"Are we bringing the cooler?" Mark called out from the kitchen, staring into the depths of their open refrigerator.

"Just the small one," Sarah replied from the bedroom. She wrestled the zipper on her canvas weekend bag, finally sealing it over two pairs of hiking boots and a slight excess of thick socks. "Unless you want to bring those leftover IPAs."

"I'm bringing the IPAs," Mark confirmed, grabbing the cardboard carrier. He tossed a block of sharp cheddar and a bag of Honeycrisp apples into the soft-sided cooler, zipped it shut, and met Sarah in the hallway.

"Did you adjust the thermostat?" Sarah asked, slipping her arms into a light denim jacket. She tossed him the keys to her Subaru.

"Set to seventy-four," Mark said, checking his pockets for his wallet. "Trash is taken out, and I gave your ferns a quick soak. We’re good to go."

They walked down the two flights of stairs to their apartment parking lot, the mild September humidity of Atlanta already clinging to the morning air. Mark popped the hatchback, wedging the cooler securely alongside Sarah’s duffel bag and his own worn backpack.

Once settled in the driver’s seat, Mark adjusted the rearview mirror while Sarah plugged her phone into the center console to activate Apple CarPlay.

"Google Maps says it's about two hours to the cabin if we take the highway," she noted, tapping the dashboard screen. "But it's only twenty minutes longer if we take the scenic route."

"Let's do the scenic route," Mark agreed, shifting the car into reverse and backing out of their assigned space. "I'm in no rush to see traffic. We should grab coffee first, though. The drive-thru on Ponce?"

"Perfect," Sarah said, pulling up her favorite indie-folk playlist. "Black coffee for you, oat milk latte for me."


Maya pressed her full weight onto the overstuffed canvas tote, struggling to pull the zipper closed. Across the bedroom, Liam watched her with an amused expression, holding his single, neatly packed duffel bag.

"Are we moving to the lake permanently?" he asked, tossing his car keys lightly in his hand. "It’s only two nights."

"I need options," Maya replied, finally securing the zipper with a triumphant sigh. "What if it rains? What if we decide to go out to a nice dinner? You packed exactly one pair of jeans. What if you spill coffee on them?"

"Then I’ll be the guy eating a nice dinner in sweatpants," Liam said, reaching out to take the heavy tote from her. "Come on. Did you set the automatic cat feeder?"

"Yes. And the apartment thermostat is down to sixty-two." Maya followed him down the narrow hallway of their Chicago apartment, running through her mental checklist. "Wait, did you take out the kitchen trash?"

Liam paused at the front door, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I'll do it right now." He set the bags down, jogged back to the kitchen, and returned a minute later holding the tied plastic bag.

Down in the parking garage, they loaded the trunk of Liam’s aging Subaru. Maya slid into the passenger seat, immediately plugging her phone into the dashboard cable.

"Okay," she said, pulling up the map. "Traffic on I-90 is already getting heavy, so the app suggests the scenic route. But more importantly, are we doing the drive-thru near the highway, or stopping at the good local place first?"

"The good place," Liam said without hesitation, starting the engine. "I’m not starting a weekend getaway with burnt coffee. You navigate, I’ll drive."

Maya smiled, typing the coffee shop into her GPS. "Deal."


Maya zipped her duffel bag with a soft grunt, double-checking that she’d packed the extra phone charger. In the kitchen, Liam was staring into the open refrigerator, holding a half-empty carton of almond milk.

"Are we tossing this or hoping it survives until Sunday night?" he called out.

"Just toss it," Maya said, walking into the living room. "I don't want to come back to sour milk. Did you water the pothos?"

"Watered and drained," Liam confirmed, pouring the milk down the sink and tossing the carton into the recycling bin. He grabbed his keys from the counter. "You ready? If we leave now, we can beat the worst of the I-5 traffic."

"Almost. Let me just check the thermostat." Maya adjusted the dial down to sixty-two degrees. They had been sharing the Portland apartment for two years, and the routine of leaving for a weekend had become a comfortable, synchronized dance.

They hauled their bags down the stairs to Liam’s Subaru. The autumn air was crisp, hinting at the damp coastal winds waiting for them in Astoria.

"I can drive the first leg if you want," Maya offered, hovering by the driver's side door.

"I've got it," Liam said, popping the trunk and tossing the bags inside. "Just navigate us to that drive-thru coffee place on the way out. I desperately need an Americano."

Maya slid into the passenger seat, pulling up the map on her phone. "The one on MLK Boulevard?"

"Exactly that one."

Liam started the engine, the radio automatically humming a low indie-folk tune. Maya plugged in her phone and adjusted the climate control. As Liam backed out of their assigned parking spot, she rested a hand on his arm. It was only two nights away, but the break in their daily routine already felt like a deep, collective exhale.


Maya tossed her canvas duffel onto the bed, staring critically at her pile of clothes. "Do you think I need the heavy knit sweater, or just the cardigan?"

Liam paused in the bedroom doorway, a toothbrush in one hand and a tangled tangle of charging cables in the other. He glanced at the pile. "It’s Monterey, so it’ll be windy by the water. Take the heavy one. Hey, did you pack the good coffee?"

"Already in the grocery tote," Maya said, zipping her bag shut. "Along with the French press. I’m not drinking whatever stale pods they leave in the Airbnb."

They had lived together for three years, long enough that packing for a short weekend trip to the coast felt like a well-choreographed dance. They split the departure chores without asking: Liam cleared out the expiring milk and leftovers from the fridge, while Maya watered the drooping pothos and made sure the apartment thermostat was dialed down to sixty-five degrees.

The next morning at seven-thirty, Liam hauled their bags down the narrow stairs to their Subaru, his breath pluming in the crisp autumn air. Upstairs, Maya did the final sweep—stove off, windows locked, bathroom lights out—before pulling the door shut and engaging the deadbolt.

When she finally slid into the passenger seat, Liam handed her a steaming travel mug of tea.

"You’re a lifesaver," she murmured, taking a sip as she plugged her phone into the console. "Who's navigating?"

"I know the way to the highway," Liam said, checking his mirrors and pulling away from the curb. "Once we're past San Jose, you can take over. Put on that playlist you made."

As the familiar opening chords of an acoustic guitar filled the car, Maya reclined her seat an inch. The lingering stress of the work week finally faded, replaced by the quiet rhythm of the highway and the simple promise of two days away together.


The smell of slightly burnt toast lingered in the kitchen as Maya zipped her canvas duffel bag on the kitchen island. "Did you pack the phone chargers, or did you want me to grab the long ones from the bedroom?" she called out.

Liam appeared in the hallway, wrestling a gray windbreaker into his overstuffed backpack. "I grabbed the long ones. But don't forget the small cooler. We said we'd bring those deli sandwiches so we don't have to stop at that overpriced rest stop again."

Maya nodded, opening the fridge. They had lived together in their cramped Chicago apartment for three years, and their occasional weekend getaways up to Lake Geneva had finally become a well-oiled routine. She transferred the wrapped turkey sandwiches, a container of grapes, and two sparkling waters into the blue cooler. "What about the leftover pasta? It's going to get weird by Sunday night."

"Toss it," Liam decided, grabbing his keys from the ceramic bowl by the door. "I'll take the kitchen trash out on our way down to the car. Did you double-check the thermostat?"

"Setting it to sixty-five now," Maya said, pressing the buttons on the wall. She did a quick, practiced visual sweep of the living room—TV off, windows locked, coffee pot firmly unplugged.

Downstairs, the crisp autumn air was sharp. Liam popped the trunk of their battered Honda Civic, tossing the duffel bags inside while Maya slid the cooler onto the floor of the backseat. She climbed into the passenger seat and immediately reached for the glove compartment to dig out her sunglasses.

Liam got in, adjusting the driver's seat and plugging his phone into the car's mount. "Maps says traffic on I-94 isn't terrible yet. Want to grab drive-thru coffee, or just hit the highway?"

"Drive-thru, definitely," Maya sighed, leaning back as the engine hummed to life. "Just put on that acoustic playlist we made."


Maya wrestled the zipper of the canvas duffel bag closed, leaning her weight onto the mattress. "Are you bringing the blue cooler or the small one?" she called out.

From the kitchen, Liam’s voice drifted down the hallway. "The small one. We only have cheese, a couple of apples, and those leftover deli sandwiches. It’ll save space in the trunk."

Maya hauled the bag off the bed and carried it into the living room. Liam was already by the front door, slipping on his sneakers while balancing a travel mug in one hand. They had shared their Portland apartment for three years, and their weekend getaway routine was practically a choreographed dance.

"Did you turn down the thermostat?" Liam asked, grabbing his car keys from the ceramic bowl.

"Set to sixty," Maya confirmed. She did a quick visual sweep of the room—TV off, windows locked, coffee pot unplugged. "Do you have the Airbnb address? I know cell service gets spotty once we hit Route 26."

"Saved offline on my phone, and I took a screenshot just in case," Liam said, opening the door for her.

They walked down the apartment stairs to the parking lot, the crisp October morning signaling a perfect weekend for the coast. Liam popped the trunk of their Honda Civic, and Maya tucked the duffel bag in next to the cooler and Liam’s hiking boots.

"I'll drive the first leg," Maya offered, walking around to the driver's side. "But only if you navigate us to that drive-thru espresso place before we get on the highway."

"Deal," Liam said, buckling into the passenger seat. He pulled up the map on his phone and connected it to the car’s Bluetooth. "Large oat milk latte, right?"

"You know it." Maya started the engine, shifted into drive, and pulled out onto the street, the stress of the workweek already beginning to fade in the rearview mirror.


Maya zipped her canvas duffel bag, pressing down hard on the top to flatten a bulky cable-knit sweater.

"Do you think I need the hiking boots?" she called down the narrow hallway of their Brooklyn apartment. "Or just sneakers?"

"Just sneakers," Liam answered, appearing in the bedroom doorway with a tangled handful of phone chargers and a steaming travel mug. "The Airbnb listing said the trails around the cabin are basically just paved walking paths. Plus, it’s only a two-night trip."

"Good point." Maya kicked the heavy boots back into the closet and grabbed her sunglasses.

Living together for two years had completely streamlined their weekend getaways. They no longer overpacked or worried about impressing each other with elaborate, exhausting itineraries.

"Did you water the pothos?" Liam asked, stuffing the chargers into the front pocket of his backpack.

