Once Upon a Road Trip (21 page)

“I guess it sorta does.” Scott said, meeting her gaze curiously. “So you aren’t ‘religious,’ you’re spiritual,” he inferred, looking halfway pleased with himself. 

Angie weighed his wording for a few moments, turning it over in her mind as though it were a tangible object. It wasn’t a perfect fit, but it didn’t have the jagged, unforgiving barbs she associated with the first label he’d used. “That makes me think of a hippie commune for some reason. But if you have to call me something, I think I like that better.” 

Scott’s mouth shifted into a partial grin. “So, if you don’t say ‘Oh my god’, what -do- you say?”

“Oh…Mylanta?”

“Yeah, I figured it would be something lame like that.” Scott laughed, tensing when she shot him an exaggerated look of annoyance.

Noting that he seemed ready for it, Angie gave his shoulder a solid punch. He rocked with the force of it, still looking smug. When he stopped walking she thought he was playing up the punch, but then noticed they were standing in front of a grocery store. She tailed him into the building.

Inside, Angie was taken aback by the elaborate ambiance. A wall separating the entrance from the checkout counters was comprised of latticed mahogany, stacked with an array of fine wines and draped with faux grape vines. The displays at the head of each aisle were ornate, if not elegant. The color scheme was earthy and warm, complimented by the mingled scent of fresh produce and baked goods. One word came to her mind as she strained to identify the classical music piece drifting about the store’s interior: Expensive.

She imagined this was the sort of grocery store that threw away food within a week of its expiration date, rather than risk looking tacky by offering it at a discounted price. She found herself both loving and loathing the place at the same time. Love for the serene atmosphere, and loathe for the snobby undertones.

Scott paused to pat down the numerous pockets of his pants before locating his wallet. He pulled out a credit card and held it up.

“Ooo. Ahhh.” Angie kept her tone lukewarm, wondering if she was supposed to be impressed. “I have one too.”

“It’s my dad’s,” Scott clarified. “He told me to pick up some stuff for dinner tonight, and to make sure you got some snacks for the week.” Expecting the protest that was already forming on her face, he held up a hand. “I’ve gotta answer to him, so don’t be difficult, okay? Just pick out a few things you want and meet me back up here in five minutes.” He ended on a pleading note, giving Angie a look that reminded her of a sad puppy.

She released a disgruntled sigh and nodded once. “Fine.”

As they split up to undertake their separate food expeditions, she wondered at what the rest of her host family would think of her. She was sure she’d already made a bad impression by being late with her arrival and failing to call. And while Yosh’s observation about her clothing had been exceedingly rude, it wasn’t inaccurate. She didn’t own anything new or particularly nice. Would it matter to them? Some part of her mind pointed out the chosen attire of Scott and his friends, and she decided she was over-analyzing.

High school is over. These are adults
, she reminded herself. Or at least, it seemed reasonable to hold out hope.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After returning to the guest apartment for the afternoon, they broke into the cookies and Vanilla Coke that Angie had brought back. It wasn’t the healthiest lunch she’d ever had. In fact, she was sure the sugary pairing had no actual nutritional value. But it was far more enjoyable than the gas station hotdogs that had sustained her the day before.

To kill time they discussed comic books, their respective martial art of choice, and played many brutal rounds of various video games from Scott’s collection. It became clear to Angie early on that Scott wasn’t above bragging, and his competitive nature proved too pervasive for him to go easy on her. Her own competitiveness reared its head in response, and along the way their friendly antagonism deteriorated into rivalry. The banter between them became comfortable, and by the end of the afternoon, Angie was grateful for the mindless downtime.

With the approach of evening they headed down to the apartment serving as the main residence. While the front door was unassuming, Angie found it difficult to conceal her amazement once they’d entered the condo. Polished wood floors stretched out from the entryway into a spacious dining area. To her right, a cast iron railing was the only separation between the upper living area and the sprawling den located on a recessed level — which was accessible via a wide staircase.

From the railing overlook she took in the black leather sectional-sofa, which was positioned in a U shape and angled toward the largest flat-panel television she’d ever seen. The back wall of the den wasn’t a wall at all, but a section of floor-to-ceiling windows that ran two stories high, offering an acrophobic view into the chasm between them and the high rise across the street. The wall décor was made up of large abstract paintings and fabric swaths, rich in color and expertly arranged. The spotless condition of the apartment topped off a sense of class with the impression the place was barely lived in.

