Chapter Text
"Pull over. Let me drive for awhile.”
It had been your idea to move.
We had been sitting on the couch after going for a badly executed bike ride to Camden, and I had been red-faced and sweaty, taking up the whole couch while you stood over me drinking lukewarm water and had said- “I’m sick of it here, but not you, so I think we should move.”
If only for a better bike scene and drivers that didn’t think pedestrians were targets, I had said yes. Asked where, and you had said “West Coast” all dreamy, as if you’d never been there before.
I hadn’t, anyways. I’d only been as far west as Ohio, where I’d visited my grandparents in their ramshackle farm out by Amish country. They live in a dry county, so you have to drive half an hour to find any alcohol. It explains why my mom moved out as fast as she could, itching to get her hands on a bottle.
You’d been on family vacations all over the world, much less the country, so I had suggested California because I’d seen your pictures of San Francisco but you had reminded me that I hate heat. How could I forget? It was late May in Philadelphia and I was drenched in sweat from a bike ride, partly because I was out of shape but partly because the East Coast was dripping with a foreign humidity that had always felt swamp-like and personal, like the air was clutching at my skin and all I wanted was for it to let go.
You had said you’d been to Seattle because you had some distant great uncle who lived on an island in the middle of Puget Sound and it was so beautiful. And I had suggested Portland because it’s halfway to California and I’ll miss the sun too much if we’re all the way up in Seattle.
It had been sunny on the day we left. I had stood on the street and looked at our dirty red Subaru with a U-Haul attached to the back, filled with all our garish furniture picked up at thrift stores and by the side of the road on suburban streets. You had always told me that you had the money to get us nice stuff, but my childhood home had been filled with mismatched furniture and sometimes I got around to missing it so bad that I had insisted on keeping our apartment looking trashy and gaudy as all hell. You loved it then, and you still love it now.
Our building was red brick and falling apart but it had become so much of a home that you, stupid and sentimental, had wanted to take a picture of us outside. But Philadelphia natives aren’t kind or friendly at all so half the people walking by had just ignored you until some young indie looking women had walked by and obliged when you had asked them. You wrapped one hand around my waist and stretched the other one out in a wide gesture, a grin lighting up your whole face while I laughed at a joke you had told just before.
You always tell jokes right before we take pictures together, just so I get a genuine smile on my face.
Now, it’s late at night and pitch dark and I don’t even know what state we’re in. Minnesota? North Dakota? I’m tired and you’re playing pop punk to keep me awake. This band’s from Philly, I think. Or New Jersey. Man Overboard. You’ve been singing along diligently all night while I weave over the double yellow lines like I’m drunk.
“Remus.” You mumble quietly, reaching across and tilting the steering wheel back onto our side. “Stay awake, babe.”
“Mmmh.” We’re heading for Fargo, I remind myself, and we’ll check into a motel and crash on a dingy mattress. But when? “How far are we?”
“About forty minutes,” you respond, checking your phone. The neon glow lights your face and I nearly send us careening into a nearby field because you’re so beautiful in any light, all long dark hair, face rough and unshaven, eyes bright despite the darkness of the night. I know we should’ve left Minneapolis earlier but we got so held up at Mall of America that it was nighttime by the time we hit the road, and I get tired easily.
Plus, whatever state we’re in is really fucking dark.
“What state are we in?” You snort a laugh, not knowing if I’m serious.
“Minnesota, we’ve been here all day. Fargo’s right on the border, so we’ll be in North Dakota as soon as we’re in Fargo. One and the same.” You hesitate, phone screen off so now your face is drenched in a sudden darkness. “Pull over. Let me drive for a while.”
“You drove us from Wisconsin!”
“You’re so tired! Please, Moonybear.”
“Don’t call me that,” I huff, wiping at my stinging eyes while Zac Einstein whines loudly over the stereo. Let’s go home to a place we can call our own, we can live there together, be in love forever, and never have to be alone.
I sigh and give in because I love you. The car bumps over grass and dirt as I pull to the side of the road and barely remember to put the car in park before stumbling out the door. You meet me in front of the car, headlights lighting us up like deer about to have their lives saved. You’re wearing a tacky tourist t-shirt that’s just a little too small for you and you look a little sleepy and a lot lovely, so I kiss you and you laugh a little against my lips.
“We’re nearly there.” You tell me as I slide into the passenger seat, feeling very warm and safe as you pull back onto the road. I believe you.