Page 68 of Stops Along the Way
As I lie here now, all messed up in my resurfaced feelings, my phone buzzes with a new text, which I assume is my parents checking in on the car situation.
But alas, my sister couldn’t resist interfering and must have texted his brother, and now here’s Declan Weber back on my phone for the first time in a long time. At least this means he doesn’t secretly hate me or anything. I never thought he did, but sometimes the thoughts can really spiral in the silence.
I tap the screen and expand with two fingers to enlarge the message so I can read it more comfortably.
Declan:Hey! You need a ride home?
My stomach plunges, but even so, I can’t resist smiling like a dork at this basic message. For no good reason other than it is nice to hear from him again.
Iris:Word travels fast
Declan:In time for me to see your car towed away down Sunset
Iris:Whoa
In that case, my sister definitely messaged Grady way before she threatened that she would on our call. Because of course she did—always trying to orchestrate the plans.
Declan:So, you ready? I was going to leave like nowish
Am I all right with another road trip with Declan? That drive back from Pennsylvania feels like ages ago. Oh my gosh, I’m basically Amelia, talking about how life feels so different after going off to college, but really, who was I at eighteen? When I’d just graduated from high school?
Someone who was naive enough to think it might actually mean something if a boy kissed me.
Yet here we are, years later, and Declan is acting like this is the most casual offer in the world. That cursed Midwest nicety is just so dang friendly it can really warp the emotions sometimes. It’s just a ride to Omaha. I put a hand to my forehead and take a deep breath, reminding myself that he has a girlfriend.
Iris:Yeah, thanks, give me fifteen minutes
.....
After using the restroom and gathering my things, I wait for Declan downstairs in front of my dorm. He pulls up in an SUV I don’t recognize, so he must’ve gotten it somewhat recently. I step toward the passenger seat, but he turns off the ignition and gets out of the car. He’s matching me in a nearly identical university sweatshirt, though his is the inverse coloring—dark blue with off-white lettering—and he’s quick to comment on this. “Great minds think alike.”
Without waiting for me to respond, he greets me with a hug. It’s not exactly awkward, but it’s so brief. I would rather we hadn’t hugged at all than be left here wishing he’d kept his arms around me a few moments longer.
“On the road again,” he says before popping open the trunk so I can throw my bag in. He’s moving fast in a way that means I can’t quite get a good, focused look at him.
“Yep.” I grin, maybe too wide, too forceful, too adamant that this is fine.
We get in the SUV, fasten our seat belts, and sit in silence as Declan plugs an address into the GPS. The suggested route is currently red, projecting a lot of traffic, likely due to rush hour, in addition to all the holiday inbound and outbound travel.
“Whew.” He leaves his phone plugged in and puts his hands on the wheel, sitting up straight. “Seems like it’ll be a while.”
“Yeah.” I nod, continuing to look ahead out the window. “We can trade off at the gas stations and rest stops and such.”
“Sure.” Declan slowly drives us past the dorm and around the circle to exit campus. “Do you have those driving glasses like your sister yet?” he asks.
I finally allow myself to glance over at him out of the corner of my eye while he’s focused on the road, only now noticing the stubble on his cheeks, the confidence in his shoulders. Is he thinking about how different I look now too? I cut my hair short, above my shoulders, since seeing him last.
“No, I still don’t,” I say. “Because my onset of symptoms was more delayed than hers, it’s continued to be a much slower progression.”
I experienced a sharp drop the last couple years, but my vision has sort of leveled out to a slow and steady decline. The doctor doesn’t anticipate me even needing to consider the driving glasses for another decade or so.
Declan nods in the sort of agreeable way where you don’t know nearly enough about the subject at hand but want to seem supportive. “Oh, wow, I didn’t realize the same thing could play out so differently.”
“Neither did I.”
We go through a roundabout and merge onto the highway, slow among the city’s stop-and-go traffic. Declan turns toward me, and I’m ill-equipped for the direct attention. “You’re still all right with everything?”
“Yeah, mostly.” I fidget with my phone in my lap. “And how are things with your family?”
