“Okay, well, thanks for going to the trouble.” I make a mental note to do something special for him after the trip.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” he says with a deep scowl.
“Then why are you in a bad mood?”
He glances over. “I’m not in a bad mood. This is how I am. And I’m trying to concentrate on driving.”
“Most people can drive without staring at the road like it’s their mortal enemy.”
“Good for them,” he mutters.
The skin under his eye is twitching. Maybe he’s just feeling worried about flying, which might explain why he hates the memory of traveling with his mother. “You know, if you smile you’ll feel better.”
“Is that a scientific observation?”
“Nope. Life experience. It works! Try it.”
He sighs, then pulls his lips back, baring his teeth. After relaxing again, he says, “I don’t feel any different.”
I can’t stop laughter from bubbling up. I let it go, my hand on my belly. “Of course not, silly! That’s the weirdest attempt at a smile I’ve ever seen. No, you have to really smile. Like this.” I smile at him.
“Very nice. Maybe you’ll win the Nobel Smile Prize.”
“If I do, I’ll give you half the prize money so you can do more research.”
He snorts, then lets out a soft, reluctant chuckle. The tightness in his shoulders eases as he loosens his grip on the steering wheel.
“The traffic sucks right now, but we should be able to make our flight, right? I packed fast.” I grin, hoping to further lighten his mood. “Wanna listen to some music? It always cheers me up.”
His gaze slides toward me. “Are you going to sing?”
“Sure, why not? I love singing along.”
He winces slightly.
Aha!Okay, he doesn’t really care for my singing, even though he won’t say it. “If you want—”
He interrupts me. “The only thing I listen to before flying is Maria Callas’s arias.”
“Maria who?”
“Callas. One of the best sopranos of the twentieth century.”
I’m not a huge opera fan, but this is Griffin’s car, and he’s taking me to Tokyo. “Okay.”
An orchestra starts, then the soprano’s voice fills the car. It’s a tune I recognize from commercials and TV shows, although I don’t know the name. “What’s this song called?” I ask.
“Puccini’s Madama Butterfly.”
“Madama?”
“The original Italian title.”
I pay attention to the music. The soprano sings beautifully, her voice mellow and sweet. I glance at Griffin to see if he’s feeling less hostile. He still has a small frown, but he’s no longer looking out the windshield like we’re in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.
Maybe this is the kind of music that relaxes him. I pull out my phone and Google Maria Callas, so I can make sure to have some of her songs in the house for him. I might even buy him tickets to an opera for his birthday.
I imagine how happy he’d be to be able to go to a gorgeous opera house and listen to his favorite arias. The more I think about it, the more excited I become. I’ll go ahead and do just that, even if his birthday is after our fake breakup. I have a feeling Griffin will prove to be a civilized “ex-boyfriend,” even though the idea of us not being together sends an achy pang through my heart.