The Hating Game

“I’ve got your back this weekend, okay? Like at paintball. But the offer stands for this weekend only.”

“Thanks for covering for me. You took a lot of hits. I still don’t know why you did it, though.”

He squints against the sun, and I find a pair of sunglasses in the glove compartment. I huff on them and polish them with my sleeve.

“Well, you’d made me the last person to go for the flag. The most expendable.”

“I did it because you looked like you were about to keel over. Thanks.” He takes the glasses.

“Oh. I thought it was another one of your little tricks. No one covering for me. Lucy Hutton, human shield.”

“I was always covering for you.” He checks his mirror and changes lanes.

There’s a little candlelight flicker in the vicinity of my heart. “You should see my bruises, though.”

“I saw a few of them.”

“Oh, right. When you took off my Sleepysaurus top.” I rest my cheek on the seat and open my eyes. We’re stopped at a traffic light, and I see the little smile line near the corner of his mouth.

“You have no idea how much I regret you seeing my pajama top. My mom gave it to me a few Christmases back.”

“Oh, don’t be self-conscious about it. It looks great on you.”

I laugh and a little of the stress leaves me. The city bleeds into suburbs, and the sun begins to set as we wind through vast tracks of green. I’ve never been out this far. I need to start living my life, rather than walking the same path, in and out of B&G, like a little highland sheep.

“So you’ve said I’m coming along for moral support. Will you tell me why? I feel like I need to be forewarned and forearmed.”

“I have . . .” he begins, and sighs.

“Baggage?” I hazard. “Who’s this about?”

“It’s largely just about me. I made some mistakes and didn’t try hard enough on something important. Now I have to go and have it rubbed in my face a little. It’s just going to sting a bit.”

“Medicine.” Without thinking I reduce it down to one word. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive.”

“You’re talking to the king of insensitive, remember?” He rolls his shoulders, desperate to change the subject. I take pity.

“I should come out here on the weekend and do some exploring. I could buy some stuff to decorate my apartment.” I look at him sideways. Fishing for an antiquing pal? Seriously, Lucy, get it together.

r /> “Well, I’m sure your new good friend Danny would love to drive you.”

I cross my arms and we don’t talk for twenty-three minutes, according to his perfectly accurate digital display.

I break under the silence first. “Before this weekend is over, I am going to crack open your head. I am going to work out what is going on in your evil brain.”

“That’s fine.”

“I’m serious, Josh. You are destroying my sanity.” I lean forward and put my elbows on my knees and rub my face.

“My evil brain is thinking about grabbing some dinner soon.”

“Mine is thinking about strangling you.”

“I’m thinking if we plunge off a bridge I won’t have to go to this wedding.” He looks at me, perhaps only half joking.

“Oh, great. Watch the road or your wish will come true.” When we do cross a bridge, I supervise him with suspicion.

“I’m thinking about . . . my car’s fuel consumption.”