“Well, the suspense is killing me.” I clap my hands with an overly fake smile. “Open the box.”
“No, it’s okay.” She lingers, releasing a sigh. “Okay, fine.”
At a slow and painful pace, she opens the box, and inside sits a diamond ring, an engagement ring, to be exact. I can’t tell you what fucking type, but the sentiment strikes a nerve with my bruised ego.
“I’m assuming you’ve seen this ring before.”
She nods.
“Go on, put it on,” I coerce.
“I’m not going to put it on,” she bellows, frustrated. “I just need…”
“Time,” we say at the same time.
Silence echoes in the small kitchen. Our road trip’s already off to a bad start.
“Does he know you’re on this road trip with me?”
Gabriella doesn’t respond, her usually witty response, scarce.
“Does he know you’re coming back?”
More silence.
“So tell me, what does he know?” I ask, frustrated we are even having this conversation.
“Nothing,” she mutters, momentarily beyond words. “He knows nothing because I haven’t spoken to him in over a week. There… you happy?”
“Am I happy?” I repeat, tone laced in sarcasm. “The audacity of you to ask such a thing. I’d be happy if you told him to fuck right off, tell him we kissed, and at least admit we’re friends.”
“What do you want from me?” she yells, shoving fruit into her bag like she’s going to starve to death in the car. “I’ve limited my communication with him. I’m creating as much distance as I can. Now get off my back, or we’ll never get out of here.”
She ignores my persistent glare, grabbing her bag, demanding we go, now.
For the first hour of the road trip, Gabriela doesn’t say a word making me regret this trip. A simple plane ride would have been much more comfortable than the tension inside this car which you can cut with a chainsaw.
My frustration escalates, so I crank up the stereo and start singing along to Bon Jovi. A classic tune and tension release melody at the same time.
“You’re singing the lyrics all wrong,” she berates, crossing her arms in defiance. “It doesn’t make a difference if we make it or not.”
“That’s what I was singing,” I argue back.
“No… you were saying naked or not.”
“You know, for someone who claims they need space, you sure have a lot of naked on your brain.”
“No, you have naked on your brain,” she huffs. “I never have naked on my brain aside from now because you’re singing the wrong lyrics!”
“What’s crawled up your arse and died, Gabs. That time of the month?”
Her eyes are a knife pointing directly into my chest, the sharp point digging deeper. “You’re treading on thin ice.”
She’s an easy target. Push one button, and the rest of the mechanical system fails. I’m bored, and this argument has livened up this mundane road trip. There’s only so much desert you can stare at before you start to go insane.
“You use one of those cup things? Argh, my sister told me about it… I was absolutely mortified.”
Gabriella’s mouth freezes wide open in an expression of stunned surprise. “We are not talking about periods. Period.”
It’s impossible not to keep poking her. She’s fucking sexy when she’s folding her arms, pushing her tits into this triumph pose.
“Let me guess, a pad girl? You don’t strike me as someone who shoves a tampon up her pus—”
“Stop the car right now!”
I pull over to the side of the road and turn off the engine. The dust fills the air around us, finally settling down moments later. Turning to face her, her anger has morphed into some sort of wild beast.
“We need to establish some rules. Okay, buddy?”
I cringe. “Buddy… ouch.”
“One, we do not ever talk about my cycle, periods, pads, or God forbid cups—”
“Hey!” I place my hands in the air. “Just tapping into that feminine side. It’s important for me to know when it’s best to avoid you.”
“Second...” She holds two fingers up. “If we’re on this road trip together, it’s strictly platonic. It means no reference to naked, sex, or ass. Deal?”
I hold out my pinky finger, pouting my lips apologetically.
“Why are you doing that?” She stares in confusion.
“Pinky swear. Isn’t that what you girls do?”
“Ah… yeah. When you’re ten,” she mocks. “Gosh, you’re a pain in the ass.”
“You said no reference to your arse.”
“Just drive.”
With a satisfied smirk, I start the engine and crank up the stereo again. With our problems aired enough to ease the tension between us, I’m surprised when my phone begins to ring through the Bluetooth, and the name Bianca flashes on the screen.
Talk about poor timing.
I haven’t spoken to Bianca since I left Australia, but word on the street is that she hates my guts, and the breakup hit her hard.
This call could go one of two ways.
“Are you going to pick that up?”
“No,” I tell her firmly.
“Why not? Do you have something to hide?”
I click on the answer button, quick to prove I have nothing to hide. “Hello, Bianca.”
“Olly,” she greets rather friendly, her voice just as I remember it. “Is this a bad time to talk?”
“Ah… sort of. Can I call you back tonight?”
“Sure, sounds good…” Bianca pauses, followed by a shuffling sound. “I miss you, Olly. Talk tonight.”
I hit end faster than you can say ‘awkward.’
Beside me, Gabriella is dead still. Her stare is fixated on the road ahead of us. There’s not one single movement or change of expression to indicate her feelings.
After what feels like a long enough time for her to respond, I shut the silence out by turning the music back up.
Ten minutes later, she reaches over and turns the dial right down.
“I left the engagement ring at home, just so you know.”
“I figured since you’re not wearing it.”
“I never agreed to marry Sebastian. My father implied to the media we were engaged. So, whatever this is, it’s not a love triangle.”
Her words are so left field. I sit in silence trying to understand the term ‘love triangle.’
What does that mean?
Is
