Page 39 of Expecting an Argument
Pink.
When Beau ripped the canvas cover off the car that had sat in the corner of the cavernous garage, pink was the last color I was expecting. I held back a squeal of delight as I admired the cotton candy paint of the 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air.
“It was my Grandpa’s,” Beau said bluntly. “The truck is in the shop, get in.”
I carefully eased my way into the passenger seat. My hips were still achy and stiff, but getting into the pinkmobile was much easier than forcing myself to climb into Beau’s giant truck.
Beau drove out of the garage and we headed to the city for my sixteenth week prenatal appointment. The mid-century car hadn’t been updated to have a stereo, so we would have to spend the next hour and a half listening to FM radio instead of the Bored Bros podcast. The car didn’t even have cup holders, either. I had to secure my giant pink water cup between my feetas I held my yellow cup in my hands.
Hints of orange washed over my tongue as I drank. Divorced dad music played from the local alt-rock station, but I preferred it to silence.
Beau might have opened up on Christmas, but he had clammed back up in the days afterward. We had both promised each other that we would try, but emotionally the man was still cowering in an imaginary treehole like a frightened squirrel.
I let him lick his self-inflicted wounds in peace, though. I was too busy to deal with him. As soon as a new pair of glasses was shipped to the manor, I spent days researching historically accurate decor for the Kaye house.
Just the night before, I had emailed Ashley an entire file of different wallpaper samples, tile, and paint swatches that would complete the Kaye house renovation. Ashley had been so ecstatic with my findings that she had replied to my email with the famous clip of her shaking me with glee.
After the singer finished crowing about how he wished the devil in red heels had never walked into his garage, a commercial blasted through the speakers.
“Like lightning from the heavens, it’s TYSOOOO—”
Beau quickly switched off the radio.
Weird. Maybe the man had a personal affront to advertising? Rich guys probably got access to ultra premium packages that blocked all ads except for commercials for buying private islands or whatever.
I put down my water. “Was that Tyson’s toothpaste sponsorship or the car dealership one? Both commercials start out the same.”
“Don’t know,” Beau said, keeping his eyes glued to the highway.
I hummed. “I wonder how much companies pay to use that clip from the national championship game?”
“Too much.” He flicked the turn signal and steered toward an exit ramp.
Did Beau have something against Tyson? No, he couldn’t—no one had anything against Tyson. Tyson certainly didn’t have a problem with Beau, either. He would even shut Ashley down when she would bring up a rumor about the Fontaines—always saying Beau was a decent guy and not a foreign spy or a crime lord.
I decided to poke Beau a little more to get to the truth.
“His Tigerade sponsorship was the best one,” I said innocently. “Tyson kept my fridge full of those six-packs for months. Blue was my favorite flavor.”
“Blue is not a flavor,” Beau said curtly.
I cut him a glance. “You sound like a cop.”
He rolled his eyes in response, clamming up yet again. Beau bled crimson and ivory just like all Lindsay University worshipers, so he probably just hated Tyson for winning the championship for Plains State when we were seniors.
How petty. Lindsay couldn’t wineverychampionship. Get over it, loser.
Beau pulled up next to a pump at a gas station and got out of the car.
“Want any snacks or drinks?” Beau asked through the open door as he clicked the nozzle in place. “If you do, give me the name of an actual flavor—not a color.”
I finished the last of my wake-up water. “I’ll stick to the waters for now, officer.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’ll go grab some food just in case. Just sit tight, Jenny here takes forever to fill up.” He gently tapped the hood of the car. “Like Dad always said, Jenny sucks down gas like a Plains State girl sucks…”
I glared at him through the open door. Thankfully, Beau knew when to shut up.
“Anyway,” he said with an awkward second tap on the hood. “Snacks. I’ll be back.”
