Page 14 of All Our Nevers

He calls back, “Believe me, I know.”

I pull open the car door and haul myself into the seat—an unladylike groan followed by a dull thump of the door shutting. “Seriously, what’s with the planet-killing penis substitute?”

“It’s electric, Amelia. And it wouldn’t make a very good penis substitute. Mine may be big but it’s not black.”

“Ew. Jesus, how were you and Andy raised by the same people?”

He shifts the car into gear, then signals to pull into traffic. “Andy takes after mom. Guess I take after dad.”

“The dad who left when you were kids? So you acknowledge you’re a real winner, huh?”

“And you’re a real sweetheart. Guess we make a good pair.”

He winks at me across the center console. I bite back, “Dream on, nutsack.”

And then, we say nothing.

Boston traffic is horrendous as usual; winding roads and surprise lane shifts and jaywalkers with obvious death wishes. Trains that criss-cross over narrow lanes of traffic, double parked cars and teens who almost certainly don’t have valid driver’s licenses turning the wrong way down one-way streets.

Even that can’t distract me from the silence screaming between me and Owen. There isn’t even music on. Seriously, is he a monk or something? Who drives in silence?

Ten minutes in, when I truly can’t stand it anymore, I reach for his phone, which is clipped to the dash vent.

“What’s your passcode?”

He side-eyes me, driving posture rigid, hands on ten and two. “I’m not going to tell you, arguably my arch nemesis, my phone passcode.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“You could prank call my boss, you could post to my Instagram story, you co—”

“Ooh keep going, these are great ideas.”

“Here gimme the—” He tries to reach for the phone but I jerk it away.

“No. You’re driving. Just type it in at the next red light, you big baby.”

“And why should I do that?”

“I want to put on music.”

“Fine.”

Two more blocks, then a red light hits. Owen obediently leans over and enters his passcode.

“Your passcode is 5555?” I scream. “Are you kidding me!?”

“You weren’t supposed to look!”

My laugh is genuine, because it’s so ridiculous. “You can’t act like you’re worried about cybersecurity with a passcode like 5555.”

“Just play the damn music.”

I open his Spotify and start snooping. “Your playlist names are all just dates? Am I reading this right?”

“Yup.”

“Why?”