"Yes, and I checked the stove. Twice," Maya laughed, tossing him the car keys. "You drive the first shift, I’ll navigate us out of the city."

They carried their bags down the three flights of stairs to the street, the late Friday afternoon air already thick with impending rush-hour traffic. Liam popped the trunk of their shared, slightly dented Subaru, arranging the bags alongside a small cooler packed with leftover pasta and a six-pack of IPA they’d grabbed from the corner bodega.

Once settled in the front seats, Maya plugged her phone into the dashboard cable.

"True crime podcast or the indie playlist we made for Vermont last fall?" she asked, scrolling through her audio library.

"Playlist, definitely. I need to decompress from work before we hear about any unsolved murders," Liam said, checking his mirrors and pulling out into the avenue.

Maya smiled, hitting play as the familiar opening chords filled the car. "Next stop, Hudson Valley."


The hallway of their cramped Boston apartment was a temporary maze of canvas duffel bags and stray charging cables.

"Did you pack the French press?" Elias asked, nudging a tote bag with his sneaker.

Maya emerged from the bedroom, looping a knit scarf around her neck. "I thought you said the Airbnb had a coffee maker."

"The listing said *Keurig*, Maya. I'm not drinking pod coffee for three days."

Maya rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips. "Fine. It’s sitting in the drying rack. Wrap it in a towel so it doesn't shatter on the drive."

While Elias carefully nestled the glass carafe between their folded sweaters, Maya performed the final apartment walkthrough. Thermostat dialed down to sixty, windows locked, trailing pothos watered. They had lived together for two years, long enough that their departure routine was a well-practiced, if occasionally bickering, dance.

Downstairs in the crisp October air, they loaded the trunk of Elias’s aging Subaru. The drive to the Vermont cabin would take about three hours, provided they beat the worst of the Friday afternoon exodus.

Elias took the driver’s seat, adjusting the mirrors while Maya plugged her phone into the auxiliary cord.

"Are we taking I-89 or the scenic route?" she asked, pulling up the map display.

"Let's stick to the highway until we pass Concord," he decided, shifting the car into drive. "We can grab sandwiches at that deli near the exit, then take the back roads the rest of the way."

"Perfect. I'll queue up the new true-crime podcast."

As they merged onto the interstate, the frantic energy of the workweek finally began to dissipate. Maya reached across the center console, her fingers lightly tapping Elias's arm. He glanced over, smiled, and turned the heater up just a notch as they headed north.


Sarah folded the last of her heavy sweaters into the canvas duffel bag, zipping it shut with a firm tug. "Mark, did you pack the spare phone chargers?" she called down the narrow hallway of their Chicago apartment.

"Got 'em," Mark shouted back from the kitchen. "And I put the small cooler by the door. Just sparkling water and some grapes for the drive." He appeared in the bedroom doorway, holding two empty travel mugs. "Should I make coffee now, or do we want to stop at the drive-thru on the way out?"

Sarah glanced at the alarm clock; it was already past eight on Saturday morning, putting them slightly behind their ambitious schedule. "Let's just stop. I really don't want to deal with washing the French press before we leave."

"Deal." Mark set the mugs down and hoisted Sarah's duffel onto his shoulder, grabbing his own backpack with his free hand. "I'll take these down to the Subaru. Can you make sure the thermostat is set to sixty-five and water the fern?"

"Yep. And I need to double-check the stove." It was a familiar routine between them, a shared domestic anxiety they had long accepted. Sarah walked through the quiet apartment, watering the wilting fern, adjusting the climate control on the wall, and giving the stove's gas knobs a reassuring pat before locking the deadbolt behind her.

Downstairs in the parking lot, the crisp October air made her shiver. Mark had the trunk open, carefully wedging their bags next to a plastic tote of muddy hiking boots. He slammed the hatch shut as she approached.

"Ready?" he asked, tossing her the keys


Maya zipped her duffel bag shut, pressing her knee into the canvas to coax the zipper past a thick wool sweater. "Did you pack the coffee maker?" she called down the hallway of their apartment.

Leo appeared in the bedroom doorway, holding a half-empty bag of pretzels and a tangled phone charger. "The cabin has a French press. I just double-checked the Airbnb listing. But I grabbed the good beans from the pantry."

"Perfect," Maya said, hoisting her bag off the bed. She paused, scanning the room. "Did we run the dishwasher?"

"Started it ten minutes ago," Leo replied, tossing the pretzels into a canvas tote bag. "I also turned the thermostat down to sixty. No sense paying to heat an empty place all weekend."

They moved through the familiar, practiced dance of their shared life, turning off lamps and double-checking the deadbolt. It was Friday evening in late October, and the drive to the Blue Ridge Mountains would take just under three hours if they managed to beat the worst of the Atlanta traffic.

Down in the parking garage, Leo loaded their bags into the trunk of his Honda while Maya settled into the passenger seat, immediately pulling up the navigation app on her phone.

"Are we doing the true-crime podcast or the road-trip playlist?" she asked as Leo climbed behind the wheel.

"Podcast until we clear the city," he decided, adjusting the rearview mirror. "Then music once we hit the scenic route. Oh, I need to stop for gas. Did you want me to swing by the drive-thru for fries?"

Maya smiled, reclining her seat a fraction. "Absolutely."

Leo shifted the car into drive, pulling out into the dusky street. As they merged onto the highway, the heavy stress of the workweek already felt a few miles behind them.


Maya zipped her canvas duffel bag and set it by the apartment door next to Sam’s faded backpack. It was Friday evening, and the drive to their rented cabin in the Berkshires would take just under three hours.

"Did you pack the coffee grinder?" Sam called from the kitchen, the sound of the refrigerator door shutting echoing in the small hallway. "The rental listing said they only have a pod machine, and I am not drinking those for three days."

"I put it in the tote bag with the groceries," Maya called back, grabbing her phone charger from the nightstand. She walked into the kitchen to find Sam trying to wedge a bulky Tupperware container of leftover lasagna into a soft-sided cooler.

"Do we really need the lasagna?" she asked, leaning against the counter. "I thought we were going to stop for pizza on the way."

Sam sighed, pulling the container out and adjusting the ice packs. "You're right. We'll leave it. But I'm definitely bringing the good cheddar."

Twenty minutes later, they were down in the apartment building's parking garage. Maya took the driver’s seat of their shared Subaru while Sam loaded the bags into the trunk. Once he settled into the passenger seat, he immediately pulled up the GPS on his phone.

"Traffic on 91 North is pretty backed up," Sam said, tapping the screen. "We should take the back roads. It adds ten minutes, but at least we won't be sitting at a standstill."

"Sounds good to me," Maya said, putting the car into gear. "Can you queue up that podcast we started last week?"

"Way ahead of you," Sam replied, the audio connecting to the car's speakers. As Maya navigated out into the early evening dusk, they both exhaled, the stress of the workweek finally fading into the rearview mirror.


Maya zipped her canvas weekender bag, struggling slightly against the heavy fleece sweater she had shoved in at the last minute. Across the bedroom, Liam was tossing a tangle of phone chargers into his backpack.

"Did you grab the small cooler?" Maya asked, hoisting her bag off the bed.

"Yeah, it’s already in the trunk," Liam said, zipping his bag. "I threw the leftover pasta in there, plus a couple of sparkling waters. Do we need to stop for gas before we hit I-5?"

"I have about half a tank. We can fill up once we get out of the city," Maya replied. She walked into the hallway to check the thermostat, knocking it down to sixty degrees.

They had been looking forward to this weekend in Astoria for a month. Living and working remotely in their cramped Seattle apartment had started to blur their days together, and two nights on the Oregon coast felt like a necessary reset.

Liam met her at the front door, dangling the car keys. "I’ll take the recycling down on the way out. Ready?"

"Wallet, phone, sunglasses," Maya chanted to herself, patting her jacket pockets. "Yep. Let's go."

Downstairs in the parking garage, the chilly Friday evening air hit them. Liam tossed his backpack into the backseat of Maya’s Subaru and slid into the passenger seat, immediately pulling out his phone.

"Are we doing a podcast or music?" he asked as Maya started the engine.

"Playlist first. I need high energy to get through this downtown traffic," she said, checking her mirrors and pulling out of their spot.

Liam tapped the screen, queuing up an upbeat mix they had built together over the summer. As the first guitar chords filled the car, Maya merged onto the damp street, the stress of the workweek already beginning to fade in the rearview mirror.


Maya zipped her canvas weekend bag, giving the bedroom one last scan. "Did you grab the extra phone cords?" she called out.

Liam appeared in the doorway, a tangle of white wires dangling from his hand. "Way ahead of you. I also packed the good travel mugs." He walked past her to the kitchen, opening their apartment's slightly temperamental refrigerator. "What's the verdict on this milk? It expires on Sunday."

"Dump it," Maya said, unplugging the coffee maker and checking the stove dials out of habit. "I don’t want to come home to a science experiment."

They had been looking forward to this trip to the Catskills for weeks, a brief escape from their shared Brooklyn walk-up. The planning had been delightfully mundane: splitting the cost of the Airbnb, agreeing on a strict two-bag limit, and debating whether it was worth paying a premium for a place with a fire pit.

While Liam washed the milk carton and took out the trash, Maya watered their drooping pothos plant and adjusted the apartment's thermostat. By the time they carried their bags down the three flights of stairs to Liam’s Honda Civic, the late afternoon air was already carrying a brisk Friday chill.

Liam popped the trunk, wedging the duffel bags next to a reusable grocery sack filled with pretzels and apples. They climbed into the front seats, the familiar rhythm of their routine taking over.

"Google Maps says two and a half hours if we take the Palisades," Maya said, tapping her phone screen as she settled into the passenger seat. "But there’s a slowdown near the bridge."

"Palisades is fine," Liam said, putting the car in gear and pulling away from the curb. "You want to queue up that true crime podcast, or should we start with music?"

"Music until we clear the city traffic," Maya decided, turning on her seat heater. "Then murder."


Sarah tossed a pair of hiking boots into her canvas duffel bag, zipped it shut, and carried it out to the living room. "Did you remember the extra phone chargers?" she called toward the kitchen.

Mark emerged holding two travel mugs of coffee and a tangle of white cords. "Got them," he said, handing her a mug. "I also packed the leftover pasta in the cooler. I figured we might not want to go out searching for dinner once we actually get to the Airbnb tonight."

"Smart," Sarah said, taking a grateful sip. "Are we taking your car or mine?"

