A stilted silence settles between us, and I can tell Lucy’s mind is several hundred miles away. I’m kind of a mess in real life. I don’t have direction like Lucy or stellar athletic ability like Booker. And I’m no genius. But I know my way around a kitchen. I know my way around a playlist. And I know what to do when Lucy is in my arms. Since it would surely violate the Highway Code to finger-fuck Lucy right now, and since I can’t cook while I’m driving, my only option is music.
“We need tunes, Lucy Desiree.”
She smiles for the first time today. “Are you going to sing to me, Caleb?”
God damn, but I love it when she says my name. “Nah. I mean, I’ll sing anytime you want, but what I have in mind is even better.”
“You’re letting me control the radio? You realize it’s about to be a boy band extravaganza in here, right?”
“Uh, hell no. Do me a favor and dig through the console?”
She riffles through the contents of my car’s center console, scoffing at how disorganized it is.
“There should be a cassette tape down there somewhere. It’s white with a blue label.”
She holds up a sandwich baggie filled with grey plastic cassettes. I shake my head. “No, those are gold, but they’re not what I’m looking for. This one’s all by itself. It’s white and—”
“It saysSongs for Kristy?”
“That’s the one.” I take the cassette from her and slide it sideways into the tape deck.
“Wait, how does your brand-new car have a cassette player?”
“Technically, my car’s a year old. And it has a tape deck because I had one installed. I could have all the cassettes digitized, but the sound just isn't the same, you know?”
“Actually, I don’t. I think I’ve only ever seen a cassette tape on TV. Or maybe my grandpa had a tape player when I was really little?”
“Well then. I’m damn glad I’m here to educate you on the finer points of road trip playlists. I told you my dad was a deejay, right? Well, those tapes in the baggie are recordings of some of his old shows.”
“So, we’re going to listento vintage 80s radio?”
“Even better. This one isn’t a show. It’s a mixtape he made for my mom. And it’s fucking awesome.”
Lucy smiles and I press “Play”. My dad’s voice comes through the speakers, and though I’ve listened to this tape hundreds of times, hearing him talk never gets old.Kristy, all day long I play music for other people. And I love it. It’s what I was born to do. But today I made a playlist just for you. I hope it makes you smile, beautiful.
“That’s your dad?” Lucy’s voice is full of wonder.
“Yeah. He was a diehard deejay. He narrates intros for all the songs.”
“You sound just like him,” Lucy tells me as the opening chords to Foreigner’s “Waiting (for a Girl Like You)” start to play.
“Yeah, that’s what my mom and Kim Zabek say.” We’re quiet as the old song plays. Just as it ends, I nod my head toward the stereo. “Listen, Lucy, this part’s sweet.”
I’m not much of a wordsmith, Kristy. But I don’t have to be when this song says it all.
Before I know it, I’m singing along, hitting those high notes and drumming on the steering wheel. My concert continues and I lose myself in the music. I can feel Lucy staring at me, and I blush.
“Sorry. I can’t help but sing along. Especially to these songs.”
“Caleb Whitman. Never apologize for singing. Your voice is incredible. Have you ever thought of auditioning for one of those shows?”
“Nah. That's not my thing. Don’t get me wrong—I love to sing. But doing it as a job? No thanks. I do it because I want to, because I love it. Not because I have to, you know? It’s the same with cooking. That’s my favorite way to spend time. It’s how I show people I care about them. But if I had to do it every day, would I love it as much?” Lucy nods thoughtfully, but I get the impression that she has no idea what I’m talking about. I’m beginning to wonder if she does anything because she just loves doing it. Does she have passions? Or is everything in her life an obligation?
My dad’s voice interrupts my thoughts.Alright, Kris, I hope these first few songs make my feelings crystal clear. But now, we’re going a little New Wave with The Cure. This song’s always been one of my faves. The beat is great. But when I met you, the lyrics made sense. That’sbecause it feels like heaven every time, angel.
Robert Smith starts to croon, and I join in. The lyrics aren’t explicit by any stretch, and certainly not by current standards, but there’s no mistaking my dad’s meaning, or the song’s. Lucy looks at me, wide-eyed, and smiles as I sing to her.
If only we could stay like this, I think to myself. Not that I love driving straight into a snowstorm, but I love how easy things are with Lucy right now. Most of the time, we’re at each other’s throats, but ever since we broke the seal of sex, things have mellowed considerably. And now that I’ve had a taste of this—of her—I’m not sure I’ll be able to give it up.
