[20]

Coffee At Midnight

From that day on, the remaining time spent at the resort was rather tense. Skipper didn't talk much, and everywhere they went she practically insisted on going ahead so Wade was always running to catch up. At first he found it difficult, but after a few occasions he discovered he had to pace himself or else risk running past her. In a way, it reminded him of being on the high school track team. 

He pretended her coldness didn't bother him, but when their last night rolled around and she was loading her luggage into the trunk in an unbearable silence, he decided he'd had enough.

"Alright, out with it," he ordered, standing between her and the trunk. She rolled her eyes and attempted to push past him, but he shoved back.

   "I'm serious." His voice was firm, tone cold. She clenched her jaw and bounced slightly on her tiptoes, indicating impatience.

   "You're in my way." Her tone was clipped and distant. Much like the very first day of their trip. The day he'd officially met her.

   "Duh, I'm in your way." Rolling his eyes, he folded his arms over his chest and stood his ground. "I want you to explain why you're being so uptight all of a sudden."

Raising an eyebrow, she said nothing. Just stood there, holding her suitcase and looking impatient.

Wade huffed irritably. "I... I mean..." he pulled off his beanie and ran his hands through his hair. "Are you still mad at me for throwing your crocs into the ocean? Cuz it's been like a week."

"Idiot, people can hold grudges for years," she snapped.

He flinched at her tone. "But you don't have years!"

"Mm, wanna bet?"

"Whatever. Talking to you is useless." Turning away, he went to wait in the driver's seat. Part of him was tempted to drive off without her, take a ferry back to the states and drive home to Florida where he belonged. Much as he'd been trying to fight it, he was rather homesick and starting to wonder if he shouldn't have taken this job after all. Even if that meant Skipper wouldn't get to achieve her goals.

Did her achievements really depend on him, though? Any fool could have taken her and she'd probably treat them just the same. 

By the time she finally slammed the trunk shut and climbed into the passenger seat, Wade decided that he was going to play the cold shoulder too. One of them would have to stop at some point, and as his resolve was fresh, he figured she'd break before he did. Something would cause her to forget the bitterness and she'd find some way to get chatty with him. Some way to get under his skin.

   In a way, he was almost counting on it.

   Turning the key, he glanced at her. "Where to?"

   "Mexico City."

   A solemn nod, and soon they were backed out and on the road. The sun had long set and stars peered down like diamonds clinging to a cloth of darkest velvet. The surreal spell of moonlight cast itself over the waters. Wade rolled the windows down and kept the radio off, listening to the night noises as they tried to make themselves heard over the rubber on the pavement. 

   Skipper leaned against the window and stared out into the night, silent and terrible. Her hair glowed around her like some sort of otherworldly halo, but its effect only served to enhance the misery etched in her face. Wade chewed his lip and tried to ignore her. Just focus on the road. Focus on driving.

   "I'm surprised you don't have your stupid music on," Skipper broke the silence, a thread of smugness in her voice.

   "Wanted to hear the night sounds. Is there anything wrong with that?" Wade muttered, avoiding looking at her as he moved to the next lane. She hissed an irritable sigh and said nothing. They rode on in complete silence; Wade allowed his thoughts to wander, soothed by the backdrop of subtle road noise and wind; Skipper continued to simmer in the passenger seat, chewing her nails like they'd transgressed her.

   "You shouldn't bite your nails. It's bad for your teeth." Really, he didn't care too much if she damaged her teeth; he only wanted to cease that awful clacking sound of chomped nails. 

"Pfft, like I care about my teeth at this point."

"Okay, grandma. If you say so." Rolling his eyes, he pulled off to get in line at some drive-thru coffee shop that was apparently open at all hours. Sitting behind the few cars constituting a line, he squinted at the menu despite having his order in mind already. 

   "Why are you getting coffee?" Skipper sneered. "It's fricking midnight."

   "Want a Frappuccino or something? You like fru-fru drinks," he observed, ignoring her statement.

   Skipper punched his shoulder, and he recoiled with a grimace. 

   "Lay off, Sassy. Look, I need it to stay awake since you clearly don't possess the ability to keep a lively conversation."

   "Bah, you should talk."

   "I am talking, humbug," Wade replied, expressionless. "Now shut up, it's my turn to order."

   "Thought you wanted conversation, Wise Guy."

   "Can it, or I'm seriously dumping you on the roadside."

   Silently mocking him, she folded her arms and slumped back into her seat with a humph. She sneered at the stars that seemed to shine so tauntingly at her. So beautiful and unreachable, just like the future she'd dreamed up for herself that she was never going to see. 

   It wasn't fair.

   Wade finally received his order: two steaming, tall black coffees and a medium chilled turtle mocha. He took the hot ones for himself and handed the other one off to Skipper, who only took it because she planned to toss it out the window when he wasn't looking. But then he pulled into a rest stop. And he was looking. He waited for her to take a sip. She growled at him, and he laughed at her over the brim of his piping hot Java, just like the asshole he was.

   After a few sips, she realized this was her favorite drink and wondered how he had even picked up on that. Then she felt angry for not throwing it back in his face. Did he think he could bribe her into a better mood by giving her favorite things to her? If so, he was wrong, because that would only serve to make her angrier.

   "So. Tell me," he began in a gentle, open tone. "What's bothering you? I have a feeling it goes deeper than me throwing your crocs in the ocean."

   "You're not a therapist. Don't even try." Her tone contrasted his, clipped and cold.

   He shrugged. "No, but sometimes it helps to talk to someone."

