Page 15 of When We Had Forever
“Mina?” She shapes my name into something small and fretful—she always does, at least until I convince her I’m safe. I forgive her in nanoseconds, though, the way any daughter with an ounce of compassion would. “Are you okay? Where are you?”
“Mom, I’malwaysokay.” I use my gentlest tone, this ritual ageless by now. “I’m on my way to Rosalie’s.”
“Oh, good. I just wanted to make sure you got on the road all right. You’re with Kate?”
I glance at the specimen beside me. From a certain angle, hedoeskind of look like a male version of my best friend—blond, toned, ferociously good-looking, enough that I feel like I’m staring directly at a light bulb and might incinerate my retinas if I don’t look away soon. “Yep. With Kate. She’s driving.”
“Hi, Mom,” Michael says in a falsetto so absurd that I make a snapping motion with my hand in an attempt shut him up.
He winks.
I glare.
Thankfully, the road noise proves significant enough that my mother doesn’t catch the exchange, because relief colors her voice. “Well, tell her I said hi. And text me when you get in, will you? Just so I know you’re safe.”
“Of course.” As if I need the reminder. “Love you, Mom.”
“Love you, honey.”
After hanging up, I shake my head in disapproval. “Nice.”
Michael chuckles, clearly pleased with himself. “What? I was only playing along.”
“No, you were playing with fire, was what you were doing.”
His amusement only deepens. “Is she really that protective?”
“You have no idea.”
“Oh, come on. Aren’t you in your twenties?”
“Yeah, but...she has her reasons.”
He must catch the tightness in my voice, because he sobers. “Oh. Well, damn. Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. I really don’t. Thanks.” I firmly replace the lid on the can of worms I was about to upend in his lap. “Besides, it’s your turn. I told you my answer, but you haven’t given me yours. What would you do if you were going to die tomorrow?”
“That’s easy,” he says, and I wonder if his mirror of my answer is intentional. He gestures between us. “I’d do this.”
“What, drive me to Seattle?”
“Yep.”
I roll my eyes. “No, really.”
“Really.”
My god. I should’ve known better than to ask. It seems no question is harmless with this guy. “You’re telling me the top item on your bucket list involves three hours in a car with a stranger?”
“Not exactly.” He shifts his hand from the top of the steering wheel to the bottom, which makes the muscles in his forearm dance in a way I try my best not to notice. “I’m saying I don’t have a bucket list.”
“No way. Everyone has a bucket list.”
A lock of gilded hair sneaks down over his forehead. He rakes it back, revealing a crease between his brows.
Oh. He’s serious.
“They do,” he says slowly, “but only because most people are asleep. They’re out there shuffling through one day after another, waiting for life to start happening to them at some indeterminate point in the future. They tell themselves they’ll finally take that dream trip once they get a promotion or pay off that credit card. Only they never get the promotion. They never pay off the credit card. Or if they do, they find some other arbitrary goalpost, then end up looking back on their lives forty years later and realizing they spent the whole thing wishing they were somewhere else. Doing something else. They sleepwalked through the best years they had and didn’t notice until too late.”
