THIS GIRL. I don’t know what to make of her. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a friend—certainly not one that’s a girl anyway. She throws me off my game. Not that I have a game. But what I do have is a way I live my life that works for me, and she’s chucking a wrench into it simply by existing. And I like that she exists. I also like the way I feel around her. I want to devour her honesty and soak up her sincerity. I’d like to know more about what makes her tick.
“I think I deserve some kind of a medal.” Ember and I approach the car after a visit to this woman Kasia’s house to discuss topics that put me to sleep. “I just listened to you two talk about cinnamon rolls and bakery shit for over an hour. Not to mention the half-hour conversation about her poodles.”
Ember breaks up in a laugh as we both move toward the driver’s side. I shoo her away with my hand. “I’ll drive there, Mickey. You drove the whole way here. If you don’t mind me driving your car, that is.”
She stretches her arms above her head and yawns. “Nope. No problem here. I’ll handle the music.”
“Should I be worried?”
“I don’t know,” she retorts, plopping down onto the seat. “Should you be?”
I flip her a mock glare then back out of the driveway that looks like it could hold about thirty cars. Once we’re on the road and stopped at a red light, I peer over at her. “So Ember Bennett, what makes you tick?”
The air conditioning blows a piece of her hair around as she shifts to face me. “Lots of things, really.”
Red changes to green and my eyes return to the road. “Like?”
“Sculpting for one, but you already know that. I also love all kinds of art. I love to bake. And music to me is… everything.”
“Oh yeah,” I challenge. “Who’s your favorite band?”
“The Vines.”
Flipping on the blinker, I switch to the left hand lane. “Who?”
She breathes out a frustrated sound. “You don’t know who The Vines are?”
“Nope.”
Ember pops the glovebox and digs around before removing a CD and inserting it into the player. She places her hand in front of her, palm up, and announces, “I give you… The Vines.”
I appease her and listen for a few minutes. My thumb taps against the steering wheel, head bobbing slightly. “They’re not bad.” They’re actually better than not bad, but the smug look on her face makes me not want to give her the satisfaction.
“Not bad?” she huffs, so sure of herself I have to suppress a grin. “You’re practically dancing to it.”
“I don’t dance,” I confess, still trying to keep my smile in check.
“Keep telling yourself that.” She releases an airy laugh. “Okay, so who’s your favorite band?”
“Staind.”
“They’re pretty good.”
“Fucking A they are, Mickey.” From the side, I catch a glimpse of her smile. “Favorite food?”
“Lobster.”
I make a buzzer sound in my throat. “Gross.”
“I’ll have you know it’s quite delicious, especially dipped in butter. I would think you’d appreciate that last part.” She huffs again and I like that I’m getting a rise out of her. “Okay, let’s have it. What’s your favorite food?”
“Twinkies,” I answer with a huge grin on my face.
“Twinkies?” We come to a stop sign right before the entrance to the highway. I look over to find her staring at the package on the console, her nose scrunched up. “That’s not a food. That’s a chemical.”
I try to rile her up with my evil glare but only succeed in making her double over with laughter. “Okay, okay. Favorite color?”
“Red,” she replies proudly. “Yours?”
My eyes fall to my black t-shirt and black Chucks and the choice is obvious. “Black.”
She rubs her hands up and down her arms on a slight shiver. “Avery likes black, too.”
“That’s because she’s smart.” Ember cackles and I press the button to lower the A/C in case she’s cold.
She kicks off her sneakers and rests her feet on the dashboard with a contented sigh. The lightness of it travels in the air between us and lands on my chest. It makes me feel a little less empty. As I sit with that, I hear her singing quietly to herself. Her voice is nothing to write home about but she doesn’t seem to care. Something else I really appreciate about her.
“So what’s your favorite novel?”
Her question drags my attention away from the asshat in the BMW who cut me off. If I was in my own car, I’d give him a run for his money. “Honestly, that’s a really tough question. I have a lot of favorites.” I pause to think about all the books I’ve read. I’m inclined toward many different genres which makes it hard to choose. “I can give you a few of them, though. I would say The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway, The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger, Mansfield Park by Jane Austen, and Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy.
“Wait.” She drops her feet down on the floor. I can feel her eyes grazing the side of my face. “Isn’t Anna Karenina an eight hundred page book or something like that?”