here, here, and here

BRYSON: to get tattoos.

BRYSON: so you might wanna pick something out.

TEDDY: I KNEEEW IT.

TEDDY: i mean obviously I DIDN'T "kneeew" it

TEDDY: but the hunch was clearly there. it was present.

BRYSON: meh, steve was OG though.

BRYSON: she told me i need to so something not me but fun. and i've literally told myself i would never do this, but fuck it.

BRYSON: the place looks shady as hell so if you have a shank you should bring it.

BRYSON: anyone who is anyone pretends Joe never happened.

BRYSON: we're in Bryson, it wasn't the biggest surprise.

BRYSON: anyway, I need you later, I have to do something and I booked an appointment for it.

TEDDY: okay don’t @ me but. he was kind of cute?

TEDDY: fair point.

BRYSON: guess who got a letter?

BRYSON: it wasn't steve from blues clues.

TEDDY: it was JOE.

TEDDY: [a beat]

TEDDY: 👀

TEDDY: [another beat]

“Alright, everyone out.” Shea pulled into the motel at Bryson and unlocked the doors. “I don’t want to see a single morsel of trash in this truck or I’ll give you an anal prolapse with a vacuum cleaner.” She jumped out of the driver’s seat and stuffed her keys into her pocket, then walked around to open up the back of the truck. At Olive’s request, the car arrangements had been randomized, leading to some interesting conversation and some awkward small talk. Not everyone had stayed in touch, clearly.

After the last of the bags were dumped onto the sidewalk, Shea opened her door to do a check on the inside of the car, getting ready to track down a vacuum to enact her punishment. Inside glowed the telltale light of a phone.

“Hey, party’s over, get your bags and we’ll grab our rooms.” Shea leaned her head on the back of the driver’s seat, peeking over at the straggler. “Not to sound all mom-ish on you, but who’re you texting? Someone more important than us? Couldn’t be.”

Teddy was tired.  She was slumped in the backseat of Shea’s car, long legs folded up and phone in her hand, and she didn’t know how long she had been in that position.  Frankly, she’d been tuning out far too much of what was going on today.

Maybe this trip had been a bad idea.  God.  She hated that she was suddenly the phone that was feeling that slump, feeling that sudden drag of the negative energy that she tried so hard to steer clear of.  But, here she was.  Right down in the same zone that she worried so much that everyone else was in, that she tried so, so hard to keep everyone else out of.

Lately, she hadn’t been feeling well.  Her stomach felt tight and her head felt dizzy, all she could think about was Olive and being filled with too many reminders of the past at all times, surrounding her, swallowing her, choking her, drowning her.

There were a string of texts staring at her from her mom, telling her that it was okay to not feel okay, that it was okay to want to come home, that she loved her, that if she wanted to hang in there, her mother knew she could do it…

God.  She was not going to start crying right now.

She didn’t even notice that Shea was talking until she realized that she was the only one left in the empty car, and Shea was looking right at her.

Her head lifted, cheeks flushed and heart skipping a beat.  “Sorry,” she said with a laugh, flashing her a smile that she could only hope was as convincing as she tried to make it appear.  She could play the part, right?  She was good at that, wasn’t she?

“Just my mom being my mom, perks of being a cop’s daughter, of course.”

She made her way out of the car, landing with her two feet on the ground and nudging Shea with her shoulder.  “Always good to have another mom around, though.”

          Guess we can’t always win, right? So being tall has its downsides, yeah, but look at the bright side– it’s just for a couple of hours because the second we got here you were back to being your leggy, blonde, fabulous self. I told you before, babe, you’re model type. Like, I’m talking Victoria’s Secret. 

          By the looks of it, it seems that go around looking for ice machines is actually at the top of the what to do in this town list. That and making sure we don’t go out as a group with everyone of us– we were checking in the hotel and I could swear the lady on the counter thought we were some sort of gang or something like that. I mean, bless her, I don’t think people come here at all, much less in a group of 10. But enjoying the small texan vibe ( and laugh at the towners grilling us ) is what I’m gonna do because I get to say I’m in her everytime I see Bryson. 

WOW.  Has anyone ever told you that you’re, like, the glorious goddess of boosting self-esteem?  Because seriously, Lua.  I feel like I need to just have you following me everywhere I go for the rest of my life like the perfect little bird on my shoulder.  Because seriously, now I’m just blushing.  It’s embarrassing.  Have I told you lately that I love you?  WELL NOW YOU KNOW.

...oh my gosh, I saw her.  I was wondering if she thought we were in some weird, like, cult?  Or a band and she was missing out on some very exciting event in town.  But let’s be honest, the only cool musician around here is Peter, so we just have to leave that to him.  Bryson being so squirmy is probably the highlight of this all, because you know she loves it.  LOOK AT HER FACE.

I’m astonishingly average, so I can’t really relate to the leg issues, but I imagine it’s an annoyance. Are you doing your calisthenics in the morning?

I’ll take your ice machines and raise you going to the magazine stand in the lobby and trying to find the most ridiculous tourist traps in the area. It’s Texas so they have to have a giant ball of twine, right? 

I understand that you mean this from a height perspective, but I need to make things perfectly clear that there is nothing average about you whatsoever (astonishing, yes, average, no).  But I’m used to them by this point.  It’s a love-hate thing.  Usually love.  I’m absolutely not doing those.  If I’m not reaching for things on higher shelves or jumping to conclusions (bah-dum-tss!), I’m probably not working out.

YES, THEY HAVE TO, AND WE HAVE TO FIND IT, AND WE HAVE TO GO?  ...wait.  According to Google.  It’s?  In Kansas?  This just... this seems wrong.  Like really a slap in the face.  Like they moved the ball because they knew we were coming. 

I mean, I know we got in a couple hours ago, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to be walking around the hotel for at least another hour just to, like, stretch the ol’ girl out.  Yikes.

If anybody wants to keep me company (or there’s, like, a dire emergency in need of some Teddy assistance!), I’m probably the one looking for every ice machine as a means of entertainment - which is exactly what I used to do on every Graham family road trip from Yellowstone to Washington, DC.  

Nice to see I’m keeping things consistent.

:| :| :| :| :| :| :| 

Bryson is going to Bryson.

Let’s be honest... you gotta give our girl some props for the creativity on that one, right?

One: you can’t sing. Two: we’re only allowed to sing good music to my dog. 

One:  If it’s sang with love, that automatically makes it good singing by default - it’s science, look it up.  Two:  I can’t believe you’d disrespect an iconic smash hit like that, right here and right now and right in front of me.

Bruno. I had a collar made. It’s definitely Bruno.

Bruno.  I love it.  I can’t wait to off-key croon Just the Way You Are in his ear and everything.