Page 5 of Anywhere with You

“You want to go on a road trip to make our exes jealous?” I asked twenty minutes later, making sure I’d understood her plan.

We sat on stools near the rows of guitar cases.

They were mostly black, but Cara found a bright blue one and absently ran her fingers against the rough plastic.

Her nails were short with a beige polish that matched her dress.

I kept mine short for playing guitar, and I had a sudden urge to ask why she did the same. Grading papers? Frog dissections?

Cara’s cheeks were red, but she didn’t seem embarrassed by my words. “No,” she said firmly. “I want to get out of town and have an adventure because we deserve it. I want to post reels on Mesmio along the way so that they—and everyone else—know we’re even happier now that they’re gone.”

I looked at her blankly for a moment, wondering if she believed any of that. I had a framed picture of my wedding day on my bedside table that had been held so much that the glass had grown semi-opaque with my fingerprints.

“So, we’re not pretending to date or anything?” I asked. “Because I’ve seen that movie. I know how it ends.”

“No,” she said again. She had a way of sounding like her calmness took considerable effort. It made me want to keep trying her patience. I wondered if her students ever felt the same. “We’re friends,” she explained. “We’re not pretending anything.”

“No offense,” I said, running my fingers down the guitar strings, “but we’re barely friends. Bridget and Lorenzo were childhood buddies. We’re the tagalong spouses. Or we were.”

Cara didn’t flinch, and for a moment, I wondered if I’d underestimated her.

I’d seen her as frail, bulldozed by her husband’s infidelity, and that was based on what?

The fact that I’d seen her crying? Had toxic masculinity somehow so infested my female brain that I judged someone for publicly expressing an emotion?

I vowed to do better.

“So now’s our chance to change that,” Cara said. “Think of it as a chance to become better friends. Think of it as a vacation that you don’t have to take alone. To be honest, I don’t care about your motivations. I just…”

She stopped, looking at the white lilies embroidered along the hem of her dress, and I did think about it.

I thought about getting away from my house, full of memories, from the dread of running into Bridget or Lorenzo at the grocery store, and most of all, from the unopened envelope on my desk.

I thought about my parents’ nagging concern, my mother’s insistence that I can move back into my childhood bedroom whenever I needed, and Florence’s continual declarations of pity.

And I thought about those damned Mesmio reels of Bridget and Lorenzo kissing on the beach, and how I hadn’t shared or posted anything on any social media site since Bridget left, and how she probably thought that I was grieving, wallowing in despair, working constantly to manage the pain.

Well, screw her.

“I just think—” Cara said.

“Okay,” I interrupted. “I’m in.”

Cara looked up, wide-eyed. “Really?”

“Yes. When do we leave?” Suddenly, it sounded like such a good idea that I was ready to race home and pack. Who needs a plan?

“Okay,” Cara said, her eyes excited. “Friday is an early release day, and after that is spring break.”

“So, Friday?” I asked.

She nodded. “We can take my car. I get excellent gas mileage.”

“Yeah, sure, but where are we going?”

Cara froze, as though the thought hadn’t occurred to her. I, on the other hand, had a thousand ideas, but just then, Doug emerged from the break room, looking cheerful and holding up the book.

“That was so awesome. Thanks, boss.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Hey, Doug, do you have a favorite vacation spot?”

“Sure. Barbados.”

“That’s a little out of our price range,” I said. “In the contiguous US?”

Doug thought about it, tapping Elizabeth Acevedo against the cash register. “It’s a tie. I really love DC. It’s fascinating, and you can’t beat the Smithsonian. But the redwoods on the West Coast are also unforgettable. And with climate change, who knows how long we’ll have them?”

Cara made a small sound of distress. I looked at her, and she seemed to struggle to keep her expression neutral.

“Redwoods, then?” I asked her.

She nodded, and as though she couldn’t hold it in for another minute, she smiled hugely, her eyes crinkling.

I turned back to Doug. “Interested in picking up some extra hours next week?”

Doug’s grin widened, too. “Always.”

Florence’s answer, the next morning, was slightly more colorful.

“Well,” she said, “I’m happier than a dog with two dicks.”

“You’re…what now?”

“I’m delighted. I’m so very glad that you’re getting out of town and getting some fresh air. You need it. And,” she added, unknowingly echoing Cara, “you deserve it.”

You can’t argue with logic like that.