorry for me yet. Don’t act like I’ve already failed.”
“I don’t feel sorry for you, but sweetheart—”
“Sweetheart?” I react to the term of endearment as if he reached over and pinched my arm. “What the hell is going on with you? Why are you calling me that? Stop it.”
Hollis’s eyes dart to the side for a second and his frown shifts from his standard one to the medium-deep one that means he’s frustrated. “No, you stop it.”
“Why don’t you make me,” I grumble.
“Because,” Hollis says. “I don’t make monkeys, I just train ’em.”
“Oh yeah, well— Wait. Was that— Hollis, did you just quotePee-wee’s Big Adventure?”
My eyes blink rapidly like they’re trying to clear a speck of dust, unable to believe what they’re seeing. Hollis’s mouth is slowly transforming, the corners stretching and lifting, his lips parting and exposing teeth. But it doesn’t end at that gorgeous, genuine smile. No! The teeth part a bit and a loud, joyful sound comes from somewhere deep inside of his body. Holy shit. Hollis is laughing. Not exhaling a huff of amusement, but full onlaughing.
It hits me in the chest like a massive and unexpected wave, made more unexpected because I somehow convinced myself my feelings for him were a bathtub instead of an ocean.
“Pull over.” My voice comes out scratchy. Maybe my heart is clawing my esophagus as it tries to climb its way out.
The laugh fades into its more familiar, less destructive version. “What? Why?”
“Pull over,” I repeat. “Please.”
I’ve lost awareness of our surroundings, so it’s pure luck that I’ve made this demand while on one of the islands and not in the middle of a long stretch of road over the water. Hollis turns intoan empty parking lot for a gift shop called The Sea+Shell, which isn’t open this early in the morning.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Do not tell me you left Mrs. Nash at my dad’s—”
“No, no. I have her. I just needed, I need...” I bury my fingers into my hair, hard against my scalp.
“What do you need, Mill?”
I need you. Now and after this is all over. Because I think I’m falling in love with you, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know that’s not how this arrangement is supposed to work, and that you don’t do relationships. I don’t expect you to feel the same way, I just... shit. I’m sorry. I promise I didn’t mean to do it.
That is what’s going to come out of my mouth in about three seconds if I do not take immediate action. With getting to Elsie in time (and then actually meeting her) already claiming every available square inch of my anxiety—not to mention that Hollis and I will still be stuck in this car together for another hour—I know this is not the time to take this leap. I lean toward the driver’s side, trying to close the distance between us, but the seat belt protests my sudden movement and locks, pulling me back against the seat.
“I need you—” is all that manages to slip past my lips before Hollis pushes the button to free me from the belt.
