down here. Maybe so they can go shopping in Oregon?”
“Why would they go shopping in Oregon?”
“No sales tax.”
“Ah.”
Arlo nods. “And they pump your gas for you.”
“This sounds like a mythical land,” I say, peering out the window at the city. The rain has lessened, but it’s still cloudy, and the roads shine with recent rainfall. The buildings aren’t as tall as the ones that fill Austin, or even Seattle. A crowd of bicyclists is at our side, and people mill along the sidewalks.
“Eight minutes away,” he says. “We’re making good time.”
“Just don’t hit a bicyclist. That will definitely work against my objective.”
His dimple pops as he slides into traffic. I distract myself with details of Portland, comparing it to Seattle and Austin.
“Oh, shit. I think we were supposed to turn there,” Arlo says, checking his rearview mirror. “No problem. We’ll just take this right … no, we won’t, it’s a one-way…” He peers out the windshield, his gaze jogging from the busy sidewalks to the road. “We should grab some food at a food truck while we’re down here. Portland is known for its food trucks.” He remains calm, the opposite of how I feel when I miss a turn or am lost in traffic.
“Do you want help with directions? I can pull them up on my phone.”
Arlo fishes his phone from the middle console. “Sure. You can be the navigator. We’re heading to the Moda Center. It should be in the directions if you just turn up the sound.”
I glance at the clock that taunts we’re close to being late. “We might miss tip-off,” I tell him.
He adds a second hand to the wheel. “That’s okay. We’ll have the entire rest of the game.”
“You’re going to take the next right,” I tell him before his response sinks into my thoughts. His demeanor is calm, and when the light turns green for us to turn and we have to wait for a dozen pedestrians who mosey across, he doesn’t inch up or honk or seem even slightly annoyed.
“Are you going to tell me how you landed these tickets?” he asked.
“One of the patients at Pivotal, she and her husband are season ticket holders. They’re from Portland and moved up to Seattle for work a few years ago. They had something else tonight and had offered them to me, and I’d initially declined, but I tried calling her this morning, and she still had them. So, really, luck has been on your side since about nine this morning.”
“Well, let’s see how long it lasts…” His words trail off as he takes a sharp left.
“You’re going the wrong way.”
He shakes his head, pointing at something.
“What?”
“Parking here is like parking in Seattle—scarce. This lot is only two blocks away, and it’s still open.” He turns again, and we make our way through two aisles of cars before finding a spot.
“I’ll go grab a parking pass.”
“No. Sit. You got the tickets. The least I can do is pick up parking.”
I want to argue that I’ll be able to get there and back before he manages to get his crutches out, but that reminder seems almost cruel. Instead, I zip my jacket and check my phone.
Rose: I’m going to have a guy over tonight. I promise I’ll tell him he can’t use your bathroom.
The text was sent fifteen minutes ago.
Me: Thanks. Be safe.
Rose: That’s my middle name. Are you at work still?
Me: No. It’s a long story, but I’m trying to prove to Arlo that bad luck/curses don’t exist.
Rose: Details?
Me: Later. I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you in the morning.
Rose: XO
Arlo appears, sliding a small paper onto the dash.
“Ready?” I ask.
“To go to my first NBA game? No. Not at all. I’m pretty sure there’s a minimum time requirement everyone is supposed to receive so they can bask in the fact they’re going to attend an NBA game. Allow adequate time for dreaming, planning, and figuring out ways to make it onto the jumbotron and get a high five and a head nod so when they come and see me play on my home turf they can be like, ‘There’s Arlo! I know him!’”
“Let’s go.” I open the passenger door of his SUV and climb out, wishing I’d slept a little more this afternoon because even with the anticipation at doing something new and fun, there’s a thin layer of cotton in my head from exhaustion.
Wind licks at my cheeks and cuts through my hair, making me shiver as I lower my face.