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

how stressful this gig must be. You must have the patience of Mother Teresa.”
    “Yeah, it is what it is. Just happy to have some money coming in, you know? I got three kids to feed.”
    “You do? How old?”
    “Eleven, seven, and three. All boys.” He smiled triumphantly. “You think you know shit about life, have yourself some kids. They’ll change the game.”
    I nodded absently.
    “You got kids?”
    “Not yet.”
    “You want ’em?”
    “I’m not sure.”
    I had never said that aloud to anyone. Not even Mona. Where the hell was Mona, anyway? Had I done something to annoy her or was it merely an “out of sight, out of mind” scenario? It was hard to believe that that was the case. Our fourteen years of friendship was bigger than that. Or so I thought.
    “Make a right here, onto the main road,” said Ray, interrupting my inner monologue.
    “The main road?” I asked, alarmed. I stopped the car. “Already?”
    “You’re doin’ great, Sarah. We’ll just get on it for a little bit. We can get right off if you need to.” I gulped. “Okay?”
    “Okay.” I put my foot on the gas. “Wait, wait! Just one more time around the neighborhood. Then I’ll be ready.”
    “You sure?”
    I nodded.
     
    S o the driving lesson went well?” asked Josh as I applied my mascara dutifully in front of a mirror that magnified my face to obscene proportions. I was practicing for my first day of work tomorrow.
    “Yeah. Ray is cool. I feel a little bit better about things.” I smoothed out a sticky black blob with my thumb and forefinger.
    “Good. I’m proud of you.” He kissed the back of my neck. “How do you stand this thing?” He stared horrifyingly at his reflection. “No wonder you’re so neurotic. I can see straight through to my cartilage, practically.” I switched off its accompanying fluorescent light.
    “So don’t look. This is not a toy for the faint of heart.”
    “You look beautiful, Sar.” He surveyed me appraisingly. I wasn’t sure if I would ever get over the fact that he truly seemed to mean it when he told me I was beautiful—no irony, no sense of begrudged obligation. I blushed.
    “Thanks, you too.”
    Josh had the uncanny ability to look cool without appearing to have tried too hard to do so. His jeans hung just so; his plaid button-down was just the right amount of crumpled; his shoes were perfectly scuffed and his hair ideally rumpled. An island of scalp was just beginning to make itself known at the back of his head, but somehow even that was okay.
    I assumed that this talent had something to do with his mathematically inclined brain—statistically, if each piece of his wardrobe was the slightest bit off, it would inevitably add up to perfection. That said, he was also a bit of a metrosexual—there were more than a few facial and hair products in his bathroom drawer—but that was not his fault. A man couldn’t live in New York for fifteen years and emerge without a compulsion to moisturize and deep-condition.
    “Thanks. You ready to go?”
    “Yeah, I think so.” I grabbed my bag and followed him down the hallway, switching lights off as I went. “What sort of bar is this again?”
    We were headed to a faculty drinks night at a bar near campus. As far as ambience went, I did not have high expectations, but I was looking forward to some human interaction. I needed some friends to add to my paltry collection, which currently began and ended with Ray, whom I technically employed. I checked my phone. Still no Mona.
    “Oh, you know, just a divey place. Think football and beer.”
    “Great.”
    “Sarah, don’t be a snob. I heard they have a good jukebox. And wings!”
    I wrinkled my nose. “Josh, you know how I feel about food that stains your fingernails.”
    “Hey, you want to drive?” He tossed me the keys with a smirk.
    “No, jerk. Not yet.” I tossed them back.
    “Why am I a jerk?”
    “I’ll let you know when I’m ready, okay? There’s no need to put the pressure