You laugh, you know, I'm not saying I don't cry. But in between, I laugh. (Garden State)

“I’m interested,” he said as he slowed to a stop and waved an apprehensive pedestrian across the crosswalk, “but at the same time I’m uneasy about inquiring. I don’t want your father to shoot me up because I know too much.”

I laughed.

He smiled at me, put at ease by my laugh. I knew he was thinking: okay, maybe they aren’t so dangerous after all.

“My father actually might like you.”

“Really? Could I be a gangster?”

I laughed at that. I didn’t think I was going to stop.

“That’s just impolite.”

“Sorry,” I squeaked through a sea of sniggers.

He flipped a pair of my Ray Bans from the dashboard over his eyes. They were popular for the first time then around instead of retro-chic, as they seem to be classified these days. It’s so strange when the trends you once loved become retro.

I had no idea that Christian could be goofy. It was quite endearing but seemed to be a break in his character. Maybe he was just starting to warm up to me. I guess I’m not exactly his kind of girl. So when Christian stopped with the serious “gangster” faces that had me in stitches and pushed the sunglasses up into his hair I regained my composure and continued, “My father told me you can tell a lot about a man by the way he drives.”

“So I’m not just the hired help but now I’m taking a thinly veiled driving assessment here?”

I leaned into the dashboard as I laughed at him. That was when I realized I was breaking character too. I had fun sometimes but I never laughed outrageously like this. He was bringing out a different side of me, one even I had never witnessed.

“Don’t worry, you’re a good driver. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

“So I’m passing the test?” he said as he started teasingly tapping the brakes bobbing me back and forth. Cars all around us honked and drivers stuck up the most ungodly finger as they whizzed past.

“And on Sunday,” he said shaking his head with playful disapproval. I never had him pegged as a playful person. I immediately cursed myself for considering how that could make him a great father someday.

It was jarring when he said “father” in his next sentence but I tried to focus on the question, something about why my father considers driving to be an apt test of character.

“He says that all the traits that make a good driver also make a good man. You have to react to other people’s mistakes, be confident, make decisions quickly, maintain your momentum, respect the road and be aware of the endless factors that contribute to driving conditions. Someone who is yelling at some guy for cutting him off is probably angry about a lot of things in his life, you know?”

“That makes sense,” he nodded.

“It’s like any high-stress situation, which is basically any given day of driving in LA, that’s when you determine a person’s character.”

“My mom has a bookmark that says: A women is like a teabag, you never know how strong she is until you put her in hot water.”

“Exactly,” I laughed. “She sounds cute.”

“She is,” he nodded. “I get the impression my family is very different than yours.”

“My family is very different than most.”