Page 96 of The Art of Almost Losing It
“You brought food?” He takes it from me then slams the trunk. “Why? We’ll have food there.”
“I can’t show up empty-handed. They’ll think I’m a gold digger after your money.”
“I wish you were a gold digger after my money, because then I wouldn’t have to be taking you to the cabin to begin with.”
“Aw.” I turn on his radio and press the scan button, trying to find something I like. There’s nothing but commercials on.
“Can you just plug in your phone?” He breathes out in annoyance as I rapidly press buttons.
“I like listening to the radio. I was born like twenty years too late. One day, when I meet the man of my dreams—or shoot, even get a big Christmas bonus—I’m buying a house big enough to have a wall with books and records.”
“How original. I’m sure there’s no other twenty-something girl in New York City who hasn’t had that same exact dream. Are you going to open up a cupcake shop too? Start an award-winning blog?”
Lulu clambersinto Graham’s lap, leaving little bits of her fuzzy sweater all over his pants.
“Lulu, come over here. He’s trying to drive.” I pat my lap. “I can drive if you want. I love a road trip.”
“How much coffee have you had?” he demands. “This is a three-hour trip, and I’m not dealing with you like this.”
“I actually haven’t had that much. I’m just really nervous about making a good impression,” I chatter.
“Don’t worry, you won’t.”
“Ever the bottomless pessimist.”
Graham taps the steering wheel, clearly annoyed, as we inch forward in traffic.
“I told you I wanted to leave at four.”
“You needed to take that up with Greg Svensson. Six thirty is early for me.”
I open up my Dior tote bag to fish out a sandwich—prosciutto, soppressata, fresh mozzarella, and sweet roasted peppers.
“I brought you one too,” I tell him around a mouthful.
“I don’t want it.”
“We’re going to be in the car a while.” I check my phone.
“Yes, I know. We’re going to be late.”
He speedsup around the SUV in front of us as we cross the bridge out of the city.
“I’m chucking this dog out of the window!” I yell over the sound of the Frenchie’s whining. “I’m really going to have to turnto religion here. I’m feeling called to violence. Is there a young girl I can kidnap off the street to take my frustrations out on?” I yell and crank up the radio.
“I told you to leave earlier!” Graham yells over the sound of Lulu howling along to the radio.
She’s been whining for the two hours it took us to finally fight through traffic.
In his lap, Lulu whines, drools, and begs for food. I carefully feed her a little bit of bread and cheese. She stays quiet for all of twenty seconds.
“Don’t slobber all over Graham’s nice suit. Did you bring normal clothes to change into?” I demand.
“Says the woman wearing the skin of Bigfoot as a sweater.”
“I’m about to wear this dog as a sweater.”
“Don’t worry, Lulu.” Graham strokes the Frenchie’s ears. “I won’t let Mrs.American Psychohere touch you.”
