The moment I’ve been dreading has finally arrived.

        I’ve helped Rebekah settle into her baronial-sized bedroom, replete with an attached, soundproof practice room that holds a piano, microphone and floor-to-ceiling mirror so she can check her posture, breathing position, openness of mouth and jaw alignment while singing.

        We stand toe-to-toe a moment, visually taking each other’s emotional temperature. Excitement, sadness and mutual adoration fills up the space between our bodies.

        “You’re going to do so great here,” I say. “I can already tell that Maria is crazy about you.”

        She smiles. “I am very thankful for everything you have done to make this possible,” she says. I hear a slight catch in her voice. We exchange rueful sighs.

        “You have my number,” I remind her, and I know I am talking faster because I can feel that I’m on the verge of losing my composure. “Use it whenever you want. I will always be happy to hear from you. You are never an interruption or imposition for me.”

        I take out the box with the cameo necklace I bought her at the fancy-ass mall dress shop. She opens it and gapes. “She has your same beautiful profile,” I say, pointing to the ivory silhouette, “so I felt like it was a sign. Won’t this look perfect with your recital dress?”

        She nods, not taking her eyes off it.

        “You know,” I continue, “sometimes you don’t need to know someone a long time to know they’re a perfect addition to your life, and that is exactly how I feel about you. You’re this wonderful, shining light that warms up my whole heart.”

        “The same for me,” she says, and we give each other one last really good hug.

        “We’ll be back to visit you after the convention, okay?”

        She nods.

        “Or sooner, if you need,” I add with a smile. “Now, wish me luck, Rebekah, because I still have three-and-a-half hours in the car with Jane!”

        This evokes a fill-up-the-room style giggle, which, I decide, is my perfect cue to wave and blow her a kiss on my way out the door.

        After some good-bye hugs with Maria, Gretchen and I head outside, where I see Jane leaning against the car, a sour look of entitlement emblazoned upon her face.

        Gretchen clicks the locks but I say, "I'll drive for this leg." She and I take our places in the front seats, and Jane’s sigh, even through our closed doors, mind you, is so pronounced and overexaggerated, it sounds as if a hippopotamus just deflated a pool raft by landing on it with all four feet.

        I do NOT have the alacrity for her nonsense anymore. Without Rebekah to take into consideration, my redhead’s temper is already officially in the danger zone. It will take only the tiniest provocation for it to be Open Season on this friend of my cousin, Tova’s, who wormed her way aboard this road trip.

        I’m thinking ahead, too, of what Jane will be like at the FanStory convention. If she’s as insufferable with the rest of the members as she’s been for Gretchen and me, once all the festivities are over, I’ll FOR SURE be on even more people’s “Muted” list than my current number of seven! I make a mental note to distance myself from Jane every single moment at the convention. That way, no one can associate her with me.

        We’re barely out of Maria’s rambling driveway when Jane scooches herself as close to us as she can. “It’s SOOOOO unfairrrrrrrr that I have to be back here all by myselllllllllllf!” she starts.

        Gretchen and I exchange “The Look.”

        “Okay; Jane?” I begin. “Until now, because of Rebekah, I have been very, very nice to you, despite the fact that you’ve been the equivalent of a spoiled eighth grade debutante.”

        Jane’s eyes open so wide, I’m thinking that with even the slightest of bumps in the road, they could just jostle themselves right out of her sockets and onto my headrest.

        “But that level of magnanimity from me is now over,” I tell her and let that settle in before continuing on. “If you whine or complain from here on in—”

        “—Or read your lousy poetry,” Gretchen adds.

        “Or read your lousy poetry,” I affirm, “then I am raising the soundproof glass barrier here between our section and yours.”

        “You can’t do thaaaaaat!” Jane squawks.

        “Can and WILL,” I say. “And, if you pound on the glass even one time in protest, then we will immediately drive to the nearest bus station and leave you there. Are you reading me loud and clear, Jane?”

        “I can’t belieeeeeeeve this!” Jane shouts. She points to Gretchen and screams, “You’ve let that low-class Dixie chick with the ridiculous accent drive a wedge between us!”

        Now the incredulity is mine. I gape at her quizzically a moment then say, “Okay; that does it. You are a bona fide KOOK, Jane Babies, and you have now officially lost any further road trip privileges in this vehicle.” I turn to Gretchen and say, “Please be on the lookout for the next mall or plaza you see so that we can let Jane out.”

        “Oh YES!!!!” she yells. “GLADLY!!” and with that, she scours the landscape until lasering in on the Woodbury Commons Premium Outlet.

        I take a moment at a red light to apprise Tova via text. All she sends in response is, “Oy.” But, a few moments later, she adds, “I pity the limo driver who takes her the rest of the way!”

        Limo driver?!