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“You just have a way of making it sound so elegant and beautiful.” She sighs wistfully. “I’ve never been able to do that.”
She peppers me with questions, practically bouncing up and down in her seat as she does. I answer them politely because I guess it’s the least I can do since she’s driving us through the snow.
“I was thinking about getting some of your lyrics tattooed on me,” Steph continues after a brief stop for gas. “But I can’t decide which one, you know? They all mean so much, and I don’t have enough skin to just get your entire discography.” She laughs. “Maybe you can help me decide.”
“Uh, sure. What are you choosing between?”
“Well, Fly Free is an obvious choice, the part where you say ‘there’s no ground below, just wind above to carry me’. I get chills every time I hear that part. But then there’s Dandelion too. ‘And when it’s done, I’ll be the one wildflower that remains.’ They’re both so poetic, I don’t know how you do it.”
There’s a snort from the back seat, and I glance in the rearview mirror, expecting to see Ares being annoyed that someone is gushing over me. But instead I see Callan scoffing. He mutters under his breath, and I realize he’s correcting the lyric Steph quoted. “And when you’re gone, I’ll be the one wildflower that remains,” he mutters under his breath.
I look away before he can catch me staring, but I don’t know what to make of that. ‘Dandelion’ isn’t even one of my more popular songs. It doesn’t get a lot of radio play, which means that for him to know it well enough to correct the lyrics, he’s been listening to it. He knows my music.
Somehow that surprises me completely.
But I don’t comment on it. This isn’t the time or the place, and drawing Callan’s attention to me never makes me feel good.
“It’s crazy how the world works,” Steph is saying, shaking her head. “Like, you go out one day, just totally normal, and you end up with Brynn Carter in your car.” She says my name in that starstruck way, and I have to make a conscious effort to keep my shoulders from creeping up around my ears.
“You know what’s weird though?” she continues. “When your friend flagged me down, I totally thought I recognized him too for a second. Has he been in any of your videos or anything?”
I shake my head, quickly latching on to this chance to divert attention away from myself. “No, Ares isn’t part of my team,” and isn’t that the understatement of the century? “He has a career of his own. Have you ever seen ATL Law?” I name the show Ares has been working on for the last few years.
Steph’s eyes fly open even wider as she looks at Ares in the rearview mirror. “Oh my god!” she says. “You’re Ares Thornton!”
Ares makes a face but then smooths it over into a smile. “I am, yeah.”
“Your show is amazing. It was the thing that I looked forward to after work. I can’t believe it’s going to be over soon.”
“Yeah, it’s wild,” he replies. “We’ve filmed the last few episodes and everything.”
“I’m going to miss it. I don’t know what I’m going to watch on Thursday nights now, if I don’t have ATL Law to look forward to.” She keeps chattering, asking if there’s anything Ares can tell her about the series finale or little secrets about his castmates.
I’d feel worse about him getting interrogated if I hadn’t spent the last hour and change going through the same thing. I smirk as I settle into the seat, relieved to get to be quiet for a while.
Ares answers her questions, deflecting some of them like someone who’s been through extensive media training. I glance at him in the rearview mirror, half expecting him to be scowling at me for throwing him under the bus.
Instead when our eyes meet, there’s a moment of understanding between us. Both of us know well that there are upsides and downsides to being famous, and this is firmly in the downside category.
I quirk a smile at the exasperation in his face, and his lips start to pull into a smile as well before I watch him remember in real time that he hates me. The smile dies and he jerks his eyes away, looking out the window at the field of snow we’re driving past.
So that’s that, I guess.
Even Steph runs out of things to say after a while, and we pass the next few hours in relative quiet. When one of my songs comes on her playlist, she glances at me like she’s expecting me to start singing along, but I keep my eyes firmly out the window, not looking at her at all.
The roads aren’t good, and Steph locks in and drives cautiously as we pass by what looks like a pretty bad accident. There’s a truck in a ditch down the slope, and a few emergency vehicles off to the side. I spare a thought to hope everyone came out of it okay.
Eventually, after hours of driving, we reach a town that’s large enough to hopefully have more accommodations.
Steph pulls up to a complex that has a gas station, a few restaurants, and a huge sign proclaiming a B&B with rooms for the night.
“We should at least pay for your gas,” I say, stepping out of her SUV and stretching my legs. “This was totally out of your way.”
“Oh no, you don’t have to do that,” Steph replies. “But um… if you want to pay me back, you could… maybe sign something for me?”
“Sure.”
She squeals with delight and comes back with a postcard from the glove box of her car. There’s a picture of a snowy scene on the front, and I smile because it’s pretty fitting. I hold it up to the side of her SUV and sign my name with a little flourish.