"Yours gets better mileage, but my oil change is fresh. Let's take the Civic," Mark suggested.

"Works for me. Let me just check the thermostat." Sarah walked over to the hallway wall, bumping the AC up to seventy-six to save on the electric bill while they were gone. She did a quick visual sweep of the apartment—windows locked, coffee pot unplugged, trash taken out. After three years of living together, their Friday departure routine had become a comfortable, well-choreographed dance.

Down in the apartment complex parking lot, the late afternoon air was thick with August humidity. Mark popped the trunk and hefted their bags inside, wedging the grocery bag of snacks safely between them.

Sarah climbed into the passenger seat and immediately connected her phone to the car's Bluetooth. "Who's navigating?" she asked.

"I know the way out of the city, but plug in the address so we can check the traffic," Mark said, starting the engine. "Google Maps says it's two and a half hours if we avoid I-95."

"Taking the scenic route, then," Sarah smiled, queuing up their favorite road-trip playlist. As the music filled the car, Mark pulled out into the street, finally leaving the work week behind them.


Maya stood by the front door of their shared apartment, running down her mental checklist. "Did you grab the small cooler?" she called out, zipping up her canvas duffel bag.

"Yeah, it’s already in the trunk," Liam replied, emerging from the kitchen with two insulated travel mugs. He handed the teal one to her. "I made yours with the oat milk."

"You're a lifesaver," Maya said, taking a careful sip. The lease on their cramped Chicago one-bedroom was up in three months, but this weekend wasn't about discussing rent increases or long-term plans. It was just about two quiet days at a rented cabin in Door County.

Liam patted his jacket pockets, checking for his keys and wallet. "Okay, the thermostat is set to sixty-five, the windows are locked, and I watered the pothos. Ready?"

"Ready." Maya locked the deadbolt behind them, and they headed down the hallway to the parking garage.

Once they were buckled into their Honda Civic, the familiar negotiation began. Liam plugged his phone into the dashboard console. "Are we thinking a true crime podcast or comedy for the drive up?"

"Let's do comedy," Maya said, adjusting the passenger seat. "I don't want to be paranoid when we arrive at an isolated cabin in the dark."

"Fair point." Liam tapped the screen and pulled up the GPS. "Maps says we can shave off twenty minutes if we take the tollway, but the scenic route past Milwaukee only adds half an hour."

Maya blew on her hot coffee. "Let's just do the tollway. I want to get there before the local hardware store closes so we can buy firewood."

"Tollway it is," Liam agreed. He shifted the car into drive, pulling out into the crisp Saturday morning air, both of them settling comfortably into the familiar rhythm of the road.


Maya zipped her olive duffel bag and dragged it into the hallway, leaning it against the apartment door. "Did you remember the cooler?" she called out to the kitchen.

Liam appeared holding two insulated travel mugs, the rich scent of dark roast trailing behind him. "Cooler is already in the trunk," he said, handing her one of the mugs. "Along with the hiking boots and the absurd amount of trail mix you bought."

Maya laughed, taking a careful sip of the hot coffee. "It was on sale. Plus, we always get hungry."

They had been living together in their cramped Chicago apartment for three years, and this short weekend trip down to Starved Rock State Park was a much-needed break from their tandem remote-work routines.

Liam grabbed his keys from the ceramic entryway bowl. "Do you want to drive the first leg, or should I?"

"I'll drive," Maya volunteered, fishing her own keys from her purse. "You can navigate and be the DJ, as long as we skip the true-crime podcasts until we're at least out of the city limits. I want good vibes only for the highway."

"Deal," Liam said. He did a quick final sweep of the living room, checking the thermostat and ensuring the balcony door was locked. "Air is set to sixty-eight, trash is out, coffee pot is off. I think we’re good."

Liam picked up Maya's duffel along with his own backpack, and they walked down the hall to the elevator. Down in the parking garage, they loaded up the trunk of their shared Hyundai. Maya adjusted the driver’s seat, plugged in her phone to pull up the route, and pulled out onto the sunlit street. Liam queued up an indie-folk playlist, settling back into the passenger seat as the city skyline slowly began to recede behind them.


Elena zipped up the canvas duffel bag, pressing her knee into the fabric to get it shut. "Did you pack the extra phone chargers?" she called out toward the kitchen.

Mark emerged holding a plastic grocery bag. "I grabbed two. I also packed the cooler with the leftover turkey sandwiches and some sparkling water. Should we stop for ice?"

"We can get some at the gas station on the way," Elena said, hoisting the bag off the mattress.

They had been living together in their cramped Portland apartment for three years, and their weekend getaways to the coast had become a well-choreographed routine. Mark took the heavy duffel from her with a grunt, leading the way down the narrow hallway to the front door.

"Wait, did you set the thermostat to sixty-five?" Mark asked, pausing with his hand on the doorknob.

"Yes, and I unplugged the coffee maker," Elena replied, running down her own mental checklist. "Did you leave the spare key for Sarah so she can feed Barnaby?"

Mark pointed to the kitchen island, where a silver key sat neatly next to a stack of cat food cans and a sticky note. "All set."

They hauled their gear down the two flights of stairs and tossed it into the trunk of Mark’s Honda. The Friday afternoon air was already thick with the promise of rain, typical for Oregon in October.

As they merged onto Highway 26, joining the steady stream of weekend traffic out of the city, Elena kicked off her shoes and curled her feet underneath her. She connected her phone to the car's Bluetooth, scrolling through her playlists.

"Podcast or music?" she asked.

"Music first," Mark said, checking his blind spot. "We can switch to the true crime podcast once we hit the forest." He reached over, briefly squeezing her hand, ready for the weekend to finally begin.


Maya zipped her canvas duffel bag, tossing it onto the bed next to Liam’s neatly folded pile of sweaters.

"Are you sure we don’t need the heavier coats?" Liam asked, leaning against the doorframe of their shared Seattle apartment. "The Airbnb host said the cabin gets pretty drafty at night."

"It’s mid-September, not January," Maya said, handing him her bag. "But grab your fleece just in case. And did you pack the coffee? I am not relying on whatever instant decaf they might have left in the pantry."

"French roast is in the tote bag," Liam confirmed. He scooped up her duffel and his own faded backpack. "I also grabbed the leftover sharp cheddar and those apples we need to finish. Road snacks."

"Perfect." Maya did a final sweep of the living room, unplugging the space heater, watering the drooping pothos plant on the windowsill, and adjusting the blinds. They had moved in together six months ago, and their weekend routines were just beginning to mesh into a comfortable, unspoken rhythm.

Downstairs in the parking garage, the damp Pacific Northwest air clung to the concrete. Liam popped the trunk of his Honda while Maya claimed the passenger seat, immediately plugging her phone into the auxiliary cable.

"I'll drive the first leg," Liam offered, sliding behind the wheel and adjusting the mirrors. "You can navigate us to the ferry terminal."

"Deal. Podcast or playlist?" Maya asked, scrolling through her screen.

"Let's start with music. My brain is too fried from the work week for a true-crime deep dive right now."

Maya laughed, cueing up an indie-folk playlist they both liked. As Liam navigated the Honda up the ramp and out into the pale Saturday morning traffic, Maya double-checked the reservation on her phone, ready for two quiet nights away.


Sarah zipped her canvas duffel bag and dragged it into the narrow hallway of their apartment. "Did you remember the coffee beans?" she called out, pausing to check her phone for the weekend weather forecast in Astoria.

"Got them," Mark said, emerging from the kitchen with a small cooler and a canvas tote bag overflowing with groceries. "I grabbed the good roast from the pantry. Along with two bags of tortilla chips, because I know how we get in Friday traffic."

Sarah smiled, slipping on her denim jacket. "Good call. Did you check the thermostat?"

"Turned it down to sixty-two," Mark confirmed. He set the bags by the front door and patted his pockets, running through his mental checklist. "Phone, wallet, keys. Are we taking your car or mine?"

"Let's take the Civic," Sarah said. "It gets better gas mileage, and I already filled the tank after work yesterday."

They carried their weekend gear down the single flight of stairs to the apartment parking lot. The late afternoon air was crisp, hinting at the coastal fog they were driving toward. Mark popped the trunk and expertly arranged the cooler next to the duffel bags, a familiar Tetris game they had perfected over three years of living together.

Once settled in the front seats, Mark pulled up the GPS on his phone. "It says two hours if we take the main highway, but there's a slight slow-down near the bridge. We could take the scenic route."

"Let's just brave the highway," Sarah decided, putting the car into reverse. "If we power through, we can still make it to the rental cabin before dark. You're in charge of the playlist."

Mark chuckled, scrolling through his audio library. "Acoustic folk for the drive out?"

"Perfect," she said, merging onto the busy avenue, the stress of the workweek already fading into the rearview mirror.


"Did you pack the good coffee, or should we just stop on the way?" Ben asked, peering into the cavernous depths of their refrigerator.

Maya zipped her canvas duffel bag shut with a final tug. "I brought the French roast, but let’s stop anyway. We have a three-hour drive to Asheville, and I’m not surviving the interstate without an iced latte."

Ben closed the fridge, abandoning a half-eaten container of takeout pad thai. "Fair point." He grabbed the small cooler by its plastic handles. "You got the map saved offline? Reception up near the rental is going to be spotty."

"Already downloaded," Maya said, slinging her backpack over one shoulder. She glanced around their living room, doing the mental sweep familiar to anyone who shares a lease. "Thermostat is down. Windows locked. Plants watered. I think we’re good."

They navigated the narrow staircase of their apartment building, bumping the cooler against the railing twice before reaching the crisp autumn air outside. Ben popped the trunk of his battered Honda CR-V, shifting a pile of reusable grocery bags to make room for their weekend luggage.

Once they were strapped in, Ben turned the key. The engine hummed to life, accompanied by the abrupt blare of an investigative podcast from his phone. Maya quickly reached over and dialed the volume down.

"Music first, murder podcasts later," she decided, tapping the screen to pull up a road trip playlist.

Ben laughed and merged onto the street, the lingering stress of the workweek visibly melting from his shoulders. "Drive-thru or the local place on 4th?"

"Local place. Better scones," Maya replied, settling back into the passenger seat as the first chords of an acoustic guitar filled the car, and they headed toward the highway.


Maya zipped her canvas duffel bag and set it by the front door, dodging the pile of junk mail Liam had left on the console table.

