Page 24 of A Taste of Vanilla

It coughs again.

A warning light flickers on like it just remembered it has a job.

“You absolute traitor.”

With one final gasp, my car coasts toward the shoulder with the dignity of a fainting goat.

I grip the wheel, guiding it as far off the road as I can, and come to a stop beneath a green exit sign that points toward a Wawa.

A Wawa. I haven’t even made it out of the state before my fresh start road trip brought me to a convenience store.

For a long moment, I sit there with both hands on the wheel.

And I laugh.

I laugh so hard that it turns into a sob halfway through.

Outside, cars rush past me. The whole world keeps going.

Inside, my car smells of old coffee, vanilla lip balm, and failure.

I pick up my phone and open Marley’s contact.

Then Oliver’s.

And then Marley’s again.

I imagine having to explain this.

Hi, best friends. Funny story. I found Grant with Elise, that girl I was weirdly insecure around, and dissolved my engagement into an iced Americano. Then I attempted to flee to Florida like a woman in a country song even though I know we fuckinghate country music, and now I’m stranded near a Wawa because my car’s gas gauge is a lying little cunt.

My thumb hovers.

Pride is such a useless emotion. But so is shame. And neither of them can bring me gasoline.

I call Marley.

She answers on the second ring. “Hey, hun. Did he love the croissant?”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

Her voice changes instantly. “Halston?”

I press my hand to my eyes. “He cheated on me.”

Silence.

Then, very softly, “Where are you?”

That does it.

She doesn’t ask what happened. Or if I’m okay. She doesn’t say she’s going to kill him, though I know that will come.

Where are you?

The words of someone already reaching for the keys.

I look out at the exit sign. “Near a Wawa,” I say before bursting into tears again.