Page 100 of Wardrobe Malfunction

“Oh.” She blushes. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you.” He opens up the trunk of my car and picks my bag up, putting it in.

I take Charly’s bag and the garment bag containing my sister’s wedding dress from her. She didn’t let me carry it at all on the way here. I kid you not; it had its own seat on the plane, next to her. I was relegated to sitting across from her the whole way here, which wasn’t too bad, because the view was pretty as hell.

“It was real good of you to fix Sasha’s dress on such short notice.”

“Oh, it was no problem.” She waves him off, her face reddening further.

I open the back passenger door for her, and she climbs inside.

“You driving or me?” Dad asks, closing the trunk as I shut Charly’s door.

“I’ll drive.”

He tosses me the keys, and I go around to the driver’s side. Climbing in, I buckle up.

“Nice car,” Charly muses as my dad climbs in. “Yours?”

“Yep,” I answer, smiling, as I start my car. She purrs like a kitten.

My Range Rover Sport is top of the line. She cost a pretty penny. I bought her a year ago when my Dodge pickup had seen her final days. I love this car, and I don’t get to drive her too often.

“So, your mom’s stocked up your fridge. Steaks, chicken breasts, pork chops, sausages, and God knows what else,” he tells me. “She went a little crazy at the store.”

“She does realize I’m home for only three days, right?” I chuckle, pulling out of the parking space and heading for the exit.

“You know your mother. She likes to make sure you’re well fed when you’re home.”

“Well, considering I eat mostly at your house, Jester’s gonna be in meat for weeks. How is Jester? Still in the doghouse?”

“Sasha still hasn’t forgiven him, but hopefully, when she sees her dress—thanks to Charly here—it will put him back in her good graces.”

I glance at Charly in my rearview mirror to see her blushing again.

She’s being oddly quiet.

Maybe she’s just nervous about meeting my dad. Feeling a little out of her element. Once she gets to my parents’ house, she won’t have time to feel shy. Not with the women in my family.

I drive the usual route on the OR 66, heading west, soaking up the greenery of home.

I can feel the dirt of Hollywood falling away from me and the clean of Oregon seeping into my pores.

Charly starts to chat a little more on the drive, asking questions about the place I call home.

She seems enthralled by the roaming fields and greenery that sit off the highway.

We cross the bridge over Klamath River into Keno, and I’m home.

I drive past my old elementary school.

“Is that where you went?” Charly asks.

“Yeah.” I smile.

“Looks like a nice school,” she observes.

I wonder what her school was like back in Philadelphia.