Forty years from now, he figured, the story will have ballooned into a full-on account of how the same two brothers tore up the most direct highway between Close Call and Houston, slowing down enough with each passing car to inspect the passengers for a beauty with wavy, shoulder-length hair and a smile as big as the state.
In a hundred years, well, the story might be the stuff of a Texas tall tale. Like the Ferris wheel story that had Clem climbing up the metal structure with his bare hands in a windstorm, not at all like it happened when he tied the Sooner’s shoe strings to the seat when the ride stopped to load the next car.
All for the love of a woman.
Those stories wouldn’t scrimp on the details of the pink food truck with the gigantic plastic shrimp careening down that same highway and the lengths to which these same two brothers went to get the Bae Shrimp truck to pull over. Because who could have foreseen that the same vehicle with the two-cartoon-shrimps-making-a-heart logo that brought two young lovers together once did the same again, one week later?
Wes had barely stopped the truck on the highway’s shoulder before Nat popped open the passenger door and ran to the truck, the plastic shrimp on top shuddering in its housing after the sudden stop Wes had forced.
January slid open the passenger-side pocket door and ran to meet Nat.
“What are you doing here?”
Her voice was shrieky and pregnant with disbelief. Even in the darkness between interstate exits, he saw enough in the food truck’s lights to know a devastating smile accompanied her wide, beautiful eyes.
“Grabbing life.” He took her hands in his. “If I’ve learned anything these past few days, it’s that I need to do more of that. I’m not the same person I was at eighteen, J. I’m sorry I wasn’t more careful with who you were under that brave, free-spirited exterior, then or now. I do know you, deep down. You’re the woman who names my livestock because the very thing inside that makes her such a great world traveler also keeps her from enjoying lasting friendships. You’re the woman who could have asked around town for any favor she wanted because people love her so much, but she asked on behalf of me and my dreams. And you’re the woman who’s afraid she’ll make the same mistakes as her father, but that can’t happen so long as you tell me when you get restless so we can get restless together. Wherever you want to go. Once, twice a year.”
“What about the ranch?”
“Wes wants a bigger role, at least for now. We’ll get Chance to come around. And Willie’s son is getting old enough now. He’s like a brother, too. We’ll make this work for all of us, if you’ll have us. If you’ll have me.”
Nat lowered one knee to the weeds. And maybe rattlesnakes, but he tried not to think about that.
“I love you, J. Marry me.”
An eighteen-wheeler barreled past, horn on full-blast. Seemed an appropriate emotional soundtrack to how Nat felt in his skin—all-out, urgent, cautiously euphoric.
“Yes-yes-yes,” she said, her voice all-out, urgent, far beyond euphoric. “This place is home, Nat. It’s you. And you’re my true north. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it. And whenever you need to come back, say the word, and we’ll both come home.”
Nat scooped her into his arms and kissed her like he’d broken nearly every traffic law for fifty miles to reach her. Which he had. Or rather, Wes had.
The Bae Shrimp driver hollered out the door, “Hey, you going to the airport or not?”
Wes approached, duffel bag in hand. Still the biggest smile around.
Grabbing life. No better time than the present.
“We sure are.” Nat pulled January close and kissed her forehead. “We have a plane to catch. See, she’s always wanted to go to Nepal, and I should probably see these prayer flags for myself.”
“Hop in,” said the driver. “I gotta get to the coast before sunrise.”
Nat took his bag from Wes, pulled him into a bro-hug. “Thanks.”
“This moment says it all, brother. Have fun.”
Nat and January climbed aboard the pink food truck. She settled in his lap in the passenger seat, and Nat pulled the pocket door shut. The interior was ripe, but Nat didn’t care.
“Nat, this is Stan. Stan, Nat.”
Nat accepted Stan’s beefy grip. Stan would make an outstanding ranch hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Play the song, Stan.”
“I told you, Rose, that’s only to bring the customers in. They like that cheesy shit.”
“Pleeeeease?”
Really, who could resist January Rose? Almost no one.