How To Steal a Car by Pete Hautman

gay.”
    “I think he’s just shy.”
    Jen sipped her wine thoughtfully. “That is so sweet,” she said.
    We talked about other things—I don’t remember what. But I never mentioned Deke Moffet.
    I stayed at Jen’s overnight to sleep it off. The next morning when I got home from Jen’s with my head pounding and my stomach churning, my mom was all dressed in her Pilates outfit, waiting for me. I had completely forgotten about Pilates. I quick changed and in about five minutes we were out the door, with her driving. She was in a chatty mood,and I was finding out what a hangover felt like. I thought about her that night after she went out with Becca Ekman, how hard it must have been to sit at the dinner table listening to my dad talk about his day and probably wanting to puke the whole time.
    Just to be perfectly clear, I am not this big-time drinker. I had drunk three times in my life and splitting that one bottle of wine with Jen was the most I’d ever had at one time. But even with my limited experience, I can offer some solid advice: Do not get drunk the night before your Pilates class.
    After an hour of building my core strength (a Pilates thing) and trying to not throw up (a wine thing), I went with my mom for brunch to Chez Colette in the Sofitel hotel, way out in Bloomington. My mom had this thing for their croissants. Also, the place made her feel all French and classy.
    I drank two café au laits and ate a chocolate croissant while my mother chattered on about I-don’t-know-what. I finally got tired of whatever it was she was talking about and asked her how dad was doing with his rapist.
    “Your father is very serious about his work, Kelleigh,” she said, putting on her we-are-your-parents-and-we-are-a-team face. “He believes that every person accused of a crime deserves vigorous representation.”
    “Vigorous representation?”
    “That’s how he puts it.”
    “Do you think he’s really going to get that guy off? Do I need to start carrying pepper spray?”
    She shook her head, looking thoughtful, and said, “I don’t know. With that break-in at the Hallsteds’, pepper spray might not be a bad idea.”
    On the way to the car, my mom handed me her keys, even though all she’d been drinking was coffee. I didn’t really feel like driving because I still had a headache, and driving with a parent watching your every move is not nearly as interesting as driving on your own. But it would have been weird for me not to want to drive, so I drove.
    As I was crossing over the freeway to get to the eastbound entrance ramp, I saw my dad. It was just a flash. White Lexus, my dad’s face through the tinted windshield, and then I was turning onto the freeway.
    “I just saw Dad,” I said.
    My mother looked at me.
    “What? Where?”
    “He was going the other way.”
    She looked around. “Are you sure?”
    “I think so.”
    “What on earth would he be doing way out here? His office is downtown.”
    I shrugged. I was already wishing I hadn’t said anything.
    “You must have been mistaken,” she said.
    “It might have just been a guy who looked like him.”
    “There are a lot of white Lexuses.” She flipped open her cell phone, stared at it for a few seconds, shook her head slightly, closed it, and put it back in her bag.
    “Be careful here,” she said, pointing ahead. “The right lane is closed.”
    I changed lanes, signaling and checking both mirrors like you’re supposed to.
    “We should stop at the store,” she said. “We need milk.”
    “Okay,” I said. I did not mention that my dad had not been alone in his car. Or that the woman sitting beside him looked like a younger version of my mother.
    I decided if Deke ever called I would laugh and say something like “Hey, I was just kidding. Ha-ha.” That’s what I thought I’d do. But then he did call. It was the same day I saw my dad with the woman by the Sofitel. And instead of saying I’d just been kidding, I said, “Okay, I’ll do