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I can’t tell her the real reason for my bad mood—it has way too much to do with her. So instead I say, “I’m going home tomorrow.”
A pause, like she’s deliberating whether to keep the conversation going. “Where’s home?”
“LA,” I answer.
“You grew up there?”
“Yeah. Palm Springs.”
“Sunny.”
I smile. “Yeah.”
“You’re not close with your family.”
She says it as more of a statement than a question, but I shake my head anyway.
“So…why are you going home?”
I didn’t plan for it to go this far. Didn’t expect her to ask. But she did, so I tell her.
“My older brother is getting married this summer. The engagement party is on Saturday. My parents care a lot about appearances, so they’re insisting I be there for the whole happy family act.”
“That sounds awkward.”
I flick on the blinker to turn onto her street. Wish Rylan didn’t know Somerville so well that she’d notice if I circled the block a few times to extend this trip. The whole cab smells like her shampoo or perfume, something floral and feminine. It’s nice, whatever the scent is.
“Not as awkward as my brother marrying my ex.” I keep my eyes on the road instead of watching her reaction. This feels very different than telling Harlow.
“Anti-hot tub sex girl?”
I snort a laugh as Rylan manages to surprise me once again.
I was expecting to spend this ride in uncomfortable silence, not laughing as we discuss Parker. “Yeah.”
“Her loss.”
I don’t ask if she means choosing my brother over me or missing out on hot tub sex.
I’d like to think it’s the former, but who knows? That night, Rylan made it clear she was only looking for a rebound from her ex. If Jameson had been the one in the hot tub when she wandered into the yard instead of me, maybe she still would have climbed in.
She doesn’t ask me any more questions, but the quiet doesn’t feel uneasy. More…comfortable.
A few seconds later, she starts humming along to the song on the radio. I glance at the screen to see the song name. It’s “Brown Eyed Girl” by Van Morrison.
Rylan catches the movement. “I love this song,” she confesses softly. “My dad used to sing it to me when I was little.”
“Coach K sings?”
“Not well, but yeah.” She’s angled toward me now, her head resting back but tilted in my direction.
I don’t think she’s realized we’re parked in front of her house. It looks like a brown blur from here, the rain still coming down heavily.
Any other girl, I’d think about leaning in. But she’s shot me down twice now. I’m not making another move unless she does first.
“Do you have any good memories with your dad?”
Any other person, I wouldn’t answer. “He took me to my first hockey game.”
