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They've still got, like, six fucking hours to New Hampshire, and Misty wants to fucking talk.
"How was rehab?" she asks brightly. Natalie could kill her.
"Well, I'm out, so I guess it worked," Nat says.
"That's good, or I wouldn't let you drive," Misty says, and Nat takes her eyes off the road just enough to glance over and see that Misty's smiling at her, earnestly.
Nat knows Misty fucked with her car, knows she's only driving Misty's shitty fucking Fiat 500 because Misty fucking arranged for all of this, and she kind of wants to fucking scream.
"What do you think Travis is doing in New Hampshire?" Misty asks, and now Nat really wants to fucking scream.
"I don't fucking know, Misty, that's what we're going to find out," Nat says.
"He changed his name," Misty reminds her. "He doesn't want to be found."
"Yeah, well, who can blame him?" Nat says, not taking her eyes off the road this time. Staring straight ahead, in fact. "He'd want to see me, though."
"You kept in touch with him, didn't you? Even after the rest of us - I mean - we all agreed to, you know, never talk to each other ever again." Misty sounds offended, and Nat almost feels bad. It's not like they were all hanging out behind Misty's back this whole time. And when she and Travis did see each other, it was -
She shouldn't be going to see him now. She's barely an hour into this seven hour road trip. In Misty Fucking Quigley's car. With Misty Fucking Quigley in the passenger seat. What the fuck is she going to say to him when she gets there? With Misty Fucking Quigley in tow?
She could turn around. She should turn around.
She doesn't know what she could possibly say to Misty right now, either, if she were to do that.
"Well, he didn't tell me he changed his name and moved to New Fuckin' Hampshire, so no, I guess we didn't keep in touch. Why the fuck do you know where he is, anyway?"
"Oh, I try to keep tabs on everybody. You know Van moved to Ohio?"
Nat grunts, tries to remember what Van even looked like. It's been a long fucking time. They'd been friends once. Before the crash, before everything. She has a vague notion that they'd bonded over having shitty dads, or something. Maybe it was Van's mom that was shitty. She doesn't remember. "Yeah?" She doesn't think she cares, but she'd rather talk about Van than Travis. "What's in Ohio?"
"A video store. Some people still have VHS players in 2021, can you believe it? There's whole subreddits for physical media collectors-"
"That's great," Nat says. Before she can stop herself, she's actually fucking adding to the conversation. "I used to make mix tapes. You know, I bet my mom still has 'em. Unless she finally got rid of all my shit."
"My car can't play tapes," Misty says, sounding apologetic. Like they'd ever take another fucking road trip together. Like Nat wanted to be on this one in the first fucking place.
"I'm sure we'll live," Nat says, but can't deny that music would be nice. Nicer than having to keep making conversation with Misty. There's still something like six hours to go. Maybe a little less, if she speeds. The old joke about how I-95 is the highway name, not the speed limit flickers through her brain, and she laughs a little to herself as she pushes Misty's car to 80 miles an hour. They'll probably get stuck in New York traffic for a while before they cross into Connecticut, but she can at least speed her way out of New Jersey.
Misty points to a Taissa Turner for New Jersey State Senate billboard. "Have you spoken to Tai?" she asks.
"No," Nat lies. If Misty's really been keeping tabs on everyone, she probably already knows Tai paid for her rehab, but that's not something Nat's going to fucking volunteer to Misty right now. Anyway, Misty doesn't call her on it, and she's relieved for one beautiful second before she realizes there's no fucking way Misty's going to let the car ride be silent now.
"So when was the last time you saw Travis?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Did you guys fight? Oh my God, is that why he changed his name and moved away?"
"Jesus Christ, Misty!" Nat could throw Misty out of the fucking car into the highway. Never fucking mind that it's Misty's car. "I fucking overdosed, okay?"
Misty's actually stunned into silence, and there's a part of Nat that wants to smirk, that she finally shut Misty the fuck up, but then she hears a sniff and she thinks maybe Misty's crying, and that's not something Nat knows how to deal with right now.
She's driving too fast to take her eyes off the road now, but she lets her hand drift over past the gearshift and land on Misty's thigh. She squeezes, gently. "I didn't die, for fuck's sake, it's not..."
Misty places her hand over Nat's slowly, as if she can't believe it's really there. "Good," she says. "Good. It's... it's good, that you didn't die." Misty uses her other hand to adjust her glasses, blinks back tears. She lets go of Nat's hand, and Nat squeezes Misty's thigh again before returning that hand to the steering wheel.
It's too quiet, now. Like it wasn't already going to be a long six fuckin' hours into New Hampshire.
Nat keeps driving. Maybe she'll think of something to say.
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end.