Party of Four

Upgrades - Riley

Nate had called out sick, and Cole was called in. Nica and I slept in, and then got dressed to go to a car lot. She’d mentioned trading in her Beetle when we’d first found out she was pregnant. There was a lot of uncertainty at the time though. Uncertain if we were actually going to move. Uncertain if she was going to move in with us.

Then we got busy. Between holidays and birthdays and the actual move, potentially trading in Nica’s car became an afterthought. With the baby shower a week away though, and us getting so much closer to Poppy’s due date, Nica was becoming anxious about having a car that would suit her needs.

I stared out the passenger window of her silver Beetle, listening to her sing along to the radio as she drove. Her car had meant so much to her. It wasn’t just her dream car, it was a symbol of her regained independence. It was a part of her reclaiming who she was before her ex had dimmed her light.

I didn’t want her to have to give that up.

“We don’t…we don’t have to do this,” I told her, quietly. “I know you want more room for Poppy, but…we have the Sportage…mom and dad have decent sized cars. You don’t have to trade the bug in.”

I watched as she pressed her lips together in a thin line. She swallowed. “There’s no guarantee any of you will always be around though. What if I’m by myself with her and I need to go somewhere?”

I sucked in a deep breath, thinking. “We can switch cars on those days. You can take the Sportage and I’ll drive this.”

She glanced at me briefly, “What if there’s an emergency that we didn’t plan for?”

“Were you a Girl Scout?” I teased softly, hiding the fact I didn’t have an answer. At least not yet.

“No, but my dad was a Cub Scout. He’s always said, ‘Prepare for the worst and hope for the best.’”

“And trading in your car is preparing for the worst?”

She nodded.

My nose twitched, the gesture lifting my glasses. “We can make it work, Nica,” I reassured her again, even though I still didn’t have a plan for emergencies.

“We’ll just look,” she said after a pause. “We’ll see what happens. I’m not going to trade my car in for something I don’t love just as much.”

I knew that would be her compromise. She loved her car, and I knew she didn’t want to give it up. She was trying to be practical though. “Okay, but if you fall in love with something, I’m demanding you get it.”

She rolled her eyes playfully, a smile forming. The tension seemed to leave her face. “You’re such a sap, Riley.”

“Only for you.” I reached over, placing my hand on her thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze.

At the dealership, her Beetle was appraised while a salesman with a name tag that read “Kurt” showed us around the lot. His navy polo, khaki shorts, and classic shell toe adidas screamed stereotypical car dealer, but his chin length curly brown hair and aviator sunglasses screamed Pauly Shore circa 1990.

“We’re looking for something safe and reliable,” Nica was explaining, one hand resting on the top of her belly, the other in mine. “Plenty of cargo space…something good for a family.”

“We’ve got a couple of small SUVs that are perfect for that,” Kurt told us, leading us past a few trucks and sedans. “Low mileage, great safety ratings.”

We followed him to a dark blue Subaru Forester. It was almost identical to Mallory’s.

“This is a great option,” Kurt praised as he opened the rear hatch. “Tons of space for a stroller and groceries, all-wheel drive, and Subaru has a phenomenal reputation for safety.

Nica leaned in, looking at the cargo area, “It’s big.”

“It’s safe, Nica,” I pointed out quietly. I ran my hand along the smooth finish of the roof. It was a nice car. Solid, practical. Everything her Beetle wasn’t, which was probably the problem.

She walked around to the driver’s side, and I opened the door for her. She slid in and immediately started fiddling with the dash controls. Kurt was giving a spiel about the fuel economy, but it was clear to me that Nica wasn’t listening. She looked out the windshield, then down at the steering wheel, her expression was set in a stern assessment.

“It’s fine,” she sighed, looking up at me. “It’s just…fine.”

Kurt, bless his heart, didn’t let that stop him. “We have a smaller Crossover, and a RAV4,” he offered.