"Did you pack the rain jackets?" she called toward the bedroom. "The forecast for Astoria says it might drizzle tomorrow morning."

Liam emerged, holding his own worn backpack and a tangle of phone chargers. "Got them both," he said, tossing the chargers into the side pocket of her bag. "I also grabbed the good hiking boots just in case we actually decide to do the Cathedral Tree Trail instead of just eating clam chowder."

They had been sharing their cramped Portland apartment for two years, and this weekend coastal trip was a much-needed chance to escape their overlapping work-from-home schedules. Maya went into the kitchen to fill their insulated travel mugs with coffee, while Liam did the customary apartment sweep.

"Thermostat is off," Liam announced, ticking items off his mental list. "Stove is clear. Did you lock the back patio door?"

"Locked," Maya confirmed, handing him a steaming mug. "And I overfed the fish, so Sir Swims-a-Lot should easily survive until Sunday night."

They carried their bags down the two flights of stairs to the street, the morning air already thick with impending summer heat. Liam popped the trunk of his Honda Civic, and they tossed their luggage inside. As Maya settled into the passenger seat, she immediately synced her phone to the car's Bluetooth.

"Okay, playlist," she said, scrolling through her screen. "Are we feeling indie folk or nineties alternative for the drive?"

"Let’s start with indie," Liam said, putting the car in gear and pulling out into the sparse Saturday morning traffic. "But by the time we hit the highway, I'll definitely need the nineties to keep me awake."


Elena zipped her canvas duffel bag and dragged it into the hallway of their cramped Chicago apartment. "Did you remember to leave the spare key for Sarah to feed the cat?" she called out.

Mark emerged from the kitchen, holding a half-empty carton of almond milk. "Left it on the counter. Sarah knows the drill. Do you think this milk will survive until Sunday night, or should I dump it?"

Elena glanced at the carton. "Just dump it. Better safe than coming home to a science experiment."

Mark poured the milk down the sink, rinsed the carton, and tossed it into the recycling bin. They had been looking forward to this short weekend trip to Door County for a month. It was their first real getaway since moving in together in January, and the anticipation felt like a quiet relief.

"Alright, grab the snack tote," Mark said, hoisting Elena’s duffel and his own faded backpack. "I’ve got the bags."

Down in the parking garage, they fell into their usual road-trip routine. Mark played Tetris with the luggage in the trunk of his Honda Civic, wedging the cooler safely against the back seats, while Elena slid into the front to program the GPS.

"It says three and a half hours if we take I-43," Elena noted, plugging her phone into the center console. "But there's a red line of construction traffic near Milwaukee."

"Let's stick to the highway for now. We can take the backroads if it gets too heavy," Mark said. He shut the trunk with a solid thud and climbed into the driver’s seat. He put on his sunglasses and glanced over at her. "You have the podcast queued up?"

"Ready when you are," she said, pressing play.

Mark shifted the car into drive, pulling out of the garage and into the crisp Saturday morning sunlight.


Maya zipped her duffel bag with a soft grunt and set it by the apartment door. "Did you remember the extra phone chargers?" she called out, leaning back to stretch her shoulders.

Liam emerged from the bathroom, tossing his toiletry kit into a faded weekender bag. "Got two of them. And the travel speaker." He glanced at his watch. "If we leave in the next fifteen minutes, we might actually miss the worst of the interstate traffic."

"Perfect." Maya walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. "I’m tossing these leftover grapes into a container. Do we need anything else for the drive? I have pretzels in my tote."

"Maybe grab those sparkling waters," Liam suggested. He walked around the living room, performing their standard departure ritual: bumping the thermostat down, making sure the coffee maker was unplugged, and locking the deadbolt on the balcony door.

Five minutes later, they were out in the humid Friday air, throwing their bags into the trunk of Liam's sedan. Maya slid into the passenger seat and adjusted the air conditioning vent, while Liam started the engine and plugged his phone into the dashboard console.

"Maps says two hours and forty minutes to the Airbnb," Liam said, tapping the glowing screen. "Do you want to stop for a real dinner on the way, or just grab drive-thru once we clear the city?"

"Let's just do drive-thru," Maya decided, taking out her phone to open Spotify. "I’d rather get there before it's completely dark so we can find the lockbox. I'll queue up that trivia podcast we started last week."

"Sounds like a plan." Liam shifted the car into drive, pulling away from the curb and steering them toward the highway, ready for a quiet weekend away.


Maya tossed a rolled-up fleece sweater into her canvas weekender bag, nudging her hiking boots to the side to make room. "Did you check the weather for Door County?" she called out.

"Yeah, mid-sixties and partly cloudy," Liam yelled back from the kitchen. The refrigerator door thumped shut. "Do we want to pack a cooler, or just buy groceries when we get up there?"

Maya walked into the kitchen, zipping her toiletries bag. Liam was leaning against the counter, staring down a half-empty carton of oat milk and a plastic container of leftover takeout.

"Let's just buy stuff there," Maya decided, setting her bag by the front door. "If we leave the cooler, we'll have more room in the trunk. Plus, I really don't want to deal with buying ice right now."

"Good point. I'll toss the milk so it doesn't sour by Sunday." Liam poured the milk down the sink and rinsed the carton. "Should we grab sandwiches at the deli down the street on the way out? We're going to hit I-43 traffic, and I'd rather eat in the car than stop halfway."

"Perfect. Oh, but pack the good coffee beans and the AeroPress," Maya said, pointing a finger at him. "The Airbnb reviews said their coffee maker is ancient."

"Already in my backpack," Liam grinned, tossing her a set of keys.

Within ten minutes, they had swept through their standard departure checklist: thermostat lowered, blinds drawn, deadbolt locked. They carried their bags out to Liam’s Honda, the late Friday afternoon sun glinting off the windshield.

As Liam adjusted his mirrors and started the engine, Maya pulled up the GPS on her phone. "Two hours and forty minutes to the cabin," she announced. She reached over, turning up the radio. "Let's go."


Maya folded her favorite thick sweater and pressed it into the shared canvas duffel bag, zipping it shut with a final, satisfying tug. Across their cramped Brooklyn bedroom, David was aggressively searching the nightstand drawers.

"Have you seen the spare car charger?" he asked, pushing a tangle of stray cords aside.

"Check the kitchen counter, next to the mail pile," Maya said, hoisting the bag off the mattress. "And did you remember to leave the extra key for Sarah so she can feed Barnaby?"

David emerged from the hallway a moment later, holding the black charging cable aloft like a trophy. "Key is under the mat, texted Sarah, and Barnaby has a bowl full of kibble to tide him over until tonight." He grabbed his own backpack from the floor and slung it over one shoulder. "Are we ready?"

"I think so," Maya said, doing a quick visual sweep of the apartment. She adjusted the thermostat down to sixty-two degrees to save on the heating bill, then followed David out, locking the front door behind them.

Out on the street, the crisp October air carried the promise of a quiet autumn weekend. They loaded the bags into the trunk of David’s aging Subaru. As Maya climbed into the passenger seat, she pulled up the GPS on her phone.

"It says two and a half hours to the cabin in the Catskills if we take the Palisades," she noted, buckling her seatbelt. "But there's a little traffic near the bridge."

"Palisades is fine," David said, turning the ignition. The engine rumbled to life. "Do we want to stop for coffee now, or wait until we're out of the city?"

"Let's get over the bridge first," Maya decided. "Then, large coffees and a playlist."

David smiled, putting the car in gear. "Deal."


Sarah folded a second fleece jacket into the canvas duffel bag, debating whether the autumn coastal wind warranted the extra bulk. "Mark, did you grab the HDMI cable?" she called out from their bedroom.

Mark poked his head out of the hallway closet, a tangle of charging cords in his hand. "Got it. And I packed the good coffee, too. I’m not relying on whatever instant stuff the Airbnb provides."

The next morning, they moved through the apartment in the familiar, groggy choreography of a couple accustomed to sharing a small space. Mark rinsed out the French press while Sarah gave the wilting pothos plant by the window a generous soak.

"Weather app says it’s going to rain Sunday morning," she noted, leaning against the kitchen island.

"Standard Oregon coast," Mark replied, handing her a battered travel mug. "As long as we get our hike in this afternoon, I’m happy."

Carrying their luggage down the apartment stairs, Mark unlocked the Subaru. Sarah slid into the passenger seat and immediately adjusted the climate control. As Mark buckled his seatbelt, she turned to him. "Did you lock the deadbolt?"

Mark paused, his hand hovering over the ignition. "I’m pretty sure."

Sarah just raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, wait right here," he sighed, a reluctant smile on his face as he opened the door and jogged back up to the second floor.

When he returned—confirming the apartment was indeed secure—he finally started the engine. Sarah plugged in her phone, pulling up the route to Cannon Beach on the dashboard display. "ETA is two hours," she said, queuing up the true-crime podcast they had saved for the drive.

Mark merged onto the interstate, blending into the light Saturday traffic. "Perfect. Find us a drive-thru for hash browns, and we're set."


Maya yanked the zipper of her canvas weekender bag closed, satisfied with the tight squeeze. "Liam, did you pack a heavier jacket?" she called out, glancing out their apartment window at the graying Chicago sky. "It's supposed to drop into the forties near the lake tomorrow."

"Yeah, grabbed the green fleece," Liam replied from the kitchen. The refrigerator door thumped shut. "Hey, I'm tossing this half-empty milk. It’ll definitely be bad by Sunday night. Do we want to bring these leftover grapes, or just buy snacks at the gas station?"

"Bring the grapes! We always buy too many chips and feel terrible later," Maya said, walking into the living room. She grabbed her sunglasses from the entryway table. "Are you good to drive the first leg? I'm exhausted from those back-to-back budget meetings."

"Sure. Just queue up a good playlist," Liam said. He tossed the grapes into a plastic grocery bag along with two water bottles, then turned to the wall. "Setting the thermostat to sixty-two. Do we have all the chargers?"

"Phone chargers are in my purse. I left the laptop on my desk. Let's just actually disconnect for the next forty-eight hours."

"Music to my ears," Liam smiled, grabbing his own duffel and the apartment keys.

They locked up and navigated the narrow stairwell down to the parking garage. The trunk of their shared Honda Civic swallowed their bags with plenty of room to spare. Once Liam adjusted the driver’s seat—he always had to push it back after Maya drove—he turned the ignition.

