Page 48 of Check You Out

She shifts back around, crossing her arms. “I’m more of a Kacey Musgraves fan myself, but I appreciate them. Do you like other punk bands? Like Green Day and Blink-182?”

I resist the urge to correct her that they are considered pop punk. “I love them. They’re not my favorite band though.”

“Which is?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Rage Against the Machine,” I say, pleased with myself that I didn’t freeze while trying to think of an answer.

She chuckles. “That makes sense. The being angry at your dad, listening to protest songs.” She shakes her head. “It all makes sense. Let me guess, you also play video games?”

I quickly glance at her, careful to keep my eyes on the road. “On occasion.”

“Oh really?” she inquires. “Please tell me you’re not one of those Call of Duty assholes?”

“No. Stardew Valley,” I declare, grinning.

“What?”

Chuckling, I explain. “It’s a cozy farming game that fulfills the millennial dream of leaving the rat race, becoming self-sufficient, and owning your own home.” I take a breath and tap my fingers. “It’s my other escape from the soul sucking reality of life since sometimes reading doesn’t always work. Like this last week, I spent a lot of time playing to dissociate.”

Out of the corner of my eye, she winces. Sighing, she says in a low voice, “I’m sorry for that, by the way. I pushed you, and I shouldn’t have. We promised to be harmless, and I harmed you in the stupidest way possible.”

I blink and sit up straighter. My mind races as I consider what she’s saying. Is this actually an apology? Or is she baiting me into admitting that I was the one in the wrong, which will lead to me having to apologize?

“Aidan?” Charlotte asks, her voice growing softer. “Are you ok?”

“Y-y-yeah, yeah,” I stutter. “I just, I’m sorry too.”

Her forehead crinkles. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I was a dick toward you.”

Now it’s her turn to blink, except rapidly. “You weren’t a dick. You were defending yourself. If anything, I was a bitch to you.”

“What are you talking about?” I counter. “I shut you down when you were trying to help me with something rather emotional, and I shouldn’t have done that. I ran away from you and didn’t say anything.”

She lets out a groan and brings her fingers to her temple. “I’m pretty sure I was the who brought it up. Why do you think you’re to blame?”

“My father,” I reply sheepishly. Heat flushes up my face, and I’m sure a blush blooms on my cheeks. “My therapist would be so disappointed with me right now.”

She chuckles and adjusts the sweatshirt on her shoulders. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

“So just to confirm, you’re not mad at me?” I ask her, turning briefly. “See, I have to confirm, otherwise my anxiety will twist it somehow to make it seem like you’re actually still mad at me.”

Charlotte shakes her head. “I’m not mad. If anything, you should be mad at me for pushing you to reconcile with your dad just because it’ll make me feel better about the trauma I’m still experiencing over my dad.”

A corner of my mouth turns upward. “I’m not mad.”

She presses her lips together. “But are you disappointed?”

I snort. We come to a light, and I tap my fingers against the steering wheel. “You know, I know a really great therapist who could help you with your trauma.”

She runs a hand through the strands of her ponytail and groans. “I can’t afford it. My insurance sucks. My deductible is outrageously high, because I can only afford the lowest premium.”

I nod, and we grow silent. The only sounds being the road noise, the windshield wipers, and the next several songs on my playlist. We stay like this until we pull in front of the first house.

I reach to open the car door, saying, “I got it,” at the same time as Charlotte. Before I can tell her to stay, we’re at the back of my car, raindrops dotting our sweatshirts. The rain hasn’t let up, and it won’t stop any time soon.

“Go back in the car; I got this,” I say.