Yet.
I don’t really tune in until he mentions that Liesel is loading the car for his flight to Tucson. I can hear my mom in the background—something about a boarding pass—and I can tell just from the way she sounds annoyed that she’s having a good day.
When I hang up, I already have a plan brewing.
“Hey,” Sugar says when I return to the bathroom, finishing up the end of her braid. “You never told me about the kittens. How are they doing?”
I wrap my arms around her from behind, chin resting on her head as I hold her gaze in the reflection of the mirror. “How do you feel about going to see them?”
Her fingers suddenly stop moving. “You mean…at your house?” Her voice is full of something dark and cagey.
“Heston’s gone,” I assure her, knowing from the text earlier that he’s still sitting somewhere in county. “And my dad’s on his way to the airport as we speak. We can go see Abby and her babies, and you can finally meet my mom. It’ll be chill.”
“Your mom…?” Her eyes raise to mine, and even though that faint sheen of dread is still present in her eyes, I don’t miss the hopeful tone in her voice.
“Yeah, you’ll like her. She’s really nice.” Taking her by the hips, I spin her around to face me. Her hands fall when I pull the braid from them, making a clumsy attempt at finishing it myself. I fix my eyes to the task as I explain, “She has a lot of problems because she has a depressive disorder. It comes and goes. Sometimes she’s really bad, but other times she’s completely fine. A little reclusive, but really cool.” I can’t help the way my mouth lifts when I remember, “When I was a kid, she was the most fun adult I knew. She’d take us places when my dad was gone, like go-kart racing or laser tag, and she was never like the other parents who stood off to the side, you know? She really liked playing with us. Sometimes I think she must be really bummed that we grew up.”
That’s when it started getting worse—once Heston and I were too old to care about playing with toys and going on roller-coasters. Although, the more I think about it, the more I wonder if it wasn’t just easier to hide back then. Like maybe it was always there, just under the surface, and there came a point where hiding it behind laughter and new, shiny games wasn’t possible anymore, because we were old enough to know better.
Sugar’s hands gently take the braid from me and I snort a laugh at it. The top half is perfect but the bottom is all lumpy and uneven.
She secures it with a hair tie anyway. “Okay.”
The sight of Sugar behind the wheel of the Mustang is seriously doing things to me. Not to toot my horn or anything, but it did turn out fucking amazing. The interior is sleek as fuck.
I’ve pushed the seat back so that I’m lounging out, just enjoying the feel of the engine. “Turn here,” I direct, pointing to the next right.
She looks wary, teeth sinking into her bottom lip, but does it anyway. “We didn’t go this way last time.”
I watch the way she holds the wheel, comfortable and sure. “I’m taking you the scenic route so you can really open her up.”
Her eyebrows raise. “Open her up?”
“Fuck yeah,” I insist, running a palm over the dash. “You’ve gotta learn how to treat a lady like this, Sugar. Take her out somewhere special every now and then, give her a reason to look nice, hear the way she purrs, get her muffler vibrating...”
Sugar stops me with a look. “Do you need a minute alone with the car, Bass?”
I smirk at her. “And you think I can’t do romance.”
She looks vaguely disgusted, but I don’t miss the way her lips purse with a restrained smile when my hand rests over hers on the gear shift. “Are you sure your mom won’t mind?” she asks for the fifth fucking time.
“Positive.” I’d given Liesel a call, just in case, to confirm that she was in a condition to receive visitors. “You seriously don’t need to sweat it. She’s going to like you.”
She’s sweating it. “I should have worn that dress.” She shifts gears, a little divot appearing between her eyebrows. “Shouldn’t I look nice?”
“You do look nice,” I argue, pointing up ahead. “Take a left here.”
“So, last time…” I can tell from the way she says just which ‘last time’ she’s referring to. “You didn’t introduce me to your mom because she was…” She shoots me a meaningful look.
I roll my head against the seat to look at her through my sunglasses. “She wasn’t doing well then. I went to see her and it was…just not a good time. Trust me.”
For some reason, she looks oddly relieved to hear this. “Oh.”
“I wasn’t, like, hiding her. Or you.” Although, now that I think about it, I know that’s probably how it seemed. “Maybe I should have told you before, it’s just…”
“Private,” she guesses. “I get it.”
I direct her to turn onto the old service road, and when she does, I say, “Stop.”
She looks at me, then back at the deserted road. “What?”
“Just stop, right here in the road.” At her confused face, I explain, “No one comes down here, it’s fine.”
Finally, she listens, pressing the brake. “Why am I stopping in the middle of the road like a moron?”
I flash her a wide grin. “Because you’re about to see what kind of power this sweet thing is packing.”
“Oh no,” she groans. “Bass, I’m not a fucking street racer.”
I straighten in my seat. “Well, you’re fucking a street racer, and he put a lot of work into these horsepower’s, so humor him.”
Rolling her eyes, she starts checking her seatbelt. “This is dangerous.”
I give mine a firm yank too, grinning. “Yep.”
“You look way too excited about this,” she says, eyeing me disapprovingly. “If you make me hurt my newly very pretty car, I’m going to break my foot off in your ass.”
I wave a hand. “Don’t worry, the road is nice and straight. I bring Jasmine here all the time.” I very purposefully do not tell her this is the road Vandy and Reyn had their accident on. In my defense, how many deer are crossing this road in the daytime, anyway? “Okay, get ready.”
Truthfully, I am excited, but not quite for the reason she’s thinking. Sure, barreling down a road in a roar of exhaust will always be a good time, but mostly I just want to see her feel it. The adrenaline. The grip. The feeling of absolute control in a moment of chaos.
I coach her through the right way to safely come up to speed. It’s not quite as easy as just pushing the throttle. She listens intently, eyes tracking where I point, and she doesn’t even look nervous about it.
She kind of looks excited too, actually.
When she finally gets going, both hands planted on the wheel until I direct her to shift up, an edge of a smile finally starts to break free. When she gets it up to sixty, it grows, back pressed against the seat as the scenery rushes by us. At seventy-five, I start really appreciating what I’ve done. It’s a fucking growler of an engine, but almost as smooth as Jasmine, who I’ve easily put four times the work and money into.