The Mustang smelled like a mix of fast food grease, and dirty socks. The faint musk of two guys who hadn’t showered in days wasn't faint at all. My back ached from sleeping half-curled in the driver’s seat, and Nick had started using one of jackets as a pillow, which now smelled like fries and sweat. The car was overflowing with crumpled wrappers, half-empty cups, and receipts we didn’t need. The novelty of living out of a car was fading fast. The only thing keeping it fun was the fact that we were together and no one was around to tell us we couldn't eat ice-cream and nachos for breakfast.

“Where do you want to eat?” I asked.

We were somewhere in Kansas, driving down a strip of fast-food chains.

“Anywhere is good,” Nick said.

He was in the backseat reading one of his comic books. I doubt he was paying me much attention until I said, “Come on, I always choose.”

“Because you know what you want,” he said.

“You have to decide,” I said.

“I don’t want to.”

He didn’t even put down the book. I could hear him flipping through the pages.

“If you don’t... we won’t fuck tonight,” I threatened.

“You know I can hold out longer than you,” he laughed, finally setting his comic aside.

“Pick somewhere to eat. And nowhere vegetarian, or vegan, or any of that bullshit.”

I hated being aggressive, assertive, or demanding. It made me feel like my dad. Sure, his assertiveness earned him a house, three kids, and a wife—but it eventually cost him his wife and a son. I didn’t want to be the same.

“I don’t want to,” Nick repeated.

“Pizza or Chinese, chicken or fish, curry or pasta,” I ranted.

“Why don’t we cook tonight?” he asked as we passed a Walmart.

“That is such a cop-out,” I laughed. But I wasn’t disagreeing, so I added, “We’d have to stop and get a room somewhere.”

“A bed would be nice,” Nick said, looking out the window.

“You know, we could make more stops along the way. Maybe stay somewhere for a week,” I suggested.

“We’re already making plenty of stops. And hotel rooms are expensive.”

“I’m the one doing all the driving. And you said you have money. Can’t we afford a break? An actual break?” I asked.

“I do, but it has to hold us over until we get somewhere permanent and find jobs and stuff... And it’s not my money anymore. It’s our money.”

“Babe,” I said, looking in the rearview mirror at him looking back at me.