Nica drove the Crossover around the lot once, but pulled back into a space looking defeated. Then we moved on to the RAV4. She didn’t even sit in it for more than thirty seconds.

“No,” she said simply as she got out. Her mouth twisted.

We spent the next hour walking the lot. She rejected a practical Hyundai, a sleek Mazda, and a slightly too-used Honda. Each one was met with the same lukewarm assessment: fine, plain, practical, sensible. None of them made her eyes light up. None of them sparked the same feeling her Beetle did.

“There’s nothing I love,” she murmured, turning to me after she’d shot down the Honda.

“I know,” I pulled her against me, rubbing her back. The cotton of her sundress was smooth under my palm. “We still have time if you want to keep looking?”

She shrugged, defeated. She was clearly just going through the motions, her heart wasn’t in it.

We started up another aisle, working our way back to her car. “You know it doesn’t have to be an SUV,” I told her softly. “A car can be just as practical. We could find a Kia or a Mitsubishi. Maybe even a cheap, used BMW.” My brows arched, a hopeful smile tugging at my lips. We’d almost fit in at Stonehaven then.

Nica just scowled.

Then she stopped. The scrape of her shoe on the asphalt was accompanied by a sharp intake of air as she gasped. I turned to her, immediately concerned.

Her lips were parted, eyes wide. Something had finally lit her up. I turned in the direction of her gaze and I saw it too.

The dark green Mini Cooper Countryman was at the end of a row of station wagons and sedans, sparkling in the sunlight.

“What about that?” she asked, immediately moving towards it as if it were calling her name.

Kurt and I followed behind her. He immediately began explaining all the great things about it, and how it was such a good choice. She still wasn’t listening though. She never cared about reliability or gas mileage. She was looking for something that was practical for motherhood, but still had the flair and personality the Beetle had.

Nica didn’t hesitate to open the door and slide in. I saw the price tag though. It was about five thousand dollars above her budget. I pressed my lips together, unsure if I should point that out. She looked so happy as Kurt offered to retrieve the keys for her to test drive it.

“I think this is it, Rye,” she grinned as I sat in the passenger seat.

“It’s a little…pricier,” I told her. “I thought you weren’t looking for anything over 15…this is almost twenty thousand.”

“I know, but…” she took a deep breath, still smiling. “Look at it though. It has more than enough space for a baby. It’s reliable, it’s just as safe as any of those other SUVs…and that green…”

I sighed softly. She was so excited, I hated to crush her spirits.

“We’re still don’t know what they’re going to value the Beetle at…maybe it’ll balance out,” she said hopefully.

It did not. She didn’t have any negative equity, fortunately. However, the surplus of what the Beetle was worth compared to what she still owed was barely a thousand dollars. That still put her almost four thousand over budget.

I ended up calling my dad to come help her negotiate payments. Two hours later, we were walking across the parking lot to her new Countryman. She had a longer term and a slightly higher interest rate than what I would’ve liked, but my dad had helped her get her monthly payments down into the range she had been hoping for.

“Cole will be off work soon,” I pointed out as the engine roared to life. “We could go pick him up. Maybe get some lunch.”

“I could go for an eggplant parm,” she agreed, smiling.

Nica was practically vibrating in the driver’s seat as she drove to the restaurant. It felt like a little spaceship in comparison to her Beetle. It was surprisingly roomy, with plenty of cargo space. Most importantly though, it still had that quirky, independent feeling that screamed Nica.

“I still can’t believe we got this,” she grinned between songs on the radio. Her eyes sparkled with joy and happiness. “Your dad is a miracle worker.”

“He just wants you happy, Nica,” I told her. “We all do. And this car is perfect.”

“It still feels like me, you know?”

“I know,” I confirmed. That was the most importantly thing. She hadn’t traded in her independence for responsibility. She just upgraded the vehicle for the next phase of her life.

I texted Cole as we pulled into the restaurant, letting him know we were coming in to eat.