“You coming?” Scott’s voice pulled her focus to where he stood in the doorway to the left of the dining table. She closed her mouth and took quick strides to make up the distance between them.

“Yeah, sorry.” Angie looked side to side when they ended up  in a kitchen space at least the size of the one at the weekend home. Here the countertops were all composed of beige stone, given contrast by the stainless-steel appliances. To the right was a preparation area, and to the left, a walk-in pantry. “What did you say your dad does for a living?” she asked, curiosity finally getting the better of her.

“I didn’t,” Scott replied evenly. He veered right, first placing groceries in the refrigerator and then filling a tea kettle with water. He looked intent on his tasks, and Angie guessed he was either delaying or stringing her along in an effort to seem mysterious. She was about to drop the subject when he finally looked at her with an air of reluctance. “He works in insurance.”

Angie eyed him warily. “So, is that code for ‘he’s in the mafia?’”

“No, worse.” Scott’s expression slackened with amusement. “He’s the regional president of an insurance firm. My dad is ‘The Man.’” He threw up two fingers of each hand into mimed quotations, disdain evident in his voice.

“And you never mentioned this before because...what, you’re embarrassed by him?” she asked, puzzled.

“Not exactly.” Scott thinned his lips, considering for a long moment before he began a search through the upper cabinets. “It’s hard enough to know who your friends are. It’s just about impossible when people think you have money.”

  Angie watched him set out a pair of sapphire-blue cups, along with a bag of loose-leaf green tea. Before saying anything more she turned, hopping up to perch on the end of the countertop. “So what you’re saying is, you wanted to make sure I liked you for who you are and not because your dad is some kind of big-shot?”

“Something like that.” Scott glanced up at her and then away.

“That’s…kind of dignified, actually.” She broke into a congratulatory smile, admiring his discretion.

“It wasn’t like I didn’t trust you...I just didn’t think it should be important.” Scott relaxed visibly. “I don’t even think Elsie knows about my dad. Her mom and my mom aren’t close. I haven’t seen her in person since we were little kids. I just found her email in a Christmas card one year and we started talking.”

When the kettle began to steam he removed it from the heat and dropped the tea into the upper part of the vessel.

Angie slid off the counter and accepted the two earthenware cups as Scott offered them out to her. “I haven’t known Elsie to ask for much personal information,” she said, following as he carried the kettle out of the kitchen. “And she’s not keen on sharing anything profound about herself, either. I think she’s afraid of getting too close to anybody.”

How sad is it that we’re best friends and we hardly know each other?

“Now that you mention it, I guess we mainly just talk about games and TV shows.” Scott mused aloud, stepping out into the dining room and veering left down the main hallway of the condo. He passed several doors and nudged the last one open with his foot.

“These are pretty,” Angie remarked, admiring the ornate cups as she trailed after him. “Where did you get them?”

“Japan,” Scott answered, matter-of-fact. “My mom and I went for two weeks over spring break. It was her trip of a lifetime, and I got to tag along.” He used his feet to push low piles of clothing out of the way as he entered the room, which Angie presumed to be his. Notebooks and papers covered a twin bed in the left corner. Hanging scrolls covered in hand-painted Japanese Kanji lined the walls, and an unimposing computer desk sat against the right wall. It was the computer he seemed to be clearing a path toward. “Here, I figured you’d want to check in with people.”

“Oh, thanks. That’d be great.” Angie sank into the computer chair, setting the two cups down on the left side of the desk. She marveled that she’d gotten so caught up with everything, she hadn’t even thought about sending her routine newsletter to let everyone know she was still alive. “So, how was Japan?” she asked, glancing back to her host to show she didn’t plan to completely disengage from conversation.

Scott poured tea into each cup, claiming the one closest to him before setting the kettle on a sparsely populated bookshelf in the corner. “It was great. Beautiful. If I got to go back, I’d want to stay at least a month or two,” he said, thoughtful. “I just wish my sister could have gone with us. She got married last year, and something about her husband’s religion says they have to live in a mud hut in Guatemala for a year. He’s a decent guy and all—I just don’t see why they can’t have some vacation time. Or at least a computer. She has to write me regular letters.” Frowning, he picked up a leather-bound book off of the shelf and pulled out an envelope he’d been using to mark his place. 

