Falling For My Father's Best Friend
I hit play, cranked up the volume, and let the music wash over us.
We screamed the lyrics at the top of our lungs-all three of us-windows cracked, wind whipping through our hair, Olga throwing fake gang signs and rapping along with gusto, me laughing so hard I snorted mango smoothie out of my nose. Jake didn't sing, but his fingers tapped the wheel in perfect rhythm, and I caught him humming along under his breath.
We looped the song twice, three times. By the fourth time, Olga was standing in the back seat, seatbelt off, Jake yelling
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