One By One by Freida McFadden(4)

I remove Emma’s booster seat so all the adults will have a place to sit. Last night, I cleaned out the car, which was embarrassingly dirty. How did so many french fries get in the backseat? And why was everything so sticky back there? I did the best I could to clean it up, but there are probably still a few sticky patches left.

We each have one piece of luggage, but my bag is twice the size of Noah’s and stuffed to the breaking point. He tosses my luggage into the back so roughly that I’m glad I didn’t pack anything fragile. He’s decided to take out his aggression towards me on my luggage. On the plus side, at least he shaved for the trip.

“What the hell do you need so much stuff for?” he grumbles. “We’re only going for a week.”

Admittedly, I didn’t pack light. But it’s the end of June, which means it could just as easily be chilly as it could be sweltering. I have to be prepared. “You brought plenty too,” I point out.

Noah gently places his brand new tackle box into the back. “I’m going fishing. I have to have supplies.”

Right. He’s been excited about going fishing for months. “I still don’t get why you’re so excited about sitting on a lake for hours. It sounds excruciating.”

He shrugs. “I just... I need to clear my head.”

Fine, whatever. As long as he doesn’t ask me to go with him. If the two of us go out on a boat into the middle of the lake, I have a bad feeling only one of us will come back alive.

Noah takes the spare car keys from the pocket of his jeans and slides into the driver’s seat. It’s a strange move, considering this is my car. I rap on the driver’s side window. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What? Aren’t we going?”

“Yeah, but it’s my car. Why are you driving?”

He rolls his eyes at me. “Come on, Claire. You’ve had this car for three years, and there are already like ten dents in it.”

That’s not entirely inaccurate. Still. “Not all of those dents are my fault.”

“Whatever you say.”

I grit my teeth, wondering if this is worth fighting about. It’s not like I love to drive and I’m so eager to be behind the wheel for four hours. But why does he assume he’s always going to be the one driving during these long trips? Worse, he’s going to complain later about how I made him do all the driving, and now he’s tired and crabby.

If we didn’t have two children together, I would call it quits right now. Right this minute.

For a moment, I allow myself to fantasize. Noah, it’s over. It would feel so good to say those words.

Instead, I climb into the passenger’s seat beside him. I smooth out the light pink shorts I bought last week that show off what I think are still some pretty nice legs for my age. Not that Noah would notice. He used to dress nicely when we went out together, but now he sticks to jeans and a T-shirt. Although I admit, they don’t look bad on his solid frame.

He pushes his glasses up his nose and swivels his head to look at me. “Aren’t you going to use the bathroom?”

“No.”

He frowns. “Look, you should go now. I’m not stopping in thirty minutes at a gas station so you can go.”

“Fine. I won’t have to go.”

“Really? Because I feel like whenever you don’t go right before we leave, I end up having to stop right away.”

I glare at him. Are we really having this conversation? I’m not five years old. “Noah, if I needed to use the bathroom, I would go. I don’t have to go.”

He stares at me for a moment, then turns his key in the gas. “Whatever you say, Claire.”

I drop back in my seat, fuming, as he carefully backs out of the driveway and starts driving in the direction of Lindsay’s house. After a minute of silence, he hits the button to start the radio, and Adam Levine’s voice croons the lyrics to a song I’ve heard hundreds of times before.

Noah stares out at the road through his glasses. Back when we first started dating, he only wore glasses in class and when he was driving. He never wore them on our dates. Over the last fifteen years, he’s gotten to the point where he wears them all the time. He says his vision has gotten worse, but I’m not so sure. He wears them all the time for the same reason he doesn’t bother to shave anymore if he doesn’t have to be at work. I’m lucky he gets dressed or showers anymore.

“I got us separate rooms,” I blurt out.

Noah slides his foot onto the brake at a red light. He turns to stare at me, his hazel eyes wide. “What?”

“At the inn.” I look away from him, out the windshield. “I booked us two separate bedrooms.”

“You did?” Even though we have been fighting nonstop all morning (hell, all year), he sounds hurt. “But… why?”

“Well…” I play with a loose thread on my shirt. “I just thought… I mean, you snore, Noah. And you’re always saying how I move around too much in my sleep. So I thought maybe, you know, we could both get a better night’s sleep if we’re apart.” I hastily add, “Just for the week.”

I hazard a look at Noah. His eyes are pinned on the crosswalk, and a muscle twitches in his jaw.

“I mean,” I babble on, “there are a lot of couples that take separate vacations entirely. There’s nothing wrong with it. You know, a little time apart. You’re going to be spending most of your time fishing anyway, and you’ll have to get up real early…”