The Honey - Don't List

“I really wish you’d cut your hair like that again,” Melly says, and I can only assume she means the clean-cut style Rusty has on the enormous bus wrap. His current hair is a weird, shaggy style that makes him look like he constantly just rolled out of bed. Dye it black, and he could cosplay as Burly Joan Jett.

“The stylists thought a longer look would appeal to the younger demographic,” Rusty says. “You know, like hipster.”

“The stylists were wrong.”

Side by side, James and I kneel on one of the couches, trying to make out the Tripps through the tiny perforations in the vinyl-coated windows. Our shoulders touch, but neither of us shifts away. It surprises me that I feel more of a sense of comfort and relief at his proximity than aversion; for all our differences in temperament and style, I’m probably lucky to have an ally here.

But then, too loud, he says, “I see they’re off to a rollicking start.”

I slap a handful of Jolly Ranchers into his palm. “Whenever you feel the temptation to speak, put one of those in your mouth.”

Outside, Joe jogs up to join them.

“I see our stars are here.” He claps his hands, so sweetly enthusiastic. I’m already sad to see his bubble burst.

“Yes! We’re very excited,” Melly says. A moment of silence stretches between the three of them, and I know her well enough to look down just as she subtly leans her frighteningly sharp heel on Rusty’s toe.

“VERY EXCITED!” he shouts.

“Yikes,” James whispers next to me, and then dutifully pops a Jolly Rancher into his mouth.

My stomach clenches. “We just … need to work on her delivery.” I stand as they approach. “It’ll be fine.”

Melly is the first on the bus; her sharp blue eyes do a RoboCop scan of the interior, and I swear even the bus holds its breath waiting for the verdict.

“So much marble,” she says with a saccharine smile, and then blinks to me. “Carey, I need to go over the Belmont sketches.” She brushes past me and drops her bright orange Birkin on the couch before slipping into the booth that surrounds the table. She makes a show of trying to get comfortable before she looks up at Joe. “Can we get a better chair in here?”

I don’t think I’m going out on a limb assuming that nobody wants to tell her no.

Joe takes one for the team. “I’m not sure if we can get something before we’re set to leave”—he checks his watch again—“but I can certainly try!”

“Great.” Melly pulls out her laptop, and only quasi under her breath says, “For what I’m paying for this tour, I’d like something that’s not going to leave me hobbling by the time we get to LA.”

So we’re not even pretending to be nice today. Good to know.

As Joe passes him on his hunt for a chair, Rusty offers a look of commiseration that I’m sure is the dude equivalent of I know, right? But then Rusty steps into the back lounge and his misery is, as ever, short-lived: “Baseball all day?” he calls out, gleeful. “All right, my man!”

Melly takes a deep breath and bends her head to rub her temples. I can, oddly, relate.

We stop at a gas station in Salt Lake City for bathroom breaks, fuel, and junk food. A country song filters from the speakers overhead, and I find James in the Maverik coffee aisle, typing furiously into his phone. Stepping up beside him with arms full of Funyuns, Peanut M&M’s, and Red Vines, I bump his shoulder with mine.

“Still glad we told Melly?” I ask, snapping a bite of a Red Vine.

Instead of responding, he slumps. “They just rode Expedition Everest.”

I’m definitely missing an important piece of this conversation. “Who did?”

James turns the screen toward me and I see a pretty brunette grinning into the camera and standing just behind two scrappy boys wearing mouse ears. They look exhausted and sweaty and euphoric.

She’s got the same luminous brown eyes and narrow nose, but it’s the smile that gives it away. The McCann children apparently have great teeth. “Your sister?” I guess.

Nodding, he slips his phone back into his pocket and reaches for a Styrofoam cup from the display.

“Right, your sister in Florida. You were supposed to go with them. That was your vacation.” Ugh. I guess I could continue to give him shit about screwing up this week for both of us, but missing a trip to Disney World with his sister and nephews seems like sufficient punishment.

“It’s fine.” He places his cup under the spigot labeled LIGHT SUMATRAN.

“It’s not fine, but I get that it has to be. I’m sorry, James.”

He glances at me, surprised. “Thanks.”

“When did you last see them?”

James reaches for another cup and places it under the Almond Joy latte spout. See? Getting Rusty’s coffee. Assistant.