Mitchell, who was already halfway inside the Prius, froze. He awkwardly turned his head away, staring intensely at the dashboard radio, desperately avoiding eye contact so he wouldn't get guilt-tripped into riding with her.
I just stood there, observing the drama. She has a massive luxury car, I thought. She could just ride with the uncles, or Haley could go with her. Why does she have to make a Shakespearean tragedy out of it?
Phil, who had just unlocked the Porsche, heard DeDe's loud sigh. His survival instincts instantly kicked in. He knew that an unhappy DeDe meant a miserable Claire, which meant a miserable weekend for him.
Phil immediately turned around, his eyes locking onto me. A goofy, slightly desperate smile spread across his face.
"Oh, DeDe! Don't be silly! Luke can go with you!" Phil announced brightly, throwing me straight under the bus. He looked at me, winking aggressively. "Right, buddy? You love your Grandma, right? You two have so much catching up to do!"
My mouth twitched violently. Claire, who was standing next to Phil, also had her mouth twitch in shock at her husband sacrificing their only son.
Phil quickly got out of the car door frame, leaning in close to Claire, and whispered loudly enough for me to hear.
"Honey, calm down," Phil whispered frantically. "Luke is a man now! Look at him! You told me he deflected her in the kitchen perfectly. He might be the only one who can actually calm the storm! We know what can happen if she gets in her own head during a solo car ride. He's our best defense!"
Phil nodded expectantly at Claire, his eyes wide and pleading.
Claire looked at me in my suit, remembered how easily I had handled DeDe earlier, and let out a heavy sigh. She nodded in agreement, fully endorsing the sacrifice of her son for the greater good of the family's sanity.
Alex, who was about to get into the back of the Porsche, suddenly stopped. She looked at me, her eyes widening in worry. She didn't want to lose her newfound ally to the terrifying spiritual interrogator.
"Wait, Mom, maybe Luke should ride with us—" Alex started to protest, stepping forward.
"Nope! It's decided!" Phil cut her off, pointing a finger at me. "Have a great ride, you two!"
I let out a long, heavy sigh that came from the very bottom of my soul. I looked at Phil, mentally cursing his cowardly, self-preserving suburban dad instincts. Faah, you old man. Sacrificing a pawn to save the king. Well played, but I will remember this.
I walked over to DeDe, who was already beaming with absolute delight.
"Oh, then Grandma, please take care of me," I said, putting on my most polite, charming smile. "Let's go."
I opened the passenger side door and slid into the plush leather seat. DeDe happily got into the driver's seat, humming a cheerful tune.
From across the driveway, Phil got into the Porsche. He rolled down his window, giving me a massive, goofy smile and two enthusiastic thumbs up, gesturing for me to 'go manage it like a man'.
I just narrowed my eyes at him and silently rolled my window up.
A moment later, the convoy was off. Uncle Mitchell and Uncle Cam's Toyota led the way, followed closely by Phil's rented Porsche. DeDe's luxury sedan pulled up the rear, driving at a much slower, more deliberate pace.
It was already fully dark outside. The streetlights flickered past the windows, casting rhythmic shadows inside the car.
"Are you warm, dear? Would you like the AC on?" DeDe asked, reaching for the climate control dial.
"I'm good, Grandma. Not needed," I shrugged. I reached over and pressed the button to roll my window down halfway.
The cool, nighttime California air rushed into the cabin. It felt incredibly refreshing against my skin, carrying the faint, salty scent of the distant ocean. I rested my elbow on the doorframe, leaning my head against my hand, and casually watched the passing scenery.
I couldn't help but reflect on my situation. I somehow remembered reading in countless Webnovels about how amazing and face-slapping it was to ride in a massive, expensive luxury car. But experiencing it currently? It just felt normal. The leather was soft, the suspension was smooth, but at the end of the day, it was just a metal box moving down a highway.
Honestly, I had zero interest in fancy cars. If given the option, I probably would have just ridden my sparkly pink, squeaking bicycle to the rehearsal dinner. The cool breeze on a bike was far superior. I laughed internally at my own joke, imagining the valet's face at The Huntley penthouse trying to park a pink bicycle with silver tassels between a Ferrari and a Bentley. They definitely wouldn't have let me past the front gate.
As we drove, DeDe occasionally chattered away. She talked about her travels, her crystal collections, and how the alignment of the stars tonight was highly indicative of massive emotional turbulence. I mostly just stared out the window, occasionally turning my head to offer a kind "Hmm," or "Wow, that's interesting," keeping her placated without actually engaging in the crazy talk.
After about twenty minutes, we hit the heavier traffic approaching Santa Monica. The car slowed down to a crawl.
The rhythmic hum of the engine and the cool breeze were starting to work their magic on me. Having woken up at exercise, survived football practice, and endured the family drama, my energy levels were beginning to crash a little. My eyelids grew heavy, occasionally drooping as a wave of sleepiness washed over me. I let my head rest against the leather seat, closing my eyes for just a second.
Suddenly, I felt a strange movement.
DeDe's left hand was casually resting on the steering wheel, but her right hand sneakily crept off the center gear shift. It slowly hovered through the air, crossing the space between our seats.
Before I could fully open my sleepy eyes and pull away, her hand gently, but firmly, grasped my right fist, which was resting on my thigh.
I blinked, looking down in mild confusion. What is she doing? I was too sleepy to be properly annoyed, so I just let it happen, assuming it was some weird, grandmotherly gesture of affection.
But it wasn't a normal hand-holding.
DeDe didn't interlock her fingers with mine. Instead, she gently pried my fist open, turning my palm upward. She then took two of her fingers—her index and middle finger—and pressed them firmly against the inside of my wrist, right over my pulse point.
My eyes widened slightly.
Wait a minute, my Webnovel-addicted brain screamed. Two fingers on the wrist pulse? That is the exact, universal posture used by ancient Daoist doctors and cultivation masters to check a person's inner meridians and spiritual roots!
I stared at the eccentric woman driving the car. She wasn't looking at me. Her eyes were fixed on the traffic ahead, but her face was completely serious, her brow furrowed in deep concentration as her two fingers pressed into my skin.
It seemed the Final Boss wasn't just driving me to dinner; she was actively trying to measure the depth of my reincarnated soul.