Not to mention, he has a brand-new dashcam in this old truck. I’m positive the dashcam didn’t catch the transaction, but if he were to be arrested right now, the police would search his truck and probably watch the video and hear that the drugs are for me.

My knee is bouncing nervously when Miller climbs back into his truck.

He drives to the side of the movie theater and faces the road so that we can see the entire parking lot. He pulls a baggie out of his pocket. There’s an already-rolled joint in it.

The truck is so old it still has one of those built-in cigarette lighters. He pushes it in to heat up and then hands me the joint. I stare at it, unsure of what to do with it. I look at Miller expectantly. “You aren’t going to light it for me?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t smoke.”

“But . . . you have a dealer.”

Miller laughs. “His name is Steven. He’s my coworker, not a dealer. But he always has weed on him.”

“Well, shit. I didn’t think I’d have to do it myself. I’ve never even lit a cigarette before.” I pull out my phone and open YouTube. I search for how to light a joint and start playing a video.

“YouTube has weed-smoking tutorials?” he asks.

“Shocking, I know.”

Miller is finding this amusing. I can tell by the expression on his face. He scoots closer to me and watches the video with me. “You sure you want to get high? Your hands are shaking.” He takes the phone from me.

“It would be rude to change my mind now. You already paid for it.”

Miller continues holding the phone for us. When the video is over, I pull the lighter out of its socket and stare at it hesitantly.

“Here. I can try.”

I hand it to him, and he lights the joint as if he’s a pro. Kind of makes me question his initial claim. He inhales once, then blows the smoke away from me, out his open window. He hands it to me next, but when I attempt to inhale, I just end up coughing and sputtering through the whole thing. I’m not nearly as graceful as he was.

“If you don’t smoke weed, how come you did it so easily?”

He laughs. “I didn’t say I’ve never tried it. I’ve just never lit a joint before.”

I try it again, but I still can’t get it to go down smooth. “It’s so disgusting,” I choke.

“Edibles are better.”

“Then why didn’t you get me an edible?”

“Steven didn’t have any, and drugs aren’t really my thing.”

I hold the joint between my fingers, looking down at it, wondering how I ended up here when I should be at my father’s funeral. Drugs aren’t my thing, either, I guess. It feels so unnatural. “What is your thing?” I ask, looking back at Miller.

He leans his head back against his seat and thinks on this for a moment. “Iced tea. And cornbread. I love cornbread.”

I laugh. Not what I expected. I wait a moment before taking another hit. Lexie would be horrified if she saw me right now.

Shit. Lexie.

I didn’t even tell her I was leaving the funeral. I look at my phone, but she hasn’t texted. I only have one text from my mother, sent fifteen minutes ago.

Mom: Where are you?

I flip my phone facedown. If I can’t see the text, it doesn’t exist.

“What about you?” Miller asks. “What’s your thing?”

“Acting. But you already know that.”

He makes a face. “When you asked what my thing was, for some reason, I thought we were talking about things we like to consume.”

That makes me smile. “No, it includes anything. What are you the most into? What is the one thing you would never be willing to give up in life?” He’s probably going to say Shelby.

“Photography,” he says quickly. “Filming, editing. Anything that puts me behind the camera.” He tilts his head and smiles at me. “But you already know that.”

“That why you have a dashcam?” I say, pointing at it. “You have a need to be behind a camera, even when you’re driving?”

He nods. “I also have this.” He opens the glove box and pulls out a GoPro. “I always have some kind of camera on me. Never know when that perfect photographic moment will arise.”

I think Miller might be just as into filming as I am when it comes to acting. “Too bad your ex won’t let us work on the film project together. We might actually make a good team.” I lift the joint back to my mouth, even though I hate everything about it. “How much do I have to smoke before it makes me feel numb?”

“It might not make you feel numb. It might make you feel nervous and paranoid.”

I look at the joint, disappointed. “Well, crap.” I look for somewhere to snuff it out, but there’s not an ashtray in his truck. “What do I do with it? I don’t like it.”

Miller takes it from me and pinches the end of it with his fingers. He gets out and throws it in a trash can, then comes back to his truck.

Such a gentleman. Buying me weed and then disposing of it for me.

What a weird day. And I don’t feel anything at all yet. Still just full of grief.

“I’m back together with Shelby.”

I take it back. I felt that.

“That sucks,” I say.

“Not really.”

I roll my head and look at him pointedly. “No . . . it does. It sucks. You shouldn’t have even brought it up.”

“I didn’t,” he says. “You did. You called her my ex a minute ago, and I felt I needed to clarify that we got back together.”

I don’t even know why he’s telling me this. I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes. “Do you think I’m into you? Is that why you keep informing me of your relationship status when we’re together?”

Miller smiles. “You’re abrasive.”

I laugh, turning away from him because I’m scared my laugh will result in tears. It’s funny, though. Sad and funny, because my mother used to refer to my father as abrasive. I guess the apple didn’t fall far from my father’s tree either.

Miller must think he insulted me, because he leans forward a little, trying to get my attention. “I didn’t mean that in a negative way.”

I wave him off, letting him know I’m not offended. “It’s fine. You’re right. I am abrasive. I like to argue, even when I know I’m wrong.” I face him. “I’m getting better, though. I’m learning that sometimes you have to walk away from the fight in order to win it.” My aunt Jenny told me that once. I try to remember it every time I feel like I’m on the defensive.

Miller smiles gently at me, and I don’t know if the weed is finally kicking in or if his smile is making me light headed. Either way, it beats the headache I’ve had for five days from all the crying.

“If you’re back together with Shelby, why are you checking on me right now? Pretty sure she wouldn’t approve of this.”

A flash of guilt crosses his face. He grips his steering wheel, then slides his hands down it. “I’d feel even guiltier if I didn’t check on you.”

I’d really like to ruminate on that comment, but our conversation is ruined by the intrusion of a car that pulls up next to us. I glance out my open window, then sit up straight. “Crap.”