His mom laughed. “Because grown-ups are driving, sweetie.”
Marcus handed her the coffee. Their hands didn’t meet cleanly—she was reaching up, he was reaching down, and the geometry was all wrong. drive thru window height
The window was exactly forty-two inches from the ground. He knew this because he’d measured it after his third week, when a woman in a lifted pickup had leaned down— down —to shout her order at him. Her window was at eye level with his forehead. She’d looked almost apologetic. His mom laughed
The minivan with the exhausted dad: window perfect. He rested his elbow on the sill like it was made for him. “Double cheeseburger, small fry,” he mumbled, and Marcus passed the bag without either of them stretching. Comfortable. Invisible. he was reaching down
