Page 49 of Stops Along the Way
At the breakfast area the next morning, there are a few business travelers filling up bowls and plates with pastries and cereal before taking seats at the tables scattered around the lobby dining area. There’s a family with young toddlers, but no one else our age around, at least until Declan and Grady walk into the lobby, too, with their bags in tow, ready to leave after we eat.
Amelia passes me a plate and grabs one for herself. “What looks good?” she asks, leaning over a tray of muffins to observe more closely.
“Those are chocolate chip. And maybe bran. I can’t tell what the other ones are,” I narrate, taking a step closer to her. “A couple different cereal options. Oatmeal. Pancake machine.”
My sister perks up at the challenge of making her own one-minute fresh breakfast. “Where’s the pancakes?”
“Straight ahead on the counter.” I stick a bowl underneath the cinnamon cereal, which spills down in a larger quantity than I’ll be able to stomach this morning, as I squint toward the pancake-making device. “I think you put the plate underneath on the right, then press the button on the left.”
“Easy enough,” Amelia says. “Want one?”
“Nah.”
Back at the table, we all settle in to eat and plan the day. Grady has three bananas stacked next to his plate, which I assume are to be brought with for later, but it’ll be amusing if he tries to eat them all right now. That’s got to be too much potassium.
I slide my phone across to Amelia, with one of the roadside attractions pulled up on the map.
Yet the only thing my sister seems to notice is how much time it adds to our journey. “You really want to delay getting home by at least forty-five minutes?” She pinches the screen to zoom in and read what I’ve added to the route. “Just to see somemustard?”
I reach forward to grab back my phone. “It’s the world’s largest bottle of mustard, thank you very much.” With a chuckle, I add, “The aliens find it fascinating.”
“You’re not making any sense.” Amelia rolls her eyes and takes a slow sip of her coffee, and I know she won’t be receptive right now to further explanations about the board game development.
“It won’t take that long,” I reassure her. “No more than a twenty-minute detour at most.”
She takes another long sip. “Each way. That’s an hour.”
“You’re terrible at math.”
“I’m tired, and I want to get home. It was an exhausting week of finals, and this is terrible coffee.”
Grady peels open his first banana. “I’m more of acatsup guy myself,” he jokes.
Amelia rolls her eyes. “Even when spelled the other way, it’s still pronouncedketchup.”
“Is she always this grumpy in the mornings?” Grady asks me, but the only answer is Amelia’s knife loudly scraping her plate as she cuts into the pancake again.
Declan blinks a few times in the ensuing silence, jaw tightening as he tries to keep the peace. “If it’s too out of the way, we don’t have to make the stop.”
“No, really,” I insist, remembering how much fun we had laughing about this last night, and having already envisioned us stopping there for a picture, I’m not letting go of it that easily. “It’s really not a problem. What’s the point of a road trip if we don’t make a few stops along the way?”
“This isn’t a road trip, though,” Amelia says. “We’re driving the car home from school.”
“On the road,” I say. “Sounds like a trip.”
“As long as it really doesn’t add too much time,” Grady says, turning to his brother. “Mom and Dad are waiting for us to get back.”
“All the more reason I’m happy to take my time,” Declan mutters, eyes narrowed and forehead wrinkled. Grady gives him a skeptical look but doesn’t press.
Amelia likes to get in the final word. “It’s fine. One stop. That mustard better be worth it.”
I smile wide, already envisioning her frustration when we drive out of the way only for it to almost certainly not meet her expectations of what’sworth it. “That’s a lot of pressure on a roadside attraction.”
Chapter Fourteen
Despite grabbing a second to-go cup of coffee, Amelia’s been in a grouchy mood all morning. It’s like she used up all her pleasantries yesterday and now can’t be bothered. She’s slumped in the passenger seat, too irritated to even want to scroll through her phone, arm outstretched to advance through every song in my playlist after only thirty seconds.
“A second verse wouldn’t kill you,” I say, trying to keep my tone light, knowing this could be interpreted as a joke or a fight-starter, and honestly, I’m fine with either.
