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“It just means the tires are gettin’ old,” Mick replied loudly like the volume of his words were going to make Rhett forget his fun new word. “You have to replace them when they could pop when you’re drivin’.”
“Pop.Fuck.”
“They’re not going to pop,” I sang, glaring at Mick. “They’re not that old.”
“Have you looked at ’em since you got here?”
“They’re fine.”
“Look at ’em when we get out of the car.”
“I don’t need to,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I just had them checked before we left.”
“Well, I don’t know what kind of route you took to get here, but they’re shit now.”
“Have you always been this controlling?” I asked in exasperation. “Because it’s really annoying.”
Michael looked at me. “Controllin’ would be takin’ the keys so you couldn’t drive my kid around on your bald ass unsafe tires,” he said flatly. “Not tellin’ you that they’re bald and you need to look into gettin’ new ones.”
“I think I can decide when I need new tires.”
“Fuck!” Rhett hissed in the back seat.
“Suit yourself,” Michael said with a shrug as we pulled into the familiar pancake house we’d gone to when we were kids. “Don’t call me when you’re stuck on the side of the road with a flat.”
“I won’t,” I shot back stubbornly.
We were silent as we parked and got out of the car. Stomping back to Rhett’s door, I refused to even glance at the tires. I knew they were fine.
“Fuck,” Rhett said as I got him out of the car.
“You ready for some pancakes?” I asked, trying to distract him from the fun new word.
“Yes.”
“With syrup?” I poked him in the side.
“Yes.” Then a few seconds later, “Fuck.”
“Why you gotta be so smart, huh?” I asked, rolling my eyes. Maybe I should’ve warned Michael that I never really swore in front of Rhett for this exact reason. He copiedeverything.
I closed the car door and found Michael crouched by my front tire with a penny between his thumb and pointer finger, measuring the tread of my tires.
“Are you serious right now?”
“I’m right,” he countered, gesturing to where he held the penny. “You need new ones.”
“Jesus, Michael,” I whispered, pulling Rhett’s head against my shoulder and covering his ear with my hand. “Read the fucking room. Where am I going to get money for a new set of tires?”
Michael’s expression changed from smug to understanding in less than a heartbeat as he rose to his feet.
“Can we get some breakfast?” I asked, letting Rhett raise his head back up. “Rhett’s starving.”
“Hungry,” Rhett agreed.
“Yeah,” Michael replied, waving us past him. “Let’s get some breakfast.”
Straightening my shoulders, I stomped toward the restaurant. I was embarrassed that I’d mentioned that I couldn’t afford new tires, but the truth was the truth. It wasn’t like Rhett and I were completely destitute or anything like that, but until I found a job and started bringing some cash in, I had to hold back from any big purchases. It was just plain luck that nothing expensive had gone wrong yet.
