One by One

by Freida McFadden

She doesn’t want to hear about our millionth argument over the toilet paper.

“Are you sure we’re supposed to go left?” Noah asks. Warner looks up from the map. “Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,” he recites in that rich baritone. “And I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.” Noah crinkles his nose. “What the…” he mutters under his breath. I clasp my hand over my mouth to suppress a giggle, and for a split second, Noah looks proud of himself for making me laugh.

Noah doesn’t look at all thrilled about it, but he takes Robert Frost’s advice and turns left at the fork. It

“I’ve got jumper cables in the back,” I say. He snorts. “Great. Do you also have a battery in the back that we can give it a jump off of?”

He unbuckles his seatbelt. “Let me take a look under the hood.” “Take a look?” I repeat. Noah may be a physicist, but he doesn’t know anything about cars. “What do you think you’re going to see under there? An on/off switch on the battery that’s toggled to off?”