My mom drops by the next morning at my request. She stands outside my door with a smile on her face and a container in her hands. By the smell of it, I can only hope it's her special caramel popcorn. I just had breakfast, but already my tastebuds are bouncing in excitement.

She shuffles her way inside, and I close the door behind her. Seth has already left for the office, and due to two weeks of endless work, I've already convinced myself that I deserve a day off. Too bad Seth hadn't chosen today as his day away from work. We could have stared at the tv in silence together, or made agonizing attempts at conversation, or bought a few dozen cats... but at least we would have been together.

Instead, I had to go and kiss my husband. Shame on me. I haven't seen him since that scandalous display of affection. Next time I'll keep things rated G and try for a hug instead.

I sigh at the thought of Seth's ridiculously over-dramatic behavior. There's no way we're ever gonna have kids if a simple kiss drives him into fear-driven solitude. Good grief, Seth! Grow up already.

Horrified. That was the look on Seth's face when he pulled away from my eager grasp. I'd literally shocked the sense right out of him. And he has yet to return in fear of experiencing my overly delicious lips again. I mean, that's gotta be the reason he fled, right? My kisses are just too much of a good thing. He's gotta work himself up to withstanding the intense passion that I radiate.

Bleh. Who am I trying to convince? A kiss is a kiss. It's not like I have magic lipstick that entices men in a way that's too much to handle. No, the truth that I've been trying so hard to deny is this: my husband doesn't want me. He ran because he felt nothing. And maybe it was that 'nothing' that scared him.

Shaking Seth from my thoughts, I invite my mom to take a seat before grabbing two beers from the fridge. I pop the caps and then sink down on the other end of the couch from my mom. She looks at me over the edge of her bottle as she tips her head back for a sip.

"Something up?"

I copy her actions, taking a sip as I watch her face. She's scrutinizing my expression. I can see her mind working to figure me out, but she's not succeeding. I can tell by the confusion knitted between her brows that she has no idea what's going on.

"Kinda," I tell her honestly. "I'm not really in the mood to talk about it though."

She nods slowly in response, taking another sip of beer. The room quiets until the only thing making sound is the buzz of our own thoughts—and the occasional icky sound of one of us swallowing.

It's a comfortable feeling. Usually, the only thoughts that bounce around inside of this home are my own. It's nice to sit in thoughtful silence with another living person.

"Have you ever just wanted to take off?" I suddenly ask. "Just get in your car and drive until you run out of gas?"

"Well, no," my mom responds, tilting her head to the side as she ponders my words, "but now that you mention it, that sounds like a wonderful idea."

And before I can even down my fifth sip of beer, my mom is pulling me from the couch. She grabs the bottle from my hand and sets it on a coaster in the center of the coffee table. With her container of mysterious goodies in her arm, she pulls me towards the door.

"I didn't mean right now," I protest, even though I'm already slipping on my pair of fish flops. They're exactly what they sound like: flip-flops in the shape of fish.

They're actually really gross sandals because they look real, but they were unique enough that I had to buy them. Seth hates them and forbids me to wear them in his presence. Thankfully, my mom happens to be even weirder than I am, so I know she won't mind.

"What better time than the present?" she responds, a giddy smile on her face. "Besides, I've got goodies and some sick tunes. There's no better way to spend the day than driving to the edge of the world with a bowl of popcorn and the best of Michael Jackson playing through the radio. We'll take my car so we can put the topper down. This is going to be great!" She clicks the remote to unlock the doors and freezes with her fingers on the handle. "You may want to grab a hair tie. It's gonna be a bit windy."

I ignore her, and two minutes later I'm regretting my decision to be stubborn.

"Mom," I half moan, half yell, as my voice battles against the rush of wind bombarding my face. "Why didn't you make me grab a hair tie?"

She chuckles at my frustration but just continues humming along to her cassette tape. Yes, she still uses those. She was adamant about buying a car that could accommodate her massive collection of cassettes, and this one was it. What mom, on this whole entire planet, collects tapes?

Mine. That's who.

I make sure to send a text to Seth, just giving him the details of our barbaric plan. He responds a few minutes later with an 'OK' and that's the last I hear from him all day. Mom and I have been driving for at least an hour now, voices raw and stomachs exploding with popcorn; and yet, we don't stop singing or eating. It's called self-mutilation. It's not supposed to be enjoyable, but somehow we're both having the time of our lives as we destroy ourselves.

