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"You're gonna exit on 74-A, then keep going down the main road," Alana says, squinting at the road map in her hand. It has to be at least forty years old, the paper yellowing and creased from sitting, folded up, beneath the passenger seat of the Murphy's old green suburban. According to Zoe, Larry insists on keeping it and referring to it on every family road trip ever, despite her mother's printed-out MapQuests directing them exactly to their destination. Zoe talks about her father's stubbornness in an air of annoyance, but with distant nostalgia shining in her eyes, like it doesn't really bother her, not at all.
"Sounds good," Zoe nods, slowing down on the ramp. She glances out through Alana's window. They're in a tiny town that looks like it hasn't had an update within this century, a handful of small, rundown businesses strung together on the one main street. They're all in muted shades of yellow and brown, dimly lit signs with fading print. It feels outdated, like they've entered a different segment of reality - but oddly enough, something like home.
"This place reminds me of my childhood," Alana mutters under her breath, reaching up to glide her fingers across the glass. "Let's stop at that bakery," she suggests, pointing at a little building disconnected from the rest of them. Its cream-coloured walls, framed by iron accents, looked a little out of place, even against the nostalgic backdrop the town provides. The sun was rising behind it, a sliver of pink between two blue clouds peeking out from behind the hanging sign with curly lettering. Zoe just nods, turning into the parking lot.
An older European woman with an accent neither of them can quite pick out stands behind the display case, a soft smile on her face as she speaks to them gently. Zoe gets a croissant with chocolate drizzled over it. Alana gets a strawberry tart. They pay at the counter and bid the pleasant woman their farewells, letting the old bell ring as the door shuts behind them. Zoe sits on the hood of the car, pulling small pieces off of her croissant to eat.
Alana retrieves her water from the car before leaning against the car, next to Zoe. It's relatively early in the morning, around 6:15 or so. They're on their way down to visit some of Alana's family in Maryland, but for now, they're somewhere on the side of the Ohio turnpike, tired, relaxed, and a little giddy at the thought of the open road. Alana turns her head to look at Zoe, who's focused intently on her food.
Zoe's easily the kindest soul she's ever known, all silly smiles and quiet joy. Zoe feels like picking wild daisies, tastes like honey and lemonade, loves like a warm quilt on the morning of the first snow. Alana loves her so much, so fucking much. She doesn't know what she'd do without her. They're going down for Zoe to meet Alana's grandparents and a couple of her other relatives. Alana remembers telling her grandmother about Zoe over the phone, knowing her grandmother would love Zoe and her sweet, gentle heart. Her grandmother had laughed brightly, telling her, "Alana, dear, that's what love is supposed to feel like," and Alana smiled so hard it hurt, saying, "yeah, Grandma, I think I love her, I really do."
Zoe turns to her, giggling, "look at the pigeons over there, Lana, they're strutting, like it's a fashion show."
Yeah, Alana's definitely in love with her.