"Okay," Liam said, checking his mirrors as they pulled out onto the busy Friday evening street. "First stop, the Shell station on Fourth for coffee. Next stop, Michigan."

"Sounds perfect," Maya sighed, leaning back and opening Spotify as the city lights began to blur past.


Maya zipped her canvas duffel bag and hauled it off the bed. "Did you remember to pack the good coffee?" she called out to the living room.

Liam appeared in the doorway, a tangle of charging cables in one hand and his toiletry bag in the other. "Yeah, I put the beans and the hand grinder in the green tote. Are we taking your car or mine?"

"Mine has better gas mileage, but yours has the roof rack if we actually decide to rent kayaks," Maya said. She paused in the hallway to water their drooping pothos plant, then checked the apartment’s thermostat, nudging the slider down to sixty-five degrees to save on the heating bill. "Let's just take yours. I don't want to listen to my weird brake squeak all the way up to Michigan."

"Deal." Liam grabbed the kitchen trash bag to drop at the dumpster and picked up their luggage. "Do you want to drive the first leg, or should I?"

"I'll drive until we hit Kalamazoo," Maya offered, grabbing her sunglasses from the entryway table. "You can navigate and control the playlist. But no sad indie folk until the sun goes down."

Liam chuckled, hauling the bags out to the Subaru parked in their complex's lot. Maya followed closely behind, lingering at the door to double-check that the deadbolt was fully locked. The Friday afternoon air was crisp, a perfect start to their long-overdue weekend away.

Once buckled into the driver's seat, Maya adjusted her mirrors while Liam plugged his phone into the dashboard. The GPS glowed to life, estimating a three-hour drive.

"We should grab gas on the way out of town," Liam noted, tapping the screen. "And maybe swing by Walgreens? I forgot ibuprofen."

"


Maya zipped her canvas duffel bag with a soft grunt, forcing down a stray sweater sleeve. "Liam, did you pack the good coffee, or should we just buy some when we get there?"

From the kitchen, the clink of silverware paused. "I brought the rest of the French roast," Liam called back. "But we’ll need to stop for oat milk. I’m not drinking it black all weekend."

"Deal." Maya hoisted her bag off the bed, taking a final look around their shared apartment. She unplugged the bedroom space heater and double-checked the window latch—a deeply ingrained habit from three years of renting on the ground floor.

She met Liam in the hallway. He was awkwardly balancing a tote bag full of pantry snacks on his hip while trying to wrestle his left boot on.

"Ready?" he asked, grabbing his keys from the ceramic bowl by the door.

"Almost. Did you water the pothos?"

Liam sighed, dropping the tote. "I knew I forgot something."

Ten minutes later, they were finally in the Honda. The Friday evening traffic out of Portland was sluggish, a steady stream of red taillights bleeding into the damp Oregon dusk. Liam merged onto I-84, tapping his thumbs against the steering wheel to the rhythm of the turn signal.

"Okay, navigator," he said, adjusting the rearview mirror. "Music, true crime podcast, or silent contemplation of the work week?"

Maya scrolled through her phone, connecting it to the car's Bluetooth. "Podcast to survive the city traffic, upbeat playlist once we hit the scenic highway. And we are absolutely stopping at that drive-thru in Hood River for fries."

"I wouldn't dare argue," Liam smiled, shifting his foot from the brake to the gas as the lane finally cleared. "Fries first, then the cabin."


"Did you check the stove?" Liam called from the hallway, hefting their shared green duffel bag onto his shoulder.

Maya poked her head out of the kitchen. "Off. And the thermostat is set to sixty-two so we aren't paying to heat an empty place. Do we have the snacks?"

"In the trunk," Liam said, jingling the car keys. "I packed the cooler right after I logged off work."

They had been looking forward to this drive to Estes Park all week. It was only a short two-day getaway, but sharing a cramped one-bedroom apartment for the past three years while both worked remotely had made the walls feel increasingly narrow. A weekend without Wi-Fi was exactly what they needed.

Maya grabbed her canvas tote and double-checked her pockets for her phone. "Okay, I think we're good. Wait, did you water the pothos?"

"Drenched it yesterday," Liam assured her, holding the apartment door open. Maya stepped out into the hall, and he locked the deadbolt, double-checking the handle out of habit.

The Friday afternoon traffic in Denver was already starting to thicken by the time they reached Liam’s Honda in the parking garage. As Liam slammed the trunk shut, Maya climbed into the passenger seat and brought up the route on her phone.

"I-25 is showing dark red,"


Sitting at their cramped kitchen island on Thursday night, Sarah traced a route on her laptop screen. "If we leave by four tomorrow, we can beat the worst of the I-95 traffic," she said, looking up over her reading glasses.

Mark rinsed his dinner plate and shook his head. "My last Zoom meeting doesn't end until four-thirty. Besides, I'd rather wait until six, grab a drive-thru burger on the way, and not spend the first hour of our weekend staring at brake lights."

"Fair enough," Sarah agreed, tapping a reminder into her phone. "But that means you're in charge of packing the cooler."

By Friday evening, their apartment was a flurry of routine chaos. They had lived together for three years, long enough that packing for a two-night stay had become a synchronized, if slightly hurried, dance. Mark lugged their shared canvas duffel and a small cooler filled with turkey sandwiches and sparkling water down to his Honda Civic. Upstairs, Sarah did the final sweep: unplugging the coffee maker, turning down the thermostat, and triple-checking that the automatic feeder for their cat, Barnaby, was properly filled.

"Did you grab the extra phone chargers?" Mark asked as Sarah finally slid into the passenger seat, pulling the door shut against the humid summer air.

"Two of them," she said, dropping her tote bag at her feet. She pulled out her phone and connected it to the car’s Bluetooth. "I downloaded the new episodes of that true crime podcast, and I queued up your acoustic playlist for later."

"Perfect." Mark put the car in reverse, glancing over his shoulder. As they pulled out of the apartment complex and merged onto the highway, Sarah leaned back and kicked her shoes off. The streetlights flickered to life, and the weekend finally began.


Maya zipped her canvas duffel bag, double-checking that she’d remembered her hiking boots. Across their cramped Chicago apartment, Ben was peering into the refrigerator, illuminated by its harsh white light.

"Are we bringing the leftover pasta, or is it going to die in here by Sunday night?" he asked, holding up a cloudy plastic container.

"Trash it," Maya said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "We’re supposed to be on vacation. I’m not eating Tuesday's ziti."

Ben tossed it in the garbage bin and grabbed his backpack from the kitchen island. They had been looking forward to this weekend trip to Door County for a month. After living together for two years, they had their departure routine down to a science.

They locked up and headed down to the parking garage. Ben loaded the trunk while Maya settled into the passenger seat, immediately syncing her phone to the car's Bluetooth.

"Did you grab the wall chargers?" Ben asked, climbing behind the wheel and adjusting the rearview mirror.

"Yep, both of them. And the trail mix," Maya confirmed. She tapped the address of their rental cabin into Google Maps. "Traffic on I-94 doesn't look awful, but it says we’ll hit a twenty-minute slowdown near Milwaukee."

"We can live with that," Ben said, backing out of their parking spot. "Do we want to stop at a drive-thru for coffee now, or wait until we're on the highway?"

Maya looked out the window at the overcast Saturday morning sky. "Let's hit the local place on the corner. Better espresso, and we aren't in a huge rush."

"Local place it is," Ben agreed, flicking his turn signal. He reached over the center console to give her knee a quick, affectionate squeeze. "Ready to get out of the city?"

"More than ready," Maya smiled, queuing up their favorite road-trip playlist.


Maya folded her heavy knit sweater and pressed it into her duffel bag. "Are you bringing the big cooler or the small one?" she called out toward the kitchen.

"Small one," Liam replied, his head popping out from behind the open refrigerator door. "We're only going to the cabin for two nights. Unless you want me to pack all the leftover chili?"

"God, no. Just the cheese, the eggs, and those IPAs from last weekend." Maya zipped her bag and dragged it into the hallway of their second-floor apartment.

Liam emerged a moment later, holding the red plastic cooler by its handle, a canvas grocery tote slung over his opposite shoulder. He patted his jeans, performing his familiar checklist. "Keys, wallet, phone. Did you lower the thermostat?"

"Set to sixty-two," Maya said, grabbing her travel mug from the counter. She watched Liam wrestling with the cooler and the apartment door simultaneously. "Here, let me." She held the door open, sliding the key into the deadbolt and locking it securely behind them once they were out in the hall.

The walk down to the parking garage was a quiet synchronization they’d perfected over three years of living together. Liam popped the trunk of their RAV4, wedging the cooler neatly against the side panel while Maya tossed her duffel bag in next to his worn backpack.

Once in the driver’s seat, Liam turned the key, the radio instantly picking up a mid-song indie rock track. He paused before shifting into drive. "Okay, GPS says two hours and fifteen minutes to the Airbnb. Do we need coffee now, or can we make it to the highway rest stop?"

Maya settled into the passenger seat, plugging her phone into the charger. "Let's hit the drive-thru. We're on weekend time now."

Liam smiled, putting the car in gear and pulling out of the garage into the Friday evening traffic.


Maya leaned her full weight on the overstuffed canvas duffel, finally wrestling the zipper shut. Across their cramped Chicago apartment, Liam was staring into the open refrigerator, bathed in its pale yellow light.

"Are we tossing the milk?" he called out. "It expires on Monday."

"Give it a smell," Maya replied, tossing her sweater onto the bed. "If it's fine, we'll just use it in our coffee when we get back. Did you pack the phone chargers?"

"Got them. And the HDMI cord, just in case the Airbnb TV is ancient." Liam shut the fridge, opting to leave the milk, and grabbed a half-empty bag of pretzels off the counter for the road.

The next morning, the apartment was a flurry of quiet, familiar efficiency. They had lived together for three years, long enough to have a solid travel routine. While Liam rinsed their breakfast dishes and took the kitchen trash down to the alley dumpster, Maya did the final walkthrough. She unplugged the toaster, gave her drooping pothos plant a quick soak in the sink, and double-checked that the thermostat was turned down to sixty-two.

By eight-thirty, they were locking the front door, thermal mugs of dark roast warming their hands against the brisk October air. Down in the lot, Liam popped the trunk of his Honda. He wedged Maya’s duffel next to his smaller backpack, shutting the lid with a metallic thud.

"You want to drive first, or navigate?" Liam asked, dangling the keys.

