Page 31 of Plaidypus
“Maybe I should, after dropping you off at the airport in my new truck, run away for a while.”
“We have the crowdfund money. I’ll send some to your account. The rest is for securing independence through rent payments, moving fees, and so on.”
I could work with that. “People really sent us money for that play-by-play?”
“They really did. You’ll believe it when you see your truck. Honestly, I’d been hoping for a few grand to cover expenses because I’m the reason we had to move and you couldn’t find better work. It was something I could do, so I did it.”
I’d spent most of my adult life doing that. “You did really well, Matthieu. I’m proud of you.”
“But I haven’t told you how much we made.”
“You could have only made a dollar, and I’d be proud of you. We’re both doing the best we can.”
“At least this time, I can say I’ve done the best I can.”
I sighed at the regret in my brother’s voice. “Hey, you’ve always given your best. It just happens your best is getting your ass kicked by a bunch of gamer girls. That said, that most of your gamer buddies happen to be single women your age says a lot about your general online behavior. When you get to our parent’s place, see if any of them live in New York. If they do, invite her and perhaps a friend or two of hers to come have coffee with us. Maybe we can find a place with decent coffee in America.”
“For some reason, I doubt that. But in good news, you’ll be able to find hot chocolate. I hope.”
Hehoped? “If there isn’t good hot chocolate, the world ends. Nobody will have to care about the Devil and his plans for the End of Days, because if there isn’t any good hot chocolate in the United States I can buy, I will be the reason it all ends.”
“Heaven forbid,” Matthieu grumbled. “Just remember something, Nadine. You live on this planet. If you trash the planet, you’ll have nowhere to live.”
“A planet without hot chocolate isn’t a planet worth living on anyway.”
“You’re something else.”
“Just make sure there’s sufficient hot chocolate for my needs. If there is, everything will be fine.”
NINE
Why does the car think the truck is stupid?
Somebody had lied to me.
The truck itself wasn’t a lie. No, she was a red beauty of a machine with a diesel engine, more horses than I could readily count, kitted to handle offroad adventures, and bore a license plate declaring my status as a platypus.
I hadn’t even known license plates could have eight characters.
I pointed at the tags, unable to believe my eyes. “Matthieu, it says platypus!”
“Yes, it does. So your wolf isn’t left out, there are a bunch of decals inside so you can spruce your new truck up appropriately. I had the dealership install some bling for you in the cab.”
The lie, parked beside the truck, made me question everything. The custom tag, Wuffgr1, combined with the bow and the sign pointing at the truck with ‘I’m with stupid’ on it, made it clear I had double the trouble and choices to make. Unfortunately for me, the wrapping, in the same red as my new truck, made it impossible to tell what sort of vehicle waited beneath.
I could handle the expected truck. But something else, too?
“Why does the car think the truck is stupid?”
“Fuel prices,” my brother announced.
Damn. He made a good point.
My baby, before the collision with Icy, had cost a fortune to operate.
“I don’t understand,” I finally admitted. “Why is there a car?”
“The truck is from the internet. The car is from Mom and Dad, and they have arranged for a spot for both vehicles. It is an early apology for the inevitable jokes they’ll crack at your expense regarding the contraction of an incurable disease destined to lead to grandchildren. The truck won’t be good in the city, but apparently, they bought a place on the mainland where the truck will live and be exercised while the car will serve you well in the actual city. The CDC helped Mom and Dad make the arrangements, figuring it would be wise to mitigate the stress levels of a new lycanthrope who also has a shapeshifting habit.”
