I said I was taking two large bags for my sister and would therefore travel in her car. Darko accepted the explanation without many questions. He intended to leave later, and we were supposed to arrive together at the family celebration. I planned to wait for him in the yard, kiss him, and erase the journey from our conversation. I had no two bags. I had one small one and enough fear to turn it into an entire trunkful.
Darko drove too fast for me. Saying I was frightened was never enough. He replied that he knew the road, that the car handled well, and that I was distracting him. Sometimes he slowed down for a few minutes, like a favor that must not be requested again. After our last journey my hands hurt from gripping the edge of the seat. At home I told him I had felt sick. He accepted that excuse more easily than my actual words.
In the morning he came outside early to help with the luggage. My sister opened the trunk. Inside were two jackets and my little bag. I looked at her, but she did not understand what help I wanted. Darko asked where the rest was. I said the plan had changed. He offered to take me after all. My sister was already holding her car door, and for the first time I clearly saw how many more lies avoiding one uncomfortable truth would require.
I said I did not want to travel with him because his driving frightened me. He laughed toward my sister, expecting her to join him. She did not. He said we had arrived alive for twenty years. I replied that I did not want another twenty years of arriving with aching hands. Saying it in front of her felt unpleasant. Hearing it felt unpleasant for him. But I had already tried privately, always ending up explaining why my fear was not an insult to his skill.
At the celebration he spent a long time talking to people at another table. When we were finally alone, he said I had humiliated him. I admitted lying and said I should not have turned my sister into cover. I did not withdraw my reason. He asked what I expected now. I said I would return with her. It was not a plan to teach him a lesson. It was an answer to a specific question about my journey home.
A week later he suggested that I drive us to lunch. I did not turn it into proof that everything had changed. I took the keys. At one junction he began explaining how I could go faster. I looked at him when we stopped at the light. He closed his mouth and moved his hand away from the seat. For the rest of the trip we discussed what food to order. I never once had to invent a reason to breathe.