Read Online Driving Lessons: A Novel by Zoe Fishman - Free Book Online

meet you. I was standing right there.”
    “Why would I do that?”
    “Beats me. Although I think it’s a good idea.” I put my head in my hands and peeked through my fingers. I needed a pedicure desperately. Mitzi would have a heart attack if she knew these puppies lurked underneath my shoes.
    “Okay, well, do you know where I’m meeting her? Or what time?”
    “You typed it into your phone.” He grabbed it from my bedside table and dropped it on the bed next to me. I picked it up and sure enough, there it was. Coff w Ira aft work.
    “I can’t think of anything I want to do less. Great.”
    “Are you driving yourself?” he asked hopefully.
    “Josh, I’m not ready.”
    “Sarah, come on. It’s Sunday in the South. The roads will be empty. Everyone is at church.”
    “I’m not ready. You’re going to have to drive me.”
    “Fine.” I lay back on the bed beside him. “Maybe Iris can drive you home, though.”
    Super. Not only did she reduce me to a thirteen-year-old in terms of physical insecurity, but now she would be coming here, to my home, and making me feel inferior about my interior-decorating skills as well. Me and my ridiculous driving phobia, not to mention my big mouth. Why in God’s name had I asked her to coffee? Guilt because I hated her, probably.
    “I hope she wears a bra today. I’m too hungover for nipples.”
    “She wasn’t wearing a bra last night?”
    “Give me a break, Josh.” With his eyes still closed, he smiled slightly. I pushed him playfully, and he took my hand.
    “How come you never see ceiling fans in Brooklyn?” he asked, opening his eyes to watch ours go round and round overhead.
    “I’ve seen ’em before.”
    “At rich people’s apartments?”
    “Mmmm, not just.”
    “I don’t believe you. The ceiling fan is Brooklyn’s Loch Ness monster. An urban legend.” He cleared his throat. “Speaking of Brooklyn, can we talk about what you said to me last night? About moving back to New York?”
    “I said that?”
    “Don’t play dumb. I know you remember that.” He was right. I did remember it.
    “I’m just lonely, Josh. And that bar was depressing.”
    “I know. It was depressing.” He held my hand. “What can I do to make this transition easier for you? I don’t want to move back to New York, Sarah. I sort of like it here. The pace is so . . . what’s the word I’m looking for?”
    “ ‘Tranquilizing’?”
    “I was going to say ‘refreshing.’ ”
    “No, it is. I agree. I’m just going through some growing pains. Ignore me.” I hoped these were just growing pains and not permanent pangs of unhappiness. “If you get up and make coffee, I will give you a million dollars,” I said, changing the subject. He slowly sat up.
    “Okay. That sounds fair.”
    He got out of bed and I followed, heading to the bathroom resignedly. I had a half hour to spackle my face and emotionally prepare for what lay ahead.
    En route, I opened the blinds and gasped upon my discovery of a virtual ladybug superhighway. The insects traveled like teeny-tiny red, yellow, and orange cars—up, down and across the entire double-paned expanse. I looked around, unsure of what to do. There were so many. One by one, I picked ten off of the glass, crushing them mercilessly between my thumb and forefinger before continuing on my way.
     
    W hat’s with the scarf?” asked Josh, glancing at me in the passenger seat.
    “What? It’s ridiculous?”
    “A little, yes. I mean, it’s roughly ninety-five degrees out.”
    “Oh God, screw it!” I unraveled it from around my neck and threw it on the floor.
    “Sar, are you okay?”
    I covered my eyes with my hands dramatically. “No, I am not okay. I am hungover beyond belief. And, to add insult to injury, on my way to work at a place called Bauble Head.” I rubbed my eyes. “Oh fuck, I’m wearing mascara. I forgot.” I looked at him beseechingly. “Is it all over my face?” He glanced over again.
    “No, you’re good. I think