"I'll navigate," Maya said, claiming the passenger seat. As Liam started the engine and turned on the heater, she pulled up the map on her phone, mapping their three-hour route up to Door County. "Traffic looks clear on ninety-four. I'm putting on that history podcast."

Liam smiled, shifting the car into drive. "Sounds like a plan."


Maya zipped her duffel bag with a final tug and dropped it by the apartment’s front door. "Liam, did you grab the good sunscreen or the one that smells like cheap coconuts?"

"The good one!" Liam called from the kitchen. The refrigerator door slammed shut. "And I packed the leftover turkey for sandwiches, plus those cheddar jalapeño chips you like."

Maya walked into the kitchen, tossing her car keys from one hand to the other. "Perfect. Are we taking I-94? Maps says there's a slow-down near Milwaukee."

Liam leaned over the island, scrolling through the traffic app on his phone. "Yeah, looks like a twenty-minute delay. We could take the back roads through Racine, but it might end up taking just as long."

"Let's just stick to the highway," Maya decided, pulling two water bottles from the cabinet and filling them at the sink. "I'd rather sit in a little traffic than navigate county roads in the dark."

"Highway it is." Liam grabbed the insulated cooler bag and slung his own worn backpack over one shoulder. "You got the Airbnb check-in code?"

"Saved in my phone and screenshotted," she assured him.

They did a final sweep of their Chicago apartment—unplugging the toaster, making sure the thermostat was set to sixty-five, and double-checking that the deadbolt on the back door was locked. It was only a two-day trip to Door County, but their shared routine of checking the apartment gave them both peace of mind.

Outside, the humid Friday evening air wrapped around them. Liam loaded the bags into the trunk of their Honda Civic while Maya settled into the driver’s seat. As Liam buckled in and cued up a playlist, Maya pulled out onto the street, finally leaving the work week behind.


Maya wrestled the zipper of her canvas duffel bag closed, tossing it onto the living room sofa. "Are you bringing the heavy coats or just the rain jackets?" she called toward the kitchen.

"Just the rain jackets," Liam replied, his voice muffled by the open refrigerator door. "The forecast for Asheville says mid-sixties all weekend. Hey, do we need to toss this milk? It expires on Monday."

Maya walked into the kitchen and peered over his shoulder. "I’ll use it in my coffee tomorrow if we bring it in the cooler. Otherwise, just dump it."

Liam nodded, grabbing the milk carton and a half-eaten block of cheddar cheese, wedging them into the small blue cooler sitting by the door. They had been living together for two years, and their weekend getaways had settled into a comfortable, predictable rhythm. There were no elaborate itineraries, just a quiet Airbnb in the mountains and a mutual desire to escape their cramped Charlotte apartment.

"Got the phone chargers?" Liam asked, pulling his keys from the ceramic bowl on the counter.

"In my purse," Maya said. She did a quick visual sweep of the apartment—stove off, windows locked, thermostat dialed down to sixty-two degrees. "I think we’re good. Did you set the cat's auto-feeder?"

"Filled the feeder and topped off the water." Liam grabbed the cooler by its plastic handle while Maya shouldered both their duffel bags.

Out in the apartment parking lot, the crisp October air carried a hint of exhaust and fallen leaves. Liam popped the trunk of their Honda Civic, arranging the luggage while Maya climbed into the passenger seat and synced her phone to the car's Bluetooth.

"GPS is set," she said as Liam slid behind the wheel. "Two hours and fifteen minutes. Let's hit the drive-thru first."

"Large black coffee coming up," he smiled, shifting the car into drive.


Sarah zipped her duffel bag, tossing it onto the mattress next to a plastic grocery bag filled with road trip snacks. "Did you remember to set the thermostat?" she called out, leaning into the hallway.

Mark appeared in the bedroom doorway, holding a travel mug in each hand. "Turned it down to sixty-two. And I gave the cat his extra dry food. We’re only gone until Sunday evening, so Buster will survive." He handed her a steaming mug of coffee.

"Thanks," Sarah said, taking a cautious sip. "You put the oat milk in this one, right?"

"Yep. Just a splash." Mark grabbed her duffel and slung his own worn backpack over his shoulder. "Are we taking my Corolla or your Subaru?"

Sarah thought for a second, slipping her phone into her back pocket. "Let's take the Subaru. The Bluetooth in yours is still acting up, and I made a three-hour playlist for the drive up to Woodstock. Plus, the forecast says it might rain."

"Fair enough. Can I drive the first leg?"

"Only if you promise not to put on sports talk radio while I'm trying to navigate us out of the city," Sarah teased, grabbing her sunglasses and the apartment keys from the dresser.

They walked downstairs to the building's parking lot. The crisp Saturday morning air held the faint dampness of impending autumn. Mark popped the hatchback, arranging their bags next to a pair of muddy hiking boots and a spare wool blanket.

Once settled in the driver’s seat, Mark adjusted the mirrors while Sarah plugged her phone into the center console. "Okay, the GPS says there's a little traffic on the bridge, but it clears up after that," she announced.

"Bridge traffic it is," Mark said, shifting the car into drive. "Hit play, babe. Let's get out of here."


The canvas duffel bag sat half-full on the living room rug. Sarah tossed in two thick wool sweaters and looked over at David, who was staring thoughtfully into the open refrigerator.

"Are we taking the rest of the oat milk?" David asked, tapping the carton against the shelf. "It'll probably go bad by Monday."

"Bring it," Sarah said, wrestling the duffel bag’s zipper closed. "We can put it in the cooler with the leftover cheese. Did you remember to grab the I-PASS?"

David shut the fridge and nodded. "Moved it to your dashboard last night. I figured we’d take the Corolla since it gets better gas mileage, right?"

"Yeah, good call." Sarah grabbed her toiletry bag from the bathroom counter and squeezed it into her backpack. They had been sharing their cramped Chicago apartment for two years, and the routine of packing for a weekend away had become a familiar, synchronized dance. They were heading to a small rental cabin in Door County for three nights—just a modest escape from their screens and daily commutes.

"Do we need to stop for gas?" David asked, hoisting the cooler by its plastic side handles.

"I have about half a tank," Sarah said, patting her jacket pockets to check for her keys. "We can fill up once we get past Milwaukee. Let’s just try to beat the worst of the Friday traffic."

David locked the apartment door behind them, testing the handle twice out of habit. Down in the parking garage, they loaded the trunk in comfortable silence. Sarah slid into the driver’s seat, plugging her phone into the console to pull up the GPS, while David adjusted the passenger seat and queued up a podcast they had both agreed on.

"Three hours and ten minutes," Sarah announced, putting the car in drive. "Let's go."


Maya folded her favorite oversized sweater and wedged it into the nylon duffel bag on the bed. "Do you think we'll need rain jackets for Portland?" she called out to the open bathroom door.

Liam emerged, wiping toothpaste from his mouth, his own toiletry bag zipped tight in his hand. "It’s the Pacific Northwest in October. I packed mine." He tossed his bag onto the bed next to hers. "Did you grab the extra phone chargers?"

"I have the long cord and the car adapter," Maya said, zipping her duffel closed. They had been looking forward to this three-day weekend for a month, a much-needed break from their overlapping work schedules.

Liam hoisted both bags over his shoulder. "I'll take these down to the Subaru. Can you make sure the thermostat is set to sixty and the coffee maker is actually off?"

"Already checked the coffee," Maya replied, grabbing her purse and the travel mug of green tea she’d just brewed. She walked through their shared apartment, turning down the heat in the hallway and double-checking the deadbolt before jogging down the stairs to the apartment complex parking lot.

Liam was waiting in the driver’s seat, the engine already humming. He reached over to turn on the passenger seat heater as Maya slipped into the car.

"Okay," Liam said, putting the car in gear. "I-5 South the whole way?"

"Unless traffic is terrible past Tacoma," Maya said, pulling up the navigation app on her phone. "Looks completely clear right now, though. Estimated time is under three hours."

"Perfect. Music or podcast?"

"Let’s finish that true crime one we started last week," Maya suggested, plugging her phone into the center console.

Liam smiled, backing out of their assigned space. "Deal." As the narrator's familiar voice filled the car, they pulled out onto the damp city streets, finally leaving the work week behind.


Maya zipped her green duffel bag shut and placed it by the apartment’s front door. "Did you pack the extra charging cables?" she called out toward the bedroom.

Sam emerged, tossing a tangle of white cords onto the kitchen island. "Got them. Though I still think we should leave the laptops here. It’s only two nights in Asheville."

"I’m just bringing mine in case my boss emails about the Monday presentation," Maya said, handing him a travel mug of freshly brewed coffee. "I won't open it unless I have to. Promise."

Sam sighed, a slight smile breaking through as he took a sip. "Alright. But if I see you working on a Saturday, I'm hiding it in the woods." He hoisted his battered canvas weekender over his shoulder. "Did you check the mountain weather again?"

"Yeah, it’s supposed to drop into the low forties tonight. I threw an extra fleece in the trunk for you," she said, slipping into her sneakers and double-checking that the patio door was locked.

"Good call." Sam pulled his keys from the ceramic bowl on the entryway table. "Are we stopping for gas in town, or waiting until we're out on the highway?"

"Let's just get on I-40 first. We can stop at the big rest area near Hickory," Maya suggested, grabbing her sunglasses.

They walked out to the parking lot, the crisp morning air a welcome break from their cramped home office. Sam popped the trunk of the Honda Civic they had bought together last spring, arranging the bags alongside a canvas tote of road-trip snacks—mostly pretzels and Maya’s favorite sour gummies.

Once in the driver's seat, Sam connected his phone to the dashboard. The map illuminated the


"Did you turn the thermostat down?" Liam called from the hallway, wedging his overstuffed duffel bag past the narrow apartment doorway.

Maya emerged from the kitchen, tossing a half-empty bag of pretzels into her canvas tote. "Set to sixty-five. And I unplugged the toaster."

"You always think the toaster is going to spontaneously combust," Liam said, smiling as he took her tote and headed for the stairs.

"It’s a known fire hazard, Liam!" she called after him, grabbing her sunglasses from the console table and locking the apartment door behind them.

Down in the parking lot, the muggy July air of Chicago was already settling in. Liam popped the trunk of his Civic. They were only heading up to a rented cabin in southwest Michigan for two nights, but between the groceries, the cooler, and the bedding, the trunk was entirely full.

