“Yep, it’s all mine,” I say.
Blake frowns. “Hmm.”
Hey, I’m proud to own a car! I don’t have to listen to Blake hmm-ing mine. “Do you have any luggage?” I ask.
Blake gestures to the porter.
“All of that?”
Blake nods. “It’s for three long months.”
“I know, but… I… A lot of boxes showed up at…” I decide that this conversation can wait. “I’m not sure we can fit all of that in my car.”
“I’m sure we can’t,” says Blake. “That’s why I assumed you’d bring a more appropriate vehicle.”
“We can make it work,” I counter. If we fill the trunk, the back seat, make Blake sit on a couple of suitcases, and strap the rest to the roof, we might be able to fit everything, though my car probably won’t move.
“We can store some of the luggage for you,” says the porter. “You could make a second trip.”
Blake sighs. “I’ve never been fond of second trips.”
“It’ll be fine,” I say. “I don’t live that far from here.”
“I suppose I could hire another car and driver,” says Blake.
“It’s really not necessary,” I insist. I open the trunk, pull the first suitcase off the cart, and slide it in the back. As I pick up the second suitcase, I notice that Blake remains seated on the bench.
He’s not going to sit there and watch me load his luggage, is he?
Apparently, he is.
I’m not sure if I should say something or go ahead and load up the car. I decide that since we’ve got a quarter of a year together, it’s best not to get off to a tense start.
I’m able to fit about half of his suitcases into my car. “Okay,” I say since Blake has yet to stand. “I think we’re ready to go.”
Blake sighs again.
He still hasn’t gotten up. Does he think I’m going to carry him to the car? Nobody could be that lazy, right?
I suddenly wonder if Blake uses a wheelchair to get around. Am I the most horrible person in the world for thinking he was lazy? Am I a monster?
No. Of course not. My mom would’ve said something before I picked him up at the airport. And there’s no wheelchair nearby.
Finally, Blake stands, moving as if a dozen steel rhinoceroses are strapped to his back. He slowly waddles over to my car and gets in the front seat, grunting with the effort.
I close the trunk and get in the car. Blake hasn’t shut his door.
“Your door’s still open,” I tell him, trying to be helpful.
“I’m aware.”
“I thought you might consider closing it so we can go.”
“Hmm.”
Is he testing me? Maybe he’s trying to figure out if, during these crucial first minutes of our relationship, he can make me his personal servant. Or he may be messing with me. I can’t tell. Either way, even though I don’t want to pick a fight with the guy, I have to assert myself.
“Look,” I say, “my job is to welcome you and make you feel at home. I’m happy to do it. But this isn’t the kind of deal where I open and close car doors for you like a limo driver.”
“I definitely didn’t mistake this for a limo.”
“It’s a perfectly good car,” I insist.
Blake runs his index finger along the dashboard. “Could be cleaner.”
“Close the door, Blake.”
The porter walks over and closes the door for him. Blake gives me a smug grin.
I glare at him. “Do you need somebody to fasten your seat belt for you?”
Blake puts on his own seat belt. One of the airport employees angrily blows his whistle at me, and I drive us out of the Arrivals area.
“So how was your flight?” I ask.
Blake shrugs. “It was an airplane ride. You know it didn’t crash because I’m here with you now, so what else is there to say about it?”
I have the sudden realization that my cousin Blake may, in fact, be a jerk.
“Well,” I say, “you could have been sitting behind a shrieking baby. Or you could have sat next to Tom Hanks. Those are the kind of details you could have shared.”
“Why would Tom Hanks be on my flight?”
“Why wouldn’t he be? You don’t think Tom Hanks has millions of frequent flier miles?”
“I suppose.”
“All I’m saying is that there are plenty of interesting things that could happen when you’re flying that don’t involve fiery deaths.”
“I’m not a fan of meaningless small talk,” Blake informs me. “How was your drive to the airport? See? That was annoying, wasn’t it?”
“My drive over was fine. No traffic problems.”
“I didn’t care about your answer, and you didn’t care about sharing it with me.”
“Are you saying that we shouldn’t talk for three months?”
Blake shakes his head. “I believe people should talk about important things.”
“I’m all for that. But as human beings in, y’know, society, there are ways that we communicate. I’m not going to pick you up after not having seen you for years and immediately ask, ‘So, Blake, do you believe in life after death?’”
“I’d prefer that.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You’d be weirded out.”
“Very well.”
Very well? Nobody says “very well” in the real world, do they? I wonder how much trouble I’d get in if I drove over to Departures and shoved him out the door.
“Are you messing with me?” I ask.
“Why would you think that?”
“Because you’re acting like somebody who’s messing with somebody. People don’t actually behave like that. I’m not sure if you know this, but your behavior is really, really abnormal. As in, you are literally the strangest person I’ve ever encountered, and I’m in a punk rock band.”
“You’re in a band?”
“Yeah.”
Blake nods his approval. “That’s cool.”
“Thanks.”
“Sorry,” says Blake. “I don’t interact with people much.”
“I can see that.”
“I get nervous when I meet new people, even though you’re not technically a new person, and I don’t present the best version of myself.