I'm pretty sure my throat is bleeding in its attempts to strain out the octaves that are far beyond its capability—though any octave is beyond its capability— and I'm fairly close to hurling caramel popcorn chunks all over my mom's leather seats, but I can't stop. I've needed this too long to stop now. I feel free. Like I'm living in abandon. Who knew that a simple car ride to an unknown destination could give me just what my achy soul needed.

"So," my mom cuts in, turning the volume on the stereo down and shooting a quick glance in my direction. "You asked me to come over for a reason, right?"

She had slid the topper back into place after an hour of the hurricane-like experience. Now, with the quiet hum of music in the background, things feel serious. The fun is now over and we need to get down to business. It's a bit nerve-wracking.

"Yeah," I say, tugging my fingers through impossible tangles. My hair is already thin, so getting these knots out later might just take me all night. I'm not too worried though, considering I barely sleep at night anyway; it'll give me something to do. "I need you to invite Seth and me over for dinner tomorrow."

"Um, okay?" Her words hang in question, her way of prodding me to explain.

"We miss you guys," I say simply. "It's been way too long since we had a nice dinner."

"And why not just have dinner at your place?" she asks with a shrug.

I can't tell her the real reason. It'd require me explaining why I can't invite her over due to the fact that Seth would know I'd done it as a way of forcing us to participate in a social activity together. So, I'd throw my mom under the bus instead. He wouldn't be mad at her anyway. He loves her too much. More than likely he'll actually be a little excited to spend a few hours with her quirky self.

"I've been renovating the kitchen," I tell her. It's all the truth, but I've left out the most important part of it. She doesn't need to know about our marital situation right now. When, and if, that moment presents itself, then I'll delve into the ugly truth. For now, half-truths will have to do.

"Again," she says, and while most moms would be rolling their eyes at my inability to settle down long enough to let paint dry, she's looking at me with proud eagerness. "I wanna see it!"

"Okay," I reply, glad for the topic change. "I went with an orange tainted yellow. So far it looks pretty good. I think it's my favorite color yet. The blue was too dark, and that soft purple I tried last year was just gross."

"You've always had an eye for these kinds of things," she says, her smile beaming with motherly love. "You got that from your dad, I think."

"Yeah," I agree with a laugh. "You've never been great with matching things. Like, your shoes for instance."

She glances down at her cute blue tennis shoes pressed into the gas pedal and then looks back at me with a scowl. "What's wrong with them?"

"No," I hurry to clarify, "the shoes are great. It's what you've matched them with that's the problem. Tennis shoes should never be worn with dress slacks. Ever."

"Oh," she says. Her mouth drops open with the single word and she tips her head back slightly as realization clicks on.

A few moments of silence pass by before she nudges my shoulder with her elbow. I glance over to find a suspicious smile lighting up her face. She looks genuinely pleased with herself about something and I have no idea what it could be.

"What?" I deadpan, which just causes her smile to widen further.

"Nothing," she says with a blink and then returns her gaze to the road ahead. "Just glad I've got a daughter who is so honest with me about my fashion sense."

Well, she got the fashion sense part down right, but I'm not always honest about everything. Though, there are parts about a marriage that people don't need to know. Withholding information that's technically nobody else's business anyway really isn't lying. And right now, my mom doesn't need to know I'm suffering.

We drive on, small talk filling the car as the hours pass. We've been on the same highway since we exited Greenville, and I find myself bored of the continuously linear roads. Making a quick, abrupt decision, I dare my mom to make the next exit. She doesn't even spare me a questioning look, but instead agrees with my plan before it barely leaves my lips.

I can see that the car has eaten almost all our gas, and I'm anxious to see where this little journey takes us. Within an hour, the vehicle is sputtering to a stop at the edge of the road. Unfortunately, we didn't land ourselves in the midst of some quaint little town bubbling with friendly folks and horse-drawn wagons.

Nope. We're actually stuck in the very middle of nowhere. There's not a house in sight. The roads are even devoid of telephone lines... which tells me we're heading in the direction of absolutely nothing. If we happen to find a village out here somewhere, it'll most likely be one of those outhouse using towns with no electricity.

Well, long story short: I was right.

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