He grins, picking up on my Field of Dreams reference. Tank is my movie buddy. Many nights, I find my way over here to veg out in front of the TV. Sometimes we’re joined by my brothers or Harper and Chase. Mainly, it’s me and Tank, watching and filing away quotes for later use.
Recently, those two nights a week have bled into more like five or six, sleeping in my childhood bedroom instead of in my latest apartment. I can’t seem to find a place that feels like home, and this newest apartment is no exception. The lease isn’t up for six months, but I’m already looking around. I’ve thought about moving back home with Tank, since I’m here so much.
I suddenly imagine me and Tank in the same spots on his couch ten, maybe even twenty years from now. Two lonely old dudes having movie nights and wasting away. It’s a little too easy to imagine.
Maybe we do need a project, a new dream. But still. A whole town?
“You overestimate my power of persuasion, Pops. James is the one you need to convince. He’s driving the Dark Horse train. And Collin is way too logical not to shoot a million holes in this idea. Having me agree with you won’t help.”
If my oldest brother wins the stubborn award in addition to the control freak ribbon of excellence, Collin would take the cup in practicality and cautious decision-making. Despite an excellent business plan and the still semi-famous status attached to our family name, Collin spent years planning and worrying before he opened his gym. Years.
“You’re underselling yourself,” Dad says. “You are the glue in this family.”
“Me?” I glance around the kitchen dramatically, as though looking for someone else Tank could mean.
“You.”
I’m practically preening under his praise and wish my face didn’t display every one of my emotions like a Jumbotron in a stadium. Dad thinks I—Patrick, the one no one takes seriously, like, ever—am the glue? Well, shucks.
Then he has to go and ruin it.
“I also think,” he says carefully, like a man picking his way across a room full of trip wires, “it would be good for you. Maybe provide some focus and clarity about your future. You’ve been in limbo too long, son.”
This again. I can’t say I don’t understand his concern. I’m just tired of hearing about it, of being judged or joked about because I don’t know what I want to do when I grow up.
Sure, I have a tendency to jump from idea to idea, excitement to excitement. I get bored. I get restless. I like change. Some of that may have to do with my ADHD, which was undiagnosed until this past year, but it’s hard to say where my brain function ends and my personality begins. I’ll figure something out I love doing. One day.
Could it be this? The idea is completely ridiculous, but it also sounds like a challenge.
With an evil grin, Tank pulls out a set of car keys, pauses for dramatic effect, then says, “I’ll let you drive the Aston Martin.”
Oh, he’s good. Real good.
I’ve wanted to drive the Aston since the moment Tank drove it home. It was—towns aside—the biggest splurge he has ever made. He tried to tell us all about some great deal he found but no one missed the timing—he bought it the week after Harper’s wedding. She is the baby of the family, Tank’s baby, and so we all totally understood the car as his way of coping.
And how many other people have driven it these past six months? Not a one. I will be the first.
Tank’s grin widens, like he knows he has me, which he does. In truth, it’s only partly because of the Aston. I’ll admit it—Tank sparked my curiosity about this town. There are so many questions, each of them breeding more questions like a couple of bunnies in my brain. I have to see what kind of town would inspire the Think Tank to buy it.
And what does that even mean—to buy a town? Do you get all the businesses and buildings? Or is it more of a batteries-not-included, assemble-at-your-own-risk kind of thing?
I chew my lip, willing my hands not to grab the keys. At least, not too quickly. I need to keep some semblance of my dignity about me.
Who am I kidding? I have less than a fluid ounce of dignity in my entire body. I snatch the keys and dart toward the door leading to the garage, like Tank might change his mind at any second. Because he might.
I don’t know if it’s because of Tank calling me the glue and saying I’m the one with vision, or maybe just the chance to drive the Aston, but excitement has me glowing from within. I’m like the Griswolds’ lit-up house in Christmas Vacation—at least, before the fuses blow.
I slide in, loving the way the leather molds to my body like a caress. The engine doesn’t roar to life so much as purr. I can sense her power and her need for speed. She’s just a big, beautiful jungle cat, wanting me to play with her.
Happy to oblige.
Tank folds his big body into the passenger seat, adjusting it for leg room.
“Just so we understand each other, this little road trip doesn’t mean I’m on board with your hare-brained scheme, Tank. I hope you at least asked for the return policy on towns.”
“Don’t worry,” he says, buckling his seat belt. “I don’t plan to return to sender it.”
“If you’re going to do the noun as a verb thing, there’s an art to it,” I tell him, revving the engine a little just to hear her purr.
Tank waves a hand toward the Texas morning sun slanting over the driveway. “Come on, now. Fast and Furious this thing. But legally.”
I groan. “You’re not going to stop with this, are you?”
“Not until you realize how stupid it sounds to verb nouns.”
“Well, then, let’s road trip this thing, Pops. Where are we headed, anyway?”
He laughs. “That’s right—I haven’t mentioned the best part about the town yet.”
“It comes with a pro football team and a whole bunch of gorgeous and single cheerleaders?”
He shoots me a dirty look. “No. The best part is the name. It’s called Sheet Cake, Texas.”
A strange sensation zips up my spine. One that leaves me uncharacteristically and uncomfortably silent.
“You have no response to that name? I thought you’d be tossing out jokes like candy from a parade.”