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“Yeah,” I said, still daze-y.
“Tell me what you need. Need a ride home? Need a stiff drink?”
Of course, even through the mental fog, Sean saying the word “stiff” got my mind going places.
“I need…I need to sit down.”
“Not in the parking lot.”.
I glanced up to see a thoughtful expression on his face. “What?”
“How about this,” he said. “Turn off your brain.”
I was confused. “Huh?”
“Don’t let yourself get all worked up right now—not going to do you any good.” He put his fingertips on my temple and made a twisting motion, like he was turning the power off something. I figured I’d go with it.
“OK. Done. I think.”
“What you need to do is chill and let me take the wheel. Don’t worry about a thing. Sound good?”
”Wha—”
“No questions,” he said with a smirk. “That’s against the spirit of this whole thing.
“OK. Fine.”
“Perfect. Now come on.”
He took my hand, and moments later we were in his sports car, the engine revving.
“What about my car? Doubt Stump’s going to be cool with my just leaving it there.”
“That falls under the category of stuff you don’t need to worry about.”
I was kind of starting to like this. Sure, I was freaking out a little about what I’d done. But being there with Sean, his presence comforting and calm, I felt…I don’t know. Kind of excited.
“Now, buckle up.”
I did, and we were off. I watched the city streets pass by in a weird, dreamy blur as Sean steered through Silver Lake. After a time, he stopped in front of a small restaurant that, judging from the Spanish on the front, was a taqueria. He parked, told me to wait, and headed in. About ten minutes later, he was back with two bags, the smell of delicious Mexican food filling the car.
“OK. We’ve got some food. Now what?”
“Remember when I turned your brain off?”
“Sure do.”
“I haven’t flipped it back on yet.”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
He drove on, and soon we arrived in Santa Monica. Once there, he took a few more turns, and before too long we were in a small, secluded park on a large bluff.
We parked and got out, and Sean led me into the small, wooded area, until we were alone and in front of a gorgeous view of the ocean, the distance enough that the beach goers looked like little dots.
He unfurled a blanket that he’d brought from the car and set the bags on top.
“Now sit that gorgeous butt of yours down.”
“Yes, sir,” I said with a small smile.
I did, and he set to work unpacking the bags. It was Mexican food all right, with one package containing an array of tacos, one packed full of chicken nachos, and one more holding two Modelos. He prepared a plate for me and handed it over as I savored the smell.
“OK,” he said, reaching over and twisting the invisible knob. “Brain’s back on.”
”So,” I said. “Tacos and a view.”
“You got it.” He picked up a chip laden with cheese and chicken and popped it into his mouth and chewed. “See, as I’m sure you’ve learned during your time on this planet, things have a way of getting all kinds of confusing and overwhelming.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
“And when I was younger, I used to get overwhelmed by it, feel like some problems were …I don’t know, insurmountable. But they weren’t. I’d always figure something out.”
I picked up a carnitas taco and sank my teeth into it—so freaking good.
He gestured to the food. “So that’s when I developed this little strategy.”
“Tacos are a strategy?”
“You bet they are. Because when life seems like it’s at its worst, when you’re down in some scary-ass pit that it doesn’t seem like you’ll be able to ever climb out of, that’s when I get some Mexican food from Taco Sambrosa and come up here. Because how bad can things be when you’ve got tacos and a view like this?”
I kinda dug it. And it fit with the Sean’s whole vibe—cool and calm and chill no matter what. I was even having a hard time imagining him being young and worried and stressed.
We ate and sipped our beers in silence, watching the waves. In spite of what had gone down…I felt a hell of a lot better.
“Good call. Very good call.”
”I like to think of myself as an expert in good calls.”
More silence, and this time Sean was the one who broke it.
“So, at the risk of ruining things…how are you feeling?”
The reality of my situation came right back to me. But to my surprise, I felt kind of OK about the whole thing.
“Still in shock, I think. Like, I told my boss to fuck off and quit my job.”
“You did. And it was awesome. I was there to see it.”
”Don’t know about ‘awesome.’ Upon further reflection it sounds really impulsive and stupid and…not good.”
