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He brings my hand to his lips again. “I missed you, babe.” Kissing my hand, he then keeps it against his lips.
“I missed you, too.” Taking another left, he cruises slowly as if savoring the world passing by, or maybe it’s the time with me in his car. He just drove hours through bad weather to come see me, so I’m thinking it’s the latter.
Glancing over, he asks, “Are you hungry?”
“I could eat, but it’s late. Most places are already closed.”
“I know of a place, but it’s a little drive from here.”
So much about Cooper surprises me, and the tradition continues with his visit. “You know of a place we can eat in at midnight on Christmas Eve?”
He nods, blowing the low expectations I had for tonight before he arrived right out of my mind. “I do,” he replies. “You up for an adventure?”
With no doubt in my heart or my head, I’d go anywhere with him tonight, probably anytime, if I’m being honest. “Absolutely.”
His smile grows again. Reaching down, he wiggles my buckle. I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone make sure I’m secured. Not even the free spirit that was my mom most days. She always felt society put too many restrictions on kids. Her thinking on this was more the flower child side of her personality. That version of her was better suited for a commune than the small college town of Atterton.
Pulling onto my street, he slows the car as we approach my building. “Do you need anything?”
I think for a moment, but I think I’m set for dinner. “I’m all good.”
He picks up speed again and drives to the end of the block before taking a right toward the highway. “Are you going to tell me where we’re heading, or is it a big secret?” I ask.
“I guess that depends on if you like surprises or not? “
“Surprises aren’t something I’ve had to think about since my mom’s passing.” His hand rubs my thigh over the scar. “She loved them. I came to loathe them, realizing the surprises she enjoyed took me out of school, out of my environment, and away from my friends and my life. But it’s been three years, and I didn’t realize until now how much I missed the excitement and anticipation of surprises.”
His hand returns to the steering wheel. I don’t mind for safety. “I’m glad I can do this for you then,” he says.
I’m not sure what’s come over me. Maybe I’m feeling sentimental now, but I don’t feel afraid to share this with him. “Cooper?”
He glances over before focusing on the road and accelerating onto the highway. “Yeah?”
“I miss my mom.” There’s a heavy pause between us where his eyes find me in the dark of the car. Suddenly feeling embarrassed, I drop my head while shaking it. “I don’t know why I just said that.”
“It’s okay, Story.” This time, he reaches over and takes hold of my hand again. “We’re here, just the two of us. You can tell me anything you’re thinking or feeling without judgment.” He kisses the back of my hand as the scruff on his chin scrapes across my skin.
I love the feeling. The prick and pain that follows makes me feel seated back in reality. I’m in the here and now instead of stuck in my memories.
“Do you mind sharing more with me? Or—”
I’m not even sure why this topic is weighing so heavy on my mind, but now that I’ve opened the faucet, I might as well let some of these emotions flow. Maybe they’ll pack themselves away right after I talk about her. “I don’t mind.”
Releasing my hand, he says, “It’s starting to drizzle. I should probably keep both hands on the wheel. But if it wasn’t, I’d still be holding yours.”
“I know.” Maybe I just want my hands on him, and I definitely like the connection, but this time, I reach over and rub his bicep down to his elbow. “I’m so happy to see you, but I feel sad talking about my mom.” My mom’s a tricky topic for me to navigate because of the ending. I pull back and settle in for what I suspect will be a long drive.
“That’s understandable.”
“Christmas was her favorite. We used to have the best time together during the holidays. It’s my favorite too. What about you?”
“I used to love it, but I’m not sure anymore.” His knuckles whiten as he grips the steering wheel and rolls his palm over the leather. “Do you mind if I ask some questions about your mom?”
“I’m not used to opening up about her, so maybe that will make it easier for me.”
It’s not like he rushes into an interrogation, but right away, he asks, “What was your mom’s name?”
“Calliope. She was named after the muse of epic poetry, the one with a beautiful voice.” I hate that I sound like I’m mocking it when I’m not. It’s just weird to voice it to someone else, someone I care about what they think of me. “Rumor has it that it wasn’t her real name. Neither was Salenger.”