"I'll drive the first shift," Maya offered, slipping into the driver's seat and adjusting the steering wheel. "But only if we stop at the Dunkin' near the on-ramp. I need an iced coffee before we hit the highway."

"Deal. Put the GPS on my phone," Liam said. He buckled himself into the passenger seat and rested his hand casually on her knee. "Should we take I-94? Traffic looks a little heavy near Gary."

Maya adjusted the rearview mirror and glanced at his screen. "Let's just stick to the interstate. It usually clears up once we get past the toll road."

Liam nodded, tapping in the cabin's address. "Who has aux cord privileges?"

"Play the indie road trip mix you made last month," she decided, putting the car into gear.

As they pulled out of the apartment complex, Liam queued up the music and reached into the tote bag for a pretzel. The familiar, quiet rhythm of their shared routine settled over them, perfectly in tune with the hum of the tires against the pavement.


Maya zipped her duffel bag and set it by the front door of their apartment. "Sam, did you pack the coffee? The Airbnb reviews said the machine is a standard drip, not a Keurig."

Sam emerged from the kitchen, a half-empty bag of ground roast in one hand and a reusable grocery tote in the other. "Got it. I also threw in the leftover cheddar and the bagels. Seemed dumb to let them go bad over the weekend."

"Perfect," Maya said, double-checking the hallway thermostat. She bumped it down to sixty-five degrees. Living together for three years meant they had their departure routine down to a science. No grand romantic gestures, just a steady, comfortable rhythm of divided chores. "Did you water the pothos?"

"Watered and moved out of the direct sun," Sam confirmed, grabbing his own battered backpack from the sofa. "Are we taking my car or yours?"

"Mine has the toll pass," Maya said, tossing him the keys. "You drive first, though. My brain is fried from that afternoon meeting."

They carried their bags down the two flights of stairs to the parking lot. The late April air was crisp, hinting at the rain forecasted for Sunday, but for now, the sky was a clear, fading dusk. Sam loaded the trunk while Maya settled into the passenger seat, immediately plugging her phone into the dashboard console.

"Are we doing a true crime podcast or music?" she asked as Sam slid into the driver's seat and adjusted the mirrors.

"Music for the first hour to decompress," he suggested, putting the car in gear. "Then we can switch to the cult podcast once we hit the interstate."

"Deal." Maya hit play on their shared indie-folk playlist. As Sam navigated out of the apartment complex and merged onto the main road toward the lake, Maya leaned her head against the glass, the stress of the workweek already beginning to dissolve.


Maya zipped her olive-green duffel bag and tossed it onto the edge of the mattress. "Did you remember to pack the phone chargers?" she called out toward the kitchen.

"I grabbed two cables and the car adapter," Liam replied, his voice slightly muffled by the open refrigerator door. "Are we bringing the leftover pasta, or is it going to die in here by Sunday?"

Maya walked into the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe. "Toss it. By the time we get back to Chicago, it’ll be a science experiment."

Liam nodded, scraping the contents of the Tupperware into the trash before loading the container into the dishwasher. It was Friday afternoon, and they had exactly three hours of daylight left to make the drive up to their rented cabin in Door County.

"Okay, that's the last of the dishes," Liam said, wiping his hands on a towel. He grabbed his worn canvas backpack from the hallway chair. "Did you lock the back door?"

"Checked it twice," Maya said, handing him her keys. "Can you grab my bag while I set the thermostat?"

Ten minutes later, they were in the apartment building's parking garage, tossing their luggage into the trunk of Liam’s Honda Civic. Maya slid into the passenger seat, immediately pulling down the sun visor and connecting her phone to the dashboard's Bluetooth.

"I have control of the audio for the first hour," she announced, scrolling through her podcast library.

"Fair enough, but I get veto power if it's another six-part true crime series," Liam said, shifting the car into reverse. He glanced over his shoulder, easing out of the parking spot. "Did you put the address into the GPS?"

"Already done," Maya said, settling back into her seat. "ETA is 7:15. Let's get out of here before the I-94 traffic gets any worse."

Liam smiled, tapping the steering wheel as they headed up the ramp, ready to leave the city behind for the weekend.


Maya zipped her duffel bag shut, pushing a stray sweater back inside. "Did you pack the good coffee, or should we just get some on the way?" she called toward the kitchen.

Liam appeared in the bedroom doorway, holding a reusable grocery bag bulging with apples, chips, and bread. "Packed it, plus the French press. I refuse to drink motel water this weekend." He set the bag by the front door and glanced at his phone. "Traffic on I-95 is showing red, but if we leave in the next ten minutes, we might miss the worst of the bottleneck."

"Give me two minutes," Maya said, grabbing her phone charger from the nightstand. Living together for three years meant they had their weekend getaway routine down to a mild science. Maya handled the clothes and toiletries; Liam managed the groceries, electronics, and navigation.

They carried their bags down the two flights of stairs to their apartment building's cramped parking lot. The late Friday afternoon air was humid, a heavy reminder of the approaching summer. Liam popped the trunk of his Honda, shifting a stray winter windshield scraper to make room for Maya’s overstuffed bag.

"Did you lock the bottom lock?" Liam asked, shutting the trunk.

"Yep, both locks, and I double-checked the stove," Maya replied, sliding into the passenger seat.

Once they were strapped in, Liam started the engine and connected his phone to the dashboard. "Podcast or playlist?"

"Playlist. Let's do the indie road trip one," she said, adjusting the AC vents and leaning her seat back a couple of inches.

As Liam navigated out of their neighborhood and merged onto the highway, the tension of the work week finally began to dissipate in the small, shared space of the car. Maya reached over, resting her hand lightly on his arm. "Two whole days."

"Just us and the woods," Liam smiled, keeping his eyes on the road.


Maya zipped her navy duffel bag on the edge of their shared bed. "Did you grab the extra phone chargers?" she called down the hallway.

Sam poked his head out from the bathroom, toothbrush in hand. "Already in the glove compartment," he said, words slightly muffled by toothpaste. He rinsed and wiped his mouth with a towel. "Are we still stopping at Trader Joe's for trail mix and apples?"

Maya checked her watch, calculating the Friday afternoon bottleneck. "If we leave in the next ten minutes, we can hit the one on Roosevelt. Otherwise, we'll catch the worst of the outbound traffic on I-55, and we'll end up eating gas station potato chips for dinner."

"Ten minutes it is," Sam said, grabbing his fleece jacket from the closet.

They had shared their third-floor walk-up in Chicago for two years, making the clumsy navigation of the narrow staircase with luggage a familiar, synchronized routine. Sam carried the small cooler—packed with sparkling water, string cheese, and leftover turkey sandwiches—while Maya managed their two weekend bags. Stepping outside, the crisp October breeze promised a perfect weekend for hiking at Starved Rock State Park.

At their beat-up Subaru, Sam popped the trunk. "You want to drive first, or should I?" he asked, wedging the cooler securely behind the passenger seat so it wouldn't slide around on the highway.

"I'll drive," Maya volunteered, climbing in and unlocking the doors. "But you're on DJ duty. And no sad indie folk until we're at least past the suburbs."

Sam laughed, sliding into the passenger seat and pulling out his phone. "Deal. Classic rock it is."

Maya adjusted the rearview mirror. Putting the car in drive, she pulled away from the curb, the quiet hum of the engine blending with the opening chords of Fleetwood Mac.


Maya shoved her canvas duffel into the trunk of the Subaru, nudging it against the hard plastic cooler. "Did you grab the leftover pasta?" she called out, pulling her fleece jacket tighter against the brisk October morning.

Liam emerged from their apartment building, balancing two travel mugs and a reusable grocery bag. "Pasta is in the bag, along with the good coffee. I figured we wouldn't want whatever they left in the Airbnb pantry." He handed her a mug. "Careful, it’s full."

Maya took a sip, sighing as the dark roast warmed her chest. "Perfect. Thank you. Did you set the thermostat down?"

"Set to sixty," Liam said, tossing the grocery bag into the backseat. "And the automatic cat feeder is filled. Barnaby won't even notice we're gone for the weekend."

"He'll notice," Maya smiled, shutting the trunk with a firm thud. "He just won't care."

They had been talking about this trip to the Blue Ridge Mountains for months, a rare weekend where both their work schedules finally aligned. The plan was simple: no laptops, no emails, just hiking and trying to figure out how to operate a woodstove.

Liam slid into the driver's seat, adjusting the rearview mirror. "Do you want to navigate until we hit the interstate?"

"Sure," Maya said, getting into the passenger side and buckling her seatbelt. She pulled up the map on her phone, then toggled over to her audio apps. "True crime podcast or the road trip playlist?"

"Let's start with music," Liam said, putting the car into reverse. "We can switch to murder when we hit traffic."

Maya laughed, hitting play on a familiar indie track. As Liam backed out of their assigned parking space and turned onto the street, Maya relaxed into her seat, ready for the three-hour drive ahead.


Maya stood in the center of their living room, scrolling through the weather app on her phone. "It’s supposed to drop to forty degrees in the mountains tonight," she called out to the kitchen. "Should I pack the heavy duvet?"

Liam emerged holding two mismatched Tupperware containers. "The Airbnb listing said there's a space heater, but I don't trust it. Bring the duvet." He shoved a block of cheddar and a bag of grapes into the cooler. "Do we have any of those granola bars left?"

"Top shelf of the pantry," Maya replied, shoving their thickest blanket into a canvas tote bag by the front door. They had been looking forward to this weekend trip to the Shenandoah Valley for a month, desperately needing a two-day break from their shared home-office setup.

Liam grabbed the box of bars, tossed them in, and zipped the cooler shut. "Alright, I've got the food and the weekend bag. Are you ready?"

Maya did her customary final sweep of the apartment, unplugging the coffee maker, making sure the bedroom windows were locked, and double-checking that the thermostat was set to sixty-five. "Plant is watered, trash is out. Give me two seconds to grab my sunglasses."

Out in the apartment parking lot, the late Friday afternoon sun cast long shadows across the asphalt. Liam popped the trunk of their Honda Civic, shifting a box of jumper cables to make room for the cooler and Maya’s oversized tote.

"I'll drive the first shift," Maya offered, sliding into the driver's seat and adjusting the rearview mirror. "If we take Interstate 66, we’ll hit rush hour traffic, but the scenic route adds about forty minutes."

"Let's do the backroads," Liam said, buckling his seatbelt and pulling up a playlist on his phone. "We're in no rush."

Maya smiled, shifting the car into drive. "Backroads it is."


