You Look Different in Real Life

turns back to glance at the camera, then at me, with an intrigued look. Evaluating something. “It’s okay,” he says after a moment. “We owe Keira this. But I should call my mom and get that over with.”
    “Hey, Nate?” I call to the front seat. “Felix needs your phone.”
    Nate hands it back and Felix takes it. He dials slower than I’ve ever seen anyone dial.
    “Mami,” he says with no expression. “Yeah, it’s Nate’s . . .good, I’m glad they called. It’s all going to be fine . . . better than fine . . . I know . . . I know . . . I should be back soon . . .” Then he is silent and I can hear Ana spewing in Spanish. Felix runs his fingers through his hair, and listens. “Okay,” he says, then hangs up without saying good-bye.
    Felix stares at the phone for a few seconds, like he wants to make sure it doesn’t start shouting at him again, then hands it back to Nate.
    As Nate takes it, he says, “My Spanish must be better than I thought it was, because I got some of that and wow, I’m sorry, man.”
    “Why? What did she say?” asks Rory.
    “You don’t want to know. Felix may just want to get an apartment and stay in the city until he’s about thirty, and then maybe by then she’ll forgive him.”
    Felix snorts a laugh, and I see Nate smile in the rearview mirror, looking at Felix with something I’ve never seen on Nate before. I almost don’t recognize it, because it seems so impossible. But I do recognize it, because I feel it every time I try to talk to Rory.
    Longing.
    Can’t process that. Especially not on Route 17 going through New Jersey, not when we’re driving behind a Toyota Odyssey with the bumper sticker MINIVANS ARE THE NEW SEXY!
    I know this route well enough, from the occasional daytrip with my family. We’ll be in Manhattan in about forty-five minutes. And I feel a little sad, then surprised that I feel a little sad. There’s something about people being in a car, held fast by the speed and lack of distractions that usually keep us from interacting with one another. I’m reminded of how, when I was younger, my parents used to have long, involved discussions when we went on road trips. They’d talk about big family issues and major decisions. My dad would tell stories about his patients, and my mom would fill him in on the latest parent gossip. It was like they hadn’t talked, really talked, in weeks. And they didn’t care that Olivia and I were right there in the backseat, pretending to play video games or drawing but, in fact, listening to every single word they said.
    Ideally, Felix would be sitting in the front seat with Nate, and Rory would be back here with me, but I know that’s a configuration they’ll do everything to avoid.
    Suddenly, Nate’s phone rings.
    Rory doesn’t think to pick it up and check it for him. I would, if I were up there.
    Nate glances at it quickly, then swerves the car onto the shoulder, cutting off the car behind us and causing much honking.
    “Hey,” he says breathlessly as soon as we’ve stopped.
    Keira.
    “How is . . . everything going?” Nate steadies his voice into a calm, curious tone. He listens, and I can’t hear heron the other end. “Okay . . . okay . . . Yeah, well . . . we came home early and as soon as I had my phone again I wanted to check on you. So you can reach me. If you need to.”
    Nate listens for a few more moments, nodding as if she can see him, then says, “Good luck. I’m here if you need me,” and hangs up. The intimacy of their conversation was obvious even in the few words I could hear. He stares at the phone and puts it down, looks out at the traffic speeding by us.
    “Did she see her mom?” I ask.
    “Not yet. Apparently she’s moved to another neighborhood. That’s all Keira told me.”
    “You didn’t tell her we were coming down to find her,” says Rory.
    “No,” replies Nate.
    “Are we still?” I ask.
    “Oh, yeah,” he says. Now he turns to face me. Just me. “We have things we need to do.”

SIXTEEN
    S omewhere in the Garden State, I actually fall asleep. When I open my eyes, the motion of the car has changed dramatically. Instead of the straight and steady vibration of highway driving, there’s a lot of stop-and-start now. Swerving right, then left. Then the light feels artificial and the world sounds like an empty whooshing thing.
    It’s so disorienting that I can only slur the words, “Do we know where we are?”
    Nate laughs. “Lincoln Tunnel. Thanks to this