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“You don’t drive a Jag but this is, in fact, a Benz.”

“It’s electric,” Tara said defensively.

“Yeah, they definitely don’t make midrange economy electric cars or anything. You couldn’t have bought a LEAF, say,” Holly teased. When Tara started to protest, Holly waved her off. “I know, I know, you can’t roll up to court in a Nissan. I get it.”

It was a sore spot, because she liked the LEAF better, but she’d “compromised” when her mother was horrified by the idea. Why her mother was involved in any way in the purchase of her vehicle, when she’d paid for it herself, drove it herself, and avoided driving it to her parents’ home on the island if she could avoid it, was a thought that kept her up at night.

She didn’t want to tell Holly any of that, because her mother was an insidious poison and made her feel like a spineless child, so she said, “It’s very reliable.”

Holly raised an eyebrow at her prim tone. “Are we allowed to eat in this very reliable Mercedes?”

Tara balked. “Obviously. We’re going to be on the road for nine hours today. I would never tell you that you couldn’t eat.”

Holly grinned. “Perfect.” She opened the backpack at her feet far enough to show that it was stuffed with snacks. “What’s your snack profile?” she asked. “Sweet? Tart? You’re a Sour Patch Kids girl, aren’t you? Or maybe licorice?”

Tara felt the corner of her lip twitch into an almost-smile. “Do you have any hot lime Cheetos in there?”

“Please, I’m not a monster. Of course I do.” Holly tossed her the bag.

“I’m picking the music, and when we switch, you can put on whatever you want,” Tara told Holly. “I can’t do highway driving without a soundtrack.”

“Fine by me. Let’s roll.”

Tara put the car in reverse and then swung out onto the street as Mary Chapin Carpenter’s voice filled the car.

“Let’s roll.”

Chapter 6

Holly

Hey, before we leave, can we send my mom a selfie?” Holly said. “She thinks I’m lying about spending Christmas with a girlfriend.”

Tara looked at her, amused. “You are lying about spending Christmas with a girlfriend.”

“Obviously. Help me make the lie more convincing?” Holly batted her eyelashes, and Tara shrugged. “Come closer so I can get us both in the picture.”

When Tara leaned toward her, Holly held up her phone to get a good angle, kissed Tara on the cheek, and snapped the picture. She sent it to the family group chat.

Holly: Getting on the road with this hottie! Happy holi-gays!

Mom: She’s real!

Caitlin: And she’s CUTE!!!

Dad: You should bring her here instead!

Dustin: I still think you’re lying.

She looked up from her phone, breathing through her lifelong instinct to strangle her brother (especially when he saw through her dissembling). “We need to talk about what the Carrigan’s crew would expect me to know about you,” she said, popping open a diet Red Bull.

The secret to a long-haul driving day was the most caffeine possible in the least amount of liquid so you didn’t have to stop to pee. She’d perfected her road trip essentials over many years crisscrossing the country.

Tara made an interesting noise in the back of her throat, something between resignation and misery. The woman did not like talking about herself.

“Would you like to start with the basics, or should I dive right into the deep end?” Tara’s posture had somehow gotten even straighter as she talked. Who drove with their seat at a ninety-degree angle?

Holly was a jump-in-feetfirst kind of girl, and she was tempted to tell Tara they should get into the good stuff right away, but she decided to take pity. “Let’s do a rapid-fire of the easy stuff, and then once you’re fortified with snacks and lulled by the comfort of nineties country, we can tackle the more difficult topics.”