9. Charlie

9

CHARLIE

“ A nimal, vegetable, or mineral?” Quentin asks for the hundredth time.

I cast around the landscape, trying to think of an object that I haven’t already come up with. We’ve been playing this game across most of New Mexico right after we ran out of ideas for I Spy. There’s not a lot to spy when you’re driving through the plains of New Mexico.

My gaze wanders back to Quentin. His profile is more relaxed than I’ve seen him. A light stubble coats his chin, a sign that the afternoon’s getting late, and there’s a hint of a smile on his usually serious features.

He glances over at me with his eyebrows raised. “Well? We haven’t got all day.”

We both laugh at what’s become a running joke. The day has stretched before us, and we’ve spent it playing silly car games and taking it in turns to choose the music.

I don’t mind his alt rock too much, and he’s tapped along respectfully to Boygenius and Mitski.

In twenty years of music, the sentiment hasn’t changed. The songs are about lost love, feeling like an outsider, and trying to find your place in life. Universal themes no matter the decade of music.

“Animal,” I say.

“Kangaroo,” Quentin says immediately, making me chuckle. There are no kangaroos out here.

“No.”

“Is it a mammal?”

“Yes.”

“Is it domesticated?”

I give Quentin an assessing look. “Maybe?”

He glances at me and frowns. “What do you mean maybe? Either it’s been domesticated or not.”

I hide my laugher behind my hands. He doesn’t know that he’s the animal I’ve chosen.

“Okay, yes. It’s domesticated.”

He thinks for a moment, causing little frown lines to appear on his forehead. I like the way he frowns when he’s thinking, like everything he does is of importance, even a guessing game.

“Does it sleep in a barn?”

I can’t stop laughing now, thinking about Quentin sleeping in a barn.

“No.”

“Is it a dog?”

“No.”

His frown deepens. “Does it sleep on its owner’s bed?”

Imagining Quentin curled up at the end of my bed makes me laugh so hard I double over.

“Maybe. I mean it could.”

He eyes me suspiciously. “What’s so funny?”

I wipe the tears from my eyes and check my makeup in the mirror. My finger wipes up a smudge of mascara.

“Does it have fur?”

This elicits another round of laughter. “I’m not sure. It might be hairy.”

“Hmmm.” He gives me the side eye as suspicion dawns on him.

“It’s me, isn’t it?”

I’m laughing so hard I can barely speak. I just nod my head. Then Quentin’s laughing too, a deep belly laugh that rumbles out of his throat and sets me off even more.

He laughs with an abandon that I don’t usually see in the ex-military sergeant.

It’s nice. It’s a different side to him, and I suddenly wonder what he’d be like as a life partner. What would it be like to have this tough man by my side, making him belly laugh whenever I could?

The tough man with the soft side that only I seem to bring out in him.

The thought sobers me up. I’ve never had a relationship before, not a real one. The boys I ran around with in California were just that. Boys. They were always too intimidated by me, too scared to contradict me, and too in awe of my tits.

Not Quentin. He has no problem telling me when I’ve gone too far. He has standards, and I like that. The only problem is those same standards might stop him from doing exactly what he wants with me.

“Let’s put some music on.”

I choose my Pink playlist and turn up the volume. As the landscape rushes by, I think about how nice it would be to have someone to laugh with every day.