The lines of the parking lot were old and broken. In this row there were no vacancies and the Volvo sat between two station wagons with stickered tailgates. Cooling the Volvo was the shadow of the visors lowered to catch the glare of the sun and the electronic marquee of the outlet strip ahead. The driver and the passenger watched the ads on the marquee. They slid into the frame and out again. 

“I don’t know,” the passenger said. He was fiddling with the blanket in his lap. 

The driver watched him. “We talked about this.”

“Yeah, but…”

“We’re here.”

The passenger turned the blanket over and let the fleece hiss like sand over his jeans. He turned it over and over into a ball. “You don’t have to be a dick about it.”

“Wow,” said the driver, cocking one wrist over the wheel. In the rearview mirror he scanned the cars behind. They stood rank and file in their spaces, unreal in the afternoon heat. The pavement wavered and the lines snapped like pinched snakes.

Or cut ties, he thought.

“I didn’t mean it.” The passenger was looking at him. “I did, but I don’t want to.”

“No, I’m the dick here. I’m the one who nagged you into submission only to chicken out last minute.” The driver shook his head. “You always do this.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Really? The sliding door. The Christmas lights.” He counted on his fingers. “Manitoba.”

“Don’t start.”

Wagging his pinky: “The fern.”

“It was a bonsai! A Japanese bonsai, you asshat, so it stands to reason that a condo in Bismarck is not—

“‘Not equipped to responsibly handle such a specimen.’ I got the first seven lectures.” The driver’s voice softened. “Do you want to go home?”

“No, it’s just…” The passenger squirmed. “I thought I’d thought of everything.”

“Came off that way.”

“But it’s more complicated than that.” Catching the driver’s eye, the passenger threw his hands against his thighs. “It’s complicated! I don’t care if that’s what everyone says. Everyone says it for a reason. We’re not all singular and inimitable.”

“Inimitable.”

“I-N-I-M—”

“I’m really not in the mood, Owen.”

“When are you?” The passenger sank like a mollusk into the seat.

The driver grit his teeth. “Just tell me what you want to do.”

“I don’t know.”

“You were dancing over the stove this morning. What changed?”

“It doesn’t feel like it should.”

The driver was silent.

“I mean, I’ve checked all the things on the list. I did the research. Asked around. Read the books. Bought all the stuff.”

“Babyproofed the coffee table,” the driver said, to the passenger’s chagrin.

“Yeah, thanks for that… So you’ve checked all the things and prepared and prepared until there’s nothing left to do. But when you actually get there,” he said, nodding through the windshield, “you’re not ready.”

The driver tossed a wry glance at the passenger’s hands. “You can always finish them off.” 

The passenger winced at the row of chewed nails, sucking a red bead off his left finger. 

“Maybe,” the driver went on, “there’s a reason you don’t feel ready. Like, deep down, you know there’s no point.”

“What?”

“I’m just saying, is this really what you want? Is this a good thing to do, for you?”

The passenger turned to the marquee. An ad for chocolates touched his face purple, then disappeared.

After a moment the passenger grinned and gestured like a windblown doll. “It’s the bed! I forgot to wash the cover. We’ll call and tell them to postpone till next week, and in the meantime I’ll wash the cover.”

“Owen.”

“That’ll give us time to proof the kitchen table.” 

“Owen.”

“Don’t be rude, I’m on a roll.”

“Owen! We shouldn’t be here. It won’t do any good.”

“What do you know?” The passenger’s lip curled. “You were against me from the beginning.”

“Oh yeah. I was against you.”

“You were.”

“And then you won,” the driver said. “Because when you don’t get your way, you do this. You wave your hands and make up stories and try to guilt me into believing them, and it’s tedious. It’s really fucking tedious that I have to go along with your moments.”

“I wouldn’t have moments if you didn’t force them on me. Like Manitoba.” 

“Manitoba.”

“Fucking Manitoba. That was your idea, and it sucked, and you didn’t have the balls to admit that you’re not as smart as you let on, so you pin it on me.”

The driver thumped the wheel. “That’s right. Because Boy Scouts qualifies you to take on a grizzly bear.”

“It was an advisory. Someone thought they saw something, and the rangers had to cover their asses.”

“There were two maulings that week.”

“Of course you checked.”

“You said if it crossed paths with us you’d shoot it down,” the driver said, “like picking off beer cans with Crazy-Eye Kramer. God, you’re so…”

“Say it.” The passenger jolted him on the arm. “Go on, say it.”

They watched the marquee. A woman with blue eyelids rolled to reveal a Mercedes under city lights. A resort in the Caribbean followed, then a home security system. Then yogurt.

The passenger tapped his foot like a cat flicking its tail. “You don’t trust me.”

“I’d sure like to, Owen. But you don’t exactly inspire confidence when you treat everything like a game and stomp your foot when it doesn’t go your way. If you had some patience, and a little confidence in me—did you ever think of that?—maybe you wouldn’t feel so out of control. Because that’s the problem, Owen. You’re controlling, and when I get sick of it, you freak.”

“You are a dick.”

“Someone has to be. Or would you rather be sitting here with a sunrise selfie from Pisew Falls and a face transplant?

The tapping quickened. “You think you’re the smart one.”

The driver’s neck corded and flushed. “Why does there have to be a smart one?”

“Let’s just get this over with.” The passenger picked a manila folder off the floor and tucked it under his arm. He gathered the blanket and opened the door.

The driver moved to follow him and was checked by the seatbelt. “What are you trying to prove?”

“Just wait here.”

The door slammed.