Weekend Friend

08.

HIGHWAY 101 FEELS endless. It's part of the famed Pacific Coast route that runs along the coast of Washington, Oregon, and California. Ryley and I did the classic Pacific Coast Highway road trip the summer after our freshman year of college and I remember how we'd drive miles and miles before seeing another soul. The emptiness had unnerved me then, even while accompanied by a tall—albeit slightly lanky—nineteen-year-old boy.

Luckily, Parker and I aren't doing a road trip. This is a day trip, and our route to Ruby Beach on the southwest Washington coastline will take a little under four hours to complete. We'd left Seattle at dawn, the sun still hiding behind the mountain, but now faint rays slant through the dense greenery that surrounds the narrow road.

We sit in comfortable silence as Parker drives and I queue songs that compliment the subtle spookiness of the morning. After pressing play on Bon Iver's Wash., I twist around in my seat and rifle through my old North Face backpack to confirm that I did in fact bring my bear spray.

Before I can sit back, Bear's wet nose collides with my forehead as he attempts to investigate whether the item I have in my hand is of any interest to him.

"Not for you, Mr. Man," I muse, rubbing Bear's fluffy ears before turning back around.

"Bear treats that car seat like a throne." Parker says, her eyes shifting up to the rearview mirror to regard Bear. He sits directly behind me in the dog car seat that Mom bought for him last spring when she'd visited Seattle shortly after my breakup.

"It's still shocking to me that he doesn't resent it," I admit. One of the first things I learned about Bear was that he's very particular. He's a dog with taste and a sense of autonomy. "He hardly uses the dog bed Sydney bought for him, and it's actually comfortable."

"It's because Bear somehow senses that your Mom bought it, and he worships her."

I grin, but my heart pangs with longing. "Who doesn't?"

"Literally no one. Not even Ryley after she baked him those charred break-up cookies and..." Parker abruptly trails off, her dark brow pinching together as something on the dashboard catches her attention. "Uh oh."

"Uh oh?" I repeat, instantly stiffening. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Parker inhales a measured breath, her eyes still on the dashboard. "Don't panic, but a weird light just turned on. It looks like the one for oil change, but it shouldn't be. I endured that headache in June."

"I'm totally not panicking," I retort too quickly to be convincing, and pause Wash. because it's no longer the vibe. "Where's the manual? That's gotta have something helpful in it, right?"

"Ideally. It's in the glove compartment."

I yank open the glove compartment, exhaling a short breath of relief as I retrieve the manual. Its creased cover sports what looks to be a coffee stain and the pages are frayed. I scan its lengthy index for anything of use, grimacing at the small font and at the fact that I know so damn little about car mechanics.

The one time that the 2011 Jeep Wrangler that I shared with my twin brother got a flat tire, Ryley had been there to change it, and looked handsome as hell while doing so. That fucking asshole.

After quickly reading through the light guide for the dash, I lean towards Parker to examine the illuminated symbols. Despite knowing next to nothing about cars, I have enough sense to comprehend the terminology and understand what needs to be done. It's just incredibly unfortunate that we happen to be driving through the Olympic National Forest with limited phone service.

"So it's not like the end of the world kind of dire...but we need to get oil. Like ASAP," I say, taking Parker's phone from the centre console to focus on Maps.