Westbound Sign ➵ Billie Joe Armstrong

Mothers, Dresses, & Quiet Deals

Collin

We were packed in the borrowed church van like a last minute youth group headed to summer camp, except instead of Bibles and bug spray, we had wedding nerves, a half eaten bag of cheese curls, and my mother's lemon scented clorox wipes rattling in the cupholder.

Billie was behind the wheel, sunglasses on, humming something tuneless, fingers drumming the steering wheel like it might break into a song any second. I was shotgun, barefoot, legs tucked under me, the ring on my finger warm from the sun through the window. Mom was in the row behind us with a Tupperware of mini sandwiches and enough commentary to keep the ride lively.

Four days.

That's how far out we were from the wedding. And I still didn't have a dress.

We were on our way to Houston to pick up four very important people from the airport: Mike, Tre, Erin... and Ollie. Billie's mom. Who I'd only recently met, in a moment of complete surprise, looking like hell in her kitchen. And now she was flying to Texas to watch me marry her son.

Billie looked over at me and grinned. "You ready for this?"

No. Not even a little. But I smiled back anyway.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

Mom reached over the seat, swatting a crumb off my knee like she hadn't just elbowed the container of sandwiches onto the floor. "You remember the time we drove past Houston to see your popop and mama? That summer when you and Erin were about yay high-" she held a hand out like she was measuring a golden retriever pup.

I laughed, already knowing where this was going. "Yeah. 1985. The summer of mosquitos, flat tires, and Erin getting carsick."

Mom clicked her tongue. "Poor baby threw up in a bag and still had the nerve to ask for beef jerky ten minutes later."

Billie glanced over, amused. "Sounds like Erin."

"It was hotter than hell," Mom continued. "Your daddy had to stop and pour water on the radiator every two hours. We were convinced the car was gonna give out in Sugar Land." She chuckled. "And you? You were mad because we didn't stop to let you ride that fake alligator in front of the gas station."

"Hey," I said, grinning. "That alligator had a saddle. And dreams."

Billie barked out a laugh.

Mom leaned back again, smiling at the memory like she could still feel the stickiness of the vinyl seats and smell Erin's grape bubblegum. "You girls made up a dance routine to Madonna in the backseat. Whole car shaking with your little sneakers stomping the floor."

"I'm pretty sure I kicked the door open once," I added. "Almost rolled out onto the highway."

Billie turned to me, eyes wide. "You've always been like this, haven't you?"

"Like what?"

He smirked. "A little reckless. A little dramatic. And completely unforgettable."

Mom let out a knowing sigh. "You should've seen her try to convince us to adopt a goat on that trip. Said she needed a friend who wouldn't talk too much."

I shook my head, biting back a smile. "I stand by that logic."

The van hit a pothole and jostled, snapping us all back into the present. The green exit signs for the airport were approaching, and my heart started picking up speed.

Four days. A missing dress. A borrowed church van. And everyone I loved about to collide at gate 6B.

I didn't know if I was ready for it, but I was all in now.