   "Not you."

   He sighed, tipping his head back against the headrest and staring through the open moonroof at those ever-mocking celestial jewels. Skipper followed his gaze, frowning as she took another sip of coffee. Before she could stop herself, she was speaking.

"I'm angry."

"So I've noticed for the past week. You haven't been subtle, you know." He cast a meaning glance at her and she took a sharp breath. 

"What're you angry about?"

"I'm angry at the world. Fate."

"So it's not just about the crocs."

She rolled her eyes. "Your idiocies play a very minute role in my daily struggles, Mister Ego."

"Big words," he muttered, eyebrows raised. He took a long drink of his hot coffee, basking in the rich, roasted flavor. He liked it black with two sugars and a shot of cream, nothing else. Sometimes he'd take it black without any sweetener, if he was feeling particularly bitter.

"So, you're mad at the world. And I don't matter. I know this much."

"It just isn't fair that everything's just going to...to keep going. The world will keep spinning, plants will keep growing and stars will keep shining. Everyone will just go on with their lives. And I'm... I'm like this coffee." She held up the half-drunk plastic cup, eyes burning as she held back tears. "An intricate thing—well-crafted, even—that will be enjoyed for mere moments and then forgotten once the aftertaste is worn off or smothered by something else."

"You're scared no one will miss you? You're upset you'll be forgotten?" His questions were genuine and bore no mockery. He seemed...concerned.

"I just don't want to die!" She blurted, rushing to cover her face as the tears broke over her tenaciously constructed dams. Wade quickly took her coffee and set it on the dash before she could spill it. "I don't want to end while the world gets to keep going," she sobbed. "It's not fair. I don't want to die."

"So...live." He shrugged, biting his lip and feeling like maybe he should...put his arm around her or something? Would that even be okay? 

   He remained where he was, hesitant. "Live as much as you can now. It's all you've got. You should make the most of it." Reaching past her, he opened the glove box and pulled out some tissues for her. "Would you rather go out with a bang, or a whimper? Think about the kind of end you want for your story. Would you rather waste your time succumbing to misery, or would you prefer to just live like it doesn't matter? Stop acting like you're dead when you still have so far to go."

   Blowing her nose, she struggled to overcome the hiccuping sobs and chanced a look at him. He was gazing at the stars, tears pricking his eyes, his Adam's apple bobbing with uncertainty. 

   "Life is short, Skipper. There's no time for bitterness. I learned that a long time ago." Flicking his gaze to meet hers, he took a deep breath. "I lost my dad to an eight-wheeler accident in my junior year. I remember he'd had a really bad day and was super angry at the world and life and just everything, and we hadn't been getting along recently. The last thing I remember was him snapping at me before he left to do his hauling. Not a few hours later did Mom get the call and we found out he was gone." Wade grit his teeth and forced himself to look at her. 

   "You might not be a trucker, but you and everyone on this planet including me are a ticking time bomb, with indeterminable ETA, and we don't know when the end is gonna be. It could be now, it could be in a hundred years. Because time is relative. It's never the same for everyone. What's important is making the most of this time we have so little of. Does that make sense? Don't waste it being bitter. Be grateful you even have the timeframe you've been given. It's a blessing, not a curse. I know it doesn't seem fair. Nothing is." He started to choke up, and promptly cleared his throat while shaking his head to clear that as well. "Damn. I'm sorry for going on a rant."

   She was just staring at him, her tears slowing, the sobs a distant echo belonging to the ghosts. It was almost weird hearing all that deep stuff coming from a guy who practically made her want to crawl out of her skin.

   "I'm sorry you're dying. I can't really imagine what it must feel like, to know there's an actual cutoff and it's sooner than most people get to experience. You seem like a nice person, once you get past the stupid glow-in-the-dark hair and bad makeup skills." He smirked mirthfully, and to his surprise she actually let out a shaky laugh. It wasn't even a forced laugh. That made him feel good. He didn't have much experience in comforting people, as he'd been too emotionally confused to do much in that department for his mother. And his friends, well...they hadn't really taught him anything. Most of them were secretly glad the old codger was gone and didn't realize how it pained Wade to know he'd grow up without a dad.

   "Thank you," Skipper whispered, drying her eyes one last time and shakily reaching for her coffee again. Eyes closed, she sipped the sweet brew and tried not to cry again. Wade reached for his second cup and drank it in a meditative fashion.

   "So what sort of career did you give up to have money for this trip?" He asked, after they had sat for a good ten minutes of calming quietude. "Or were you just one of those stingy people who hoards money because they have nothing better to do with it?"

   "I gave up my career," she answered, curling her legs beneath her.

   "Social media star? Modeling?" He raised an eyebrow and mimed posing to take a selfie.

   She shook her head, suppressing a laugh. "No, I was going to college."

"I was supposed to go to film school," Wade muttered. "Dad's death changed that." After a brief reading of her expression, he shook his head. "I won't talk about it. You've cried enough. Tell me about what you gave up."

"Film school? But...you're an Uber." She couldn't seem to comprehend that.

"Pays the bills," shrugged Wade, taking another drink of his coffee. "Honestly, I couldn't tell you why or how I chose to be one. I don't even like people very much."

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but said nothing in acknowledgement to that last statement. Instead, she began to tell him about the things she'd wanted to study. The future she had planned to pave for herself. Everything she'd slaved for, even though she'd been so sick all throughout high school.

Wade was left in awe that the entire school hadn't even known. Had she really been that invisible? What had she done in order to keep it so tightly under wraps?