I smile involuntarily. “Hi.”
“I wanted to make sure you got home okay the other night.” He fiddles with his fingers, and then shoves his hands in his back pockets. “I felt weird leaving you with that guy, but I recognized him from the dance.” He clears his throat. “You guys must be pretty close, huh?”
My cheeks burn. “Oh, right. Yeah, that was Mitch.”
He coughs into his elbow. “Cool.”
A slight laugh slips from me. “Cool.”
He turns on his heel and heads back to the kitchen.
I release a slow breath through my pursed lips. I think that must have been the tamest interaction of all time. And I feel like I’m on fire.
After we close up, the first thing I notice outside is the lack of my mom’s car. I’m dialing her before the back doors even close.
“Hello?” Her voice is thick with sleep.
Dammit. “Mom?”
“Oh, Dumplin’!” I can hear her grabbing her keys and slamming the sliding glass door. “On my way, baby!”
The line goes dead.
Marcus and Bo watch me.
“You guys go on,” I say.
Marcus nods his head toward where Tiffanie’s waiting for him in her car. “You wanna bum a ride?”
“Thanks, but she’s on her way.”
Marcus and Bo share a look. “I’ll wait with you,” says Bo.
Marcus nods a “thanks” to Bo and leaves.
“I can wait inside,” I tell him. “Ron’ll be here for a while still.”
“It’s cool.” He digs his keys out of his pocket. “Let’s wait in my truck.” He must see the pause in my expression. “Just sittin’,” he says. “I’ll even put the armrest down.”
Once we’ve settled, Bo is indeed true to his word and lowers the armrest between us.
We sit in silence for a while, listening to the hum of the road at our backs. The scent of him hits me, all artificial cherry and aftershave. I guess I stopped noticing it over the summer, but it’s been a while now since I’ve been in his truck. I don’t quite understand how something can feel so comfortable and foreign at the same time. Like, déjà vu.
I reach forward and flip through some stations. Bo says nothing about me commandeering his radio.
“I can’t hear Dolly Parton anymore without thinking of you.”
My stomach flips as I laugh nervously. “Well, lucky for you she’s not on the radio too much anymore.” My voice comes out more abrasively than I mean for it to. But really, I love that I’ve staked my claim on his memory. Except that I can’t think of Dolly without seeing El or Lucy. And that doesn’t seem very fair.
“Why Dolly?” he asks. “I don’t really get it. She’s so . . . fake.”
“Her boobs are, yeah. Obviously.” I trace patterns on the armrest, looking for the right words. “She’s the kind of person who looks like she’s never had a bad day. I guess she’s sort of my guru. Like, her music is good, I guess. But it’s her that makes it good. With her big hair and fake boobs. I’ve never seen anyone who’s living the life they set out to live like she does.”
He studies me, but doesn’t say anything. “It’s like every day is Halloween for her.” Mitch in his costume flickers in my memory. “But for Dolly, it’s not dress up or make-believe. It’s her life. And it’s exactly how she chose for it to be.” I stop myself before I get too cheesy.
“Huh.” He crosses his arms and sinks down further into his seat. “I’ve always thought of her as some kind of cartoon character. But maybe not.”
The Harpy’s light above us cuts out and we let the radio do the talking.
“No car?” he asks after a while. “What’s the story there?”
I lean my head against the headrest. “It wouldn’t start. About two months ago maybe.” Is that all? It feels like it’s been forever since everything happened and I entered the pageant. And since I lost Ellen. “It’s been in the shop ever since. Can’t afford to get it fixed.”