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Hans
“Just tell me,”I clip out before she can reach for the screen on my dashboard.
I don’t actually need her to tell me where to go; I know exactly where her parents live. But if she starts to type the address into my truck GPS, she might see that particular location already labeled as CP. And she’s a clever enough girl that she might realize it stands for Cassandra’s parents. I sort of doubt that’s something she’d be cool with.
Changing the topic from addresses, I add, “You can let me keep the book as payment.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her crossing her arms. “If I say no?”
I slide her a look. “I’ll keep it anyway.”
“Hans.”
“Cassandra,” I mimic her stern tone back like I’m in fucking middle school.
I glance at her again, and she narrows her eyes. “Why do you call me that?”
“It’s your name.” I play dumb.
“Yeah, but it’s my full name. Everyone calls me Cassie.”
“Well, then you shouldn’t have introduced yourself as Cassandra,” I lie.
Her face does that cute scrunching thing she does when she’s thinking. “I did?”
I force my focus back on the road.
“You did,” I lie again.
“But I never…” She trails off.
“Maybe if you figured out your own name, then your mail would be addressed correctly, and that sex book would’ve been delivered to the right house.”
“Sex book?” Cassandra sputters a laugh. “They are tasteful boudoir photos.”
“They’re a taste of something,” I grumble.
“What was that?” She turns toward me as she asks, causing the skirt of her dress to ride up her thighs.
“What part of St. Paul are we going to?” I try to distract us both.
“It’s by the science museum. You ever been?”
I shake my head, trying to imagine a scenario where I take myself to a museum for… Well, for any reason.
And just like that, the little voice I tried to lock in my basement reminds me just how different we are. How different our lives are.
“You totally should,” she starts, then spends the next ten minutes telling me all about the exhibits there and how often her parents took her growing up.
Her memories sound so fond, and I can’t help but think of my childhood. My parents took us places. I remember loving the zoo. But based on Cassandra’s descriptions, I can imagine how much my sister would’ve loved trying to gross me out in a body parts exhibit.
My sister was always going back and forth between wanting to be a doctor or a veterinarian. She wasn’t squeamish about cuts and scrapes. Never shied away from potential gore. Blood and guts weren’t my thing.
Until they were.
“That’s probably why my parents chose to move near there.”
I missed the last part of what Cassandra said, but I make a noise of agreement anyway.