“I’m sorry,” Angie said in sympathy. “You’d mentioned a few times that you two were close. Is she much older than you?” She lifted up her cup and sniffed at the tea before tasting it. The liquid smelled like grass clippings and jasmine. Fortunately, its taste was mild and dominated by the floral aspect.

“No, we’re just two years apart. She took care of me when we were kids—after my parents got divorced.” Scott turned the book over in his hands. “I got this journal while we were in Japan, so I could record all of the stuff she missed and everything I wanted to talk to her about. I’m going to send it to her when it’s full.”

Angie smiled, endeared. “I’d love it if my little brother thought that well of me.”

“Glad you think so.” Scott smirked at her roguishly. “You help yourself to the computer, and I’m going to catch my sister up on you.” He made his way back to the bed and flopped down without bothering to clear himself a spot.

Angie scowled over her shoulder at him. “Do I get to screen it for accuracy?”

“Not a chance,” Scott shot back, turning his full attention to the journal.

She grumbled back at him in forced exasperation — her way of shrugging off what she was tempted to perceive as a veiled compliment. Opening her email, Angie caught some part of herself hoping to find a letter from Don sitting in her inbox. Having no such luck, she internally scolded herself for failing to accept reality.

Quit being a silly little girl and just let him go.

She realized then that the only new mail she had was from Zak, and her disappointment was partially replaced with intrigue.

Way to freak me out. My mom calls me up at my friend’s place at like 12 am and says you haven’t called yet. I didn’t sleep too well last night... Did you underestimate the drive? I told you it was more like 8 hours...

Anyway, I hope you liked your stay. Sorry if things didn’t turn out the way you might have expected. Uhh, and sorry I sorta left you with my sister after you lost your keys, but she’s not so hard to get along with is she? I know that was all really awkward at the end. I have no idea why my friend came along with me when my sister called me back. I guess I didn’t know what to do after that, so I just left. Whatever… Hope you’re ok.

Found the keychain you left me. Cute. At least now I’ve got something to remember you by.

-Zak

Angie smiled to herself.
Aww. He was actually worried about me.

She had debated slipping the keychain under his door before she’d left. It was a favorite from her collection, featuring a sleeping housecat with a witticism about relaxation that seemed to fit him. Now she was glad she’d summoned the courage to leave it behind. Though her visit to Ottawa had ended on a clumsy note, she would always remember it with fondness.

At least he must have cared about me a little, in his own way.

She typed up a quick report and included Zak in the send list, tacking on a personal note promising to call him within the next day or two. She hoped by then he would have some good news about his sister and nephew.

“Alright, I’m done.” She swiveled around in the chair to square off with Scott. “Now, what sort of libel are you fabricating about me?”

Scott finished the sentence he was on before snapping the journal closed and setting it aside. A grin played across his face. “Just telling her how I can’t believe you tried to buy a homeless guy breakfast. It was so…tourist. Right up there with running into things while staring up at the buildings.” He laughed, polished off his tea, and walked over to collect her empty cup. While his room was an organizational disaster, he at least appeared to be conscious about keeping things sanitary. “And doesn’t that kinda go against the whole Bible code? You know, ‘God helps those who help themselves?’”

Angie gave him the flattest expression she could manage before realizing he was serious. “Scott… that’s not in the Bible. That’s just a saying people like to use when they’re too lazy to help people.”

Scott’s brows knit together. “Oh.” He processed the revelation a moment longer and then shrugged. “Sorry. You know, I actually tried to read it to figure out what all is in there and what isn’t. But it got pretty boring after that second chapter…er…book. You know what I mean.” He turned and strode back to his bed, rummaging through the clutter until he produced a nearly ancient King James edition. Balancing it in one upturned palm, he brought it to her. The leather binding was cream in color, with dry cracking and fracture lines along the edges. “This is the one my Grandmother gave me a couple of years ago. It was hers when she was a kid.” He spoke with obvious affection, offering it out to her.