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The car dealership was ringing with tinny Christmas music, even this early in the month. It set Gigi's teeth on edge. How could anyone focus on making huge financial decisions when the radio insisted Santa Claus was coming to town? She clutched her handbag close against her side, and clicked quickly between SUVs to match pace with her father as he strode to the nearest sports car, admiring the finish like a fanboy. Of course he had gravitated towards the flashiest, most expensive thing there, all look-at-me red and chrome.

Her dad wrapped an arm around her when she stepped up beside him, just like always. "What do you think? Convertible?"

"Da-aad!" she whispered in protest. He didn’t seem to realise this was serious.

She'd always assumed her first car would be at least second-hand, if not third- or fourth-hand. Some kind of cute bomb, nearly as old as she was. She was having trouble wrapping her mind around the idea of a brand new car all her own - it wasn’t like she was a Crystal girl. When her parents had agreed to pool their resources, she never imagined they would stretch quite this far. But her Great-Aunt was apparently liquidating her possessions, and had decided to gift her with a large contribution towards her new vehicle. Like crazy-large. Gigi didn't really know what to do. It was too much, but she could hardly say no to the elderly woman who was the closest she had to a grandmother in America.

“You get a nice car, and drive to see me often,” Aunt Giovanna had insisted in her faint Italian accent. Of course she couldn’t refuse the gift or the invitation.

Over the store speakers, the carol finished and a new strain of music drifted through the display room. Angels we have heard on high…

Oh no, thought Gigi, casting a surreptitious glance up at her father.

Sweetly singing o’er the plains…

For a moment she thought he hadn’t noticed. Then he winked.

And the mountains in reply...

“You know, this was playing when I walked your mother into the maternity ward?”

“I know, Dad.”

Echoing their joyous strains.

"Glooooooo-OOOOOooooo-OOOOOooooo-RIAAAA!" he sang along.

"Shut up, Dad!" Gigi hissed, unhooking his arm and stepping away quickly, trying to pretend like he was no relation. And that he definitely wasn’t loudly singing her name in the middle of a room where she was probably going to have to sign her full stupid name in front of the car dealer who was approaching them. Apparently being twenty didn’t make her immune to dad-itude.

Mercifully, he stopped after the first chorus, and put on a sensible-adult act to shake hands with the dealer. But he hadn’t finished being embarrassing, explaining to the man that they were looking for her first car, as a birthday present. The dealer turned on her.

“Ah, sweet sixteen?”

“Twentieth,” she corrected crisply, and wondered if she should have done something to her hair other than the usual pigtails.

The man looked sceptical, but let it go in the interests of profit. “So you’re looking for something sporty? Classic?”

Gigi took over before her dad could accidentally talk them into something inappropriate. She'd done the research (in great detail and with spreadsheets) over the last few months since her mum had first mentioned it. "I want a sensible car,” she said quickly. “A safe one. And small, easy to park at Uni."

"Okay, we have a few compacts I can show you,” said the dealer. “Anything else?”

"And it should be pink."

Her dad looked suitably horrified. It was a small payback. There were no pink cars, not this season. But she'd already found the one she actually wanted: popular, good safety record, good fuel economy, within her budget. It was small and cute, a pale blue. Special edition Candy Blue, according to the websites she'd been frequenting. It just had to be in stock. Silver would be an acceptable second-best, she thought, looking at the shiny vehicles on their podiums. Or maybe a dark blue.

The dealer led them over to the far side of the store, where the less impressive but far more practical cars lived. She let her dad talk to the dealer, half-listening to all the technical stuff while she examined the cars, careful to check out two she didn’t want before visiting the one she’d singled out.

Half an hour later, the dealer went to get the keys for a test drive.

“So this is the one, huh?” her dad asked.

“I think so,” Gigi said, petting the display model. Candy-Blue could be hers.

“No more subways. If anything happens, you can just grab your keys and go."

"Yes," Gigi agreed, remembering the last time she’d taken the subway. "And I can also use the keys as an emergency knuckle-duster to punch people."

Her father gave her a sideways look, eyebrows raised beneath his dark curls. "You're taking that self-defence class seriously, huh?"

She shrugged. It was just a community centre class, mostly how to not get grabbed, or groin-kick an attacker and run. Not enough to fight the Negaverse, but more than the nothing she’d had before. “A girl’s gotta protect herself. I’ll protect you too,” she added. Her tone was joking, but there were still those flash-forward memories slipping through, and she couldn’t let it happen again.

“Thanks,” said her father, shaking his head. “You’ll still call me if something happens, right?” He sounded uncertain. A little worried, like she wouldn’t need him anymore, now she would have her own wheels and her own life.

“Yes, always,” she assured him. “I’ll always call. Can you change flat tyres?”

He grinned, wrapping her in another dad-hug. She didn’t bother to feel embarrassed.


(961 words)