Page 4 of Truth or More Truth
Look at him, being considerate of others for once in his life. “Neither do I. Now, are you coming with me, or not?”
“Considering how well this conversation has gone, I’m thinking I need to rent my own car.”
“You really think there will be any rentals available right now? Like the nice lady said, it’s the holidays. Anyway, it would be dumb for us to take two cars when we’re going to the same place. You’re coming with me.”
I highly anticipate regretting that choice many times over the course of this day and the however-many-hundred miles between here and Arkansas.
two
. . .
“How long does it take to drive to Arkansas?” I ask Melissa as I match her shorter strides on the way to baggage claim to retrieve her luggage. “And do you know how to get there?”
“I have no idea, other than heading south-ish. Why don’t you ask your assistant?” she asks in a snide tone.
I can’t decide if I love or hate her attitude. I’m leaning toward love. I do enjoy a good battle, and she seems intent on fighting me every step of the way. I was tempted to continue to argue with her on the car issue, but I knew she was right. Rental cars would be few and far between right now. There’s no reason to waste time trying to find a car that doesn’t exist or, if it does, take it from someone who truly needs it.
“Maybe Iwillcall her,” I reply.
“You do that.”
“Or maybe we should pick up a road atlas.”
She’s silent for a good twenty seconds as she marches along beside me before she admits, “There’s one in my car.”
Of course there is. She seems like a woman who’s always prepared.
“You know who we actually should call, though?” I ask.
“Who?”
“Ash and Leslie.”
Melissa stops in her tracks. “Oh. Yeah. That would be important.”
I lightly place my hand on her lower back to prompt her to move again, and I tell myself to ignore the electricity that sparks up my arm at the touch, even through her several layers of clothing. Regardless of her animosity toward me, it’s hard to deny my attraction to her. I don’t know what I did to earn her extreme dislike, but something shifted between us at Randall and Wendy’s wedding last month. Not that the two of us were friends before then, but that was the turning point when she began to actively show her disdain for me, and I have no clue why.
“I’ll call them while you grab your suitcase,” I say as we continue along.
“You don’t have another bag?” She eyes the small carry-on suitcase I’m rolling behind me.
“No. Ash has my tux and wedding shoes, and I pack light.”
“I guess so.”
“Does Leslie have your bridesmaid dress, or is it in your suitcase?” I ask.
“It’s in my suitcase—garment bag, actually. I really hope it’s at baggage claim, like they said.”
So do I. Leslie and Ash deserve to have the perfect wedding, with no mishaps like missing dresses.
Melissa adds, “Right about now, I’m wishing I’d carried it on.”
“Why didn’t you?” Seems to me that would’ve been a no-brainer.
“I didn’t want to have to schlep the bag through the airport. I don’t have a fancy-schmancy rolling suitcase like you. And yes, I realize that’s a dumb reason, but it’s the one I’ve got, so don’t give me any grief about it.”
I won’t, as long as the bag shows up, but I don’t say that. Instead, I take her carry-on bag from her, silently chastising myself for not doing so earlier. I may often be a jerk, but I’m usually a gentleman, as is proven by the fact that I feel bad about the way I treated the airline lady at the gate and wish I had time to go back and apologize.
