with you about responsible parenting when we get back.”
“Damn it, Prissy! You weren’t supposed to tell anyone about our trip.” With a loud harumph, the angry blonde flops back into her seat, effectively stealing my view while she refastens her belt. “What happened to pretending to have the flu?”
“I’m sorry, Momma. I’m just not a good liar like you.”
I actually feel Whitney’s gaze burning a hole in the side of my face when I spit out a laugh. “What?” I ask recoiling toward my window. “Oh, come on, you have to admit, that was funny.”
“It’s not funny! That woman hates me.”
“Hey,” I say, reaching across the car to tickle the back of her neck. That sour face of hers just isn’t sitting well with me. This is supposed to be a happy trip. “You let me handle Mrs. Wyler, okay?”
“I wish I could…my kid, remember?” She shoves my hand away, trying not to laugh. “Keep ’em on the wheel, sir.”
All jokes aside, I can’t wait for the day we can formally remedy this little situation. For the day I can officially call that kid my own. It’s not something I’ve brought up with Whitney yet, only because I’m still not so patiently waiting for enough time to lapse that she might not turn me down when I work up the nerve to ask her to be my wife. “Right,” I say, chewing on the inside of my cheek. “Well, I’ll accompany you to said meeting, and we can handle that witch together. How’s that?”
“Deal.”
After about a half-hour of idle chit-chat, the car falls silent. Whitney’s busy reading some romance book on her Kindle, and Prissy’s occupied playing games on her momma’s phone.
I switch the radio on to some good old-fashioned rock and roll and proceed to cruise, watching the mile markers tick on by.
“Pull over,” Whitney groans, folded at the waist with a hand clamped over her mouth.
I take the next exit, pulling onto the shoulder of a wooded area, where she promptly flings the door open and proceeds to empty the contents of her stomach.
“Are you okay?” I wish I could do more to look after her, but as it stands I’m presently hanging my head out the window, fighting the urge to lose my own lunch. The smell alone is enough to curdle my gut.
“Yeah,” she says, wiping her face with a Wet One she retrieved from the glove compartment. “Food must’ve stayed on my stomach.”
This is only the first of many pit stops. There are a few for Prissy to pee, but most are on account of Whitney’s newfound penchant for car sickness.
“I’m so sorry. I would’ve taken some motion sickness medicine, but I’ve never been on a long enough trip to know I needed it.”
“No worries, love. I just feel bad for you. You look awful.”
Her eyes widen. “Uhh…thanks?”
“You know what I mean.”
Our last stop is a gas station connected to a Wendy’s, where we feed Prissy dinner and get Whitney some sleeping medicine to hopefully knock her out for the remainder of the drive.
“Honeys, we’re here!” I chant to the two beauties sawing wood like they’re competing for a gold medal in some Olympic event for snorers. How anything so beautiful can produce such vile sounds is beyond me.
“Wow,” Priss says, opening her eyes and squeezing herself between the front seats to have a better look at the massive grizzly bear statues as tall as the roof. She perches herself on the center console to peer through the windshield. “Get up, Momma,” she says, shaking Whitney by the shoulders. “Look!”
Whit chokes on a snore before wiping her mouth with the back of a hand. “We’re here?” Poor thing’s still half asleep.
“We are. Let’s get inside so we can get some rest.” With our many stops, the eight-hour trip quickly grew to over ten, and I’m freaking exhausted.
After a late check-in, we head up to our room. I swear Prissy’s mouth hangs open the entire way as she drinks in every detail of her playground for the next few days. The décor is off the chain, the outdoors theme woven into every facet of the place.
But her reaction when she sees our room is the one I don’t think I’ll soon forget.
I might have splurged on one of the more expensive rooms, with a queen-sized bed and a set of bunks enclosed in this neat little manmade stone alcove.
“Are you kidding me?” The kid seems to have caught a second wind, zipping around the room and