Maya folded the last of her sweaters into the canvas duffel bag on the bed. "Did you pack your rain jacket, or just the hoodie?" she called out to the hallway.

Elias appeared in the bedroom doorway, balancing two travel mugs of coffee and a tangle of phone chargers in his hands. "Both. The forecast said it might drizzle Sunday morning. Do you think we need the heavy plastic cooler for the groceries, or just the insulated tote bag?"

"Just the tote," Maya said, zipping her bag. "We’re only staying at the cabin for two nights, and we agreed to buy dinner in town anyway."

It was Saturday morning, and their apartment was in its usual state of minor pre-trip disarray. They had been living together for three years, long enough to have their departure routine down to a reliable science. Elias handled the electronics, road snacks, and double-checking the deadbolts; Maya managed the clothing, toiletries, and making sure the thermostat was set properly before they left.

Elias set the coffee on the nightstand and hoisted Maya's duffel over his shoulder. "Alright, I'll start loading the trunk. Did you water the pothos?"

"Did it last night," she replied, picking up the coffees. "I'll make sure the stove is off and meet you down at the car."

Ten minutes later, they were sitting in the front seats of Elias’s Subaru. The crisp morning sun glared through the windshield as Maya synced her phone to the dashboard display.

"GPS says two hours and forty minutes if we avoid the toll roads," Elias said, adjusting his rearview mirror. "You good with that?"

"Yeah, there's no rush," Maya said. She pulled up their shared podcast queue. "Ready?"

Elias put the car in drive. "Let's get out of here."


Maya zipped her canvas duffel bag and tossed it onto the edge of the bed. "Did you grab the phone chargers?" she called out, leaning into the hallway.

"Got them," Liam replied from the kitchen. The refrigerator door slammed shut. "I poured out the rest of the milk, but we should be fine leaving the eggs. Do you want to take these leftover pretzels for the road?"

"Yeah, bring them," she said, grabbing her sunglasses from the dresser. Maya and Liam had been sharing their cramped Chicago apartment for two years, and the prospect of a three-day weekend at a rental cabin in Door County felt like a desperately needed exhale.

Liam appeared in the bedroom doorway, tossing a half-empty bag of pretzels into his own faded backpack. "I set the thermostat to sixty-five and unplugged the coffee maker. Ready?"

"Ready." Maya grabbed her tote while Liam hoisted both heavier bags over his shoulders.

Down in the parking garage, they loaded the trunk of Liam’s Honda Civic. He slid into the driver's seat and started the engine, tapping the steering wheel as he waited for the Bluetooth to connect. "Maps says I-43 North is backed up near Milwaukee. We could take the scenic route, but it adds about forty minutes."

Maya adjusted her seatbelt and pulled up the route on her own phone to check the red lines of traffic. "Let's just do the highway. Once we get past the city, it usually opens up. Plus, I downloaded the new episodes of that true crime podcast we started."

"Highway it is," Liam said, shifting into drive. He pulled out of the dim garage and into the fading Friday afternoon light. Maya opened the bag of pretzels and handed him one, settling back as the familiar, quiet rhythm of their weekend getaway began.


Sarah wrestled the zipper of the canvas duffel bag closed, leaning her weight onto it. "Did you pack your rain jacket?" she called over her shoulder. "The forecast said it might drizzle on Sunday."

From the kitchen, the refrigerator door clicked shut. "Yeah, stuffed it in the bottom," Mark replied, walking into the bedroom with two travel mugs of coffee. He handed her one. "Are we bringing the rest of the sharp cheddar, or leaving it to mold?"

"Bring it. We can grab crackers when we stop for gas." Sarah took a sip of the coffee, savoring the warmth. It was Friday morning, and they had managed to coordinate a rare weekend off from their respective jobs to rent a small cabin up the coast.

They did a final sweep of their shared apartment, a routine they had perfected over three years of living together. Mark unplugged the toaster and double-checked the deadbolt on the back door, while Sarah watered the wilting pothos plant hanging by the living room window.

Out in the driveway, the brisk October air promised a perfect autumn drive. Mark tossed the bags into the trunk of his Civic, nudging aside a stray pair of muddy hiking boots, and slammed the hatch. Sarah was already in the passenger seat, plugging her phone into the dashboard console.

"I have the navigation up," she said as Mark slid behind the wheel. "It says about two hours to the Airbnb if we take the highway bypass."

"Sounds good. Bypass it is." Mark started the engine, shifting into reverse. "You want to play that indie folk playlist, or are we picking up where we left off on the true crime podcast?"

"Podcast now, music when we hit the scenic route," Sarah decided, pulling her seatbelt across her chest. Mark smiled, backed out onto the quiet street, and pointed the car north.


Sarah zipped her duffel bag shut and left it at the foot of the bed. In the kitchen, David was staring into the open refrigerator, a half-empty jar of salsa in one hand.

"Are we tossing this or hoping it survives until Sunday night?" he called out.

"Just toss it," Sarah said, walking in and leaning against the counter. "I don't want to come home to a science experiment. Did you pack your heavy jacket? The forecast said it might drop into the forties near the coast."

David tossed the jar into the trash and nodded. "Yeah, stuffed it in the bottom of my backpack. Do you want to drive first, or should I?"

"I can drive," Sarah offered, grabbing her keys from the ceramic bowl by the door. "But you’re in charge of the playlist. No heavy news podcasts this time, my brain is entirely fried from work."

"Deal. Upbeat music only." David pulled the trash bag from the can, tying it off. "I'll drop this at the complex dumpster on our way out. Did you set the thermostat?"

"Turned it down to sixty-two," she confirmed, doing a final sweep of the living room with her eyes. Unplugged coffee maker, locked windows, lights off. It had taken them three years of living together to perfect this pre-departure dance, a seamless routine of dividing small chores before a weekend away.

Ten minutes later, they were settled into Sarah’s Honda Civic. David adjusted the passenger seat and rolled his shoulders while she synced her phone to the dashboard.

"Should we stop for dinner in town, or just grab drive-thru on the highway?" she asked, shifting the car into reverse.

"Let’s just get on the highway," David said, tapping his phone screen. "I'll find a Wendy's on the route."

Sarah smiled, backing out of their parking spot. "Perfect."


Sarah zipped her canvas duffel closed and lugged it into the hallway. "Did you pack your rain jacket?" she called out, pausing to check her phone for the weekend weather forecast in Asheville.

"Yeah, it’s at the bottom of my bag," Mark replied from the kitchen. He was staring into the open refrigerator, holding a half-empty carton of oat milk. "Should we toss this, or will it survive until Sunday night?"

"Just dump it," Sarah said, walking into the kitchen to grab her travel mug. "I don't want to come home to a science experiment."

Mark poured the milk down the sink, rinsed the carton, and tossed it into the recycling bin. "Fair enough. Do we need to pack any snacks from the pantry, or are we just stopping at a gas station?"

"Let's just grab road trip junk food when we stop for gas. It's only a three-hour drive," she said.

With the bags piled by the front door, they fell into their familiar departure routine. Mark walked through the apartment, adjusting the thermostat down to sixty-two degrees and turning off the bedroom ceiling fan, while Sarah double-checked that the coffee maker was unplugged and locked the sliding patio door.

"Got your keys?" Mark asked, shouldering both of their bags.

"Got 'em," Sarah said. She held the front door open for him, flicked off the hallway light, and pulled the door shut, pulling on the deadbolt twice to make sure it was secure.

Down in the apartment parking lot, they loaded the trunk of Mark’s Civic. "I can drive the first half if you want to navigate," Sarah offered, sliding into the driver's seat.

"Deal," Mark smiled, buckling his seatbelt. "Pull up the playlist, and let's get out of the city."


Maya zipped her duffel bag shut, pressing her knee into the canvas to force the zipper along the track. "Did you grab the extra phone charger?" she called out to the kitchen.

"Yeah, I already put it in the glove compartment," Liam replied, appearing in the bedroom doorway holding a half-empty loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. "Should we bring these? Otherwise they'll just sit on the counter until Sunday."

"Toss them in the snack tote," Maya said, grabbing her toiletries bag.

They were heading to a rented cabin in the Shenandoah Valley for a quick weekend away, a much-needed escape from their cramped Washington D.C. apartment and exhausting work weeks.

Liam took Maya's duffel and slung it over his shoulder alongside his own faded backpack. "I'll go load the Honda. Can you do the final sweep? Thermostat down, lights off, make sure the stove is actually off?"

"I always check the stove," Maya said, rolling her eyes playfully. She walked into the kitchen to double-check the gas dials anyway. She poured the last of the morning's cold-brew coffee into a travel mug, adjusted the apartment's thermostat down to sixty-two degrees, and firmly locked the deadbolt behind her.

Down in the parking garage, Liam had the trunk open and was wedging their bags around a bulk case of sparkling water. Maya slid into the passenger seat and pulled up the GPS on her phone.

"Two hours and forty minutes with the Friday traffic," she announced as Liam got behind the wheel.

"Not too bad," he said, turning the ignition. The radio kicked on, playing a collaborative road-trip playlist they’d bickered over building the night before. Liam tapped the steering wheel, throwing the car into drive. "You ready?"

"More than ready," Maya sighed, taking a sip of her coffee as they pulled out of the garage and headed toward the interstate.


Maya wrestled the zipper of the canvas duffel bag closed, shifting her weight onto the mattress to get enough leverage. "I packed the heavy sweaters," she called out toward the kitchen. "Even if the forecast says sixties, it’s always freezing near the lake."

"Good call," Ben shouted back over the sound of running water. He was rinsing out the French press, systematically working through his mental checklist of apartment-closing duties. "Did we decide on tossing the milk? It expires on Monday."

"Just dump it," Maya said, dragging the bag down the narrow hallway of their Chicago apartment. She paused at the thermostat, clicking it down to fifty-eight degrees to save on the gas bill.

Downstairs, the Saturday morning air was already crisp. Ben popped the trunk of his battered Honda Civic, arranging Maya’s duffel next to a small cooler packed with sparkling water and the expensive cheddar cheese they’d splurged on for the weekend.

"I can drive the first shift," Maya offered, dangling the keys.

"Are you sure? Traffic on 94 is going to be a nightmare right now," Ben said, though he was already walking toward the passenger side.

"I’ve got my iced coffee. I’m ready for battle," she joked, sliding into the driver's seat.

Once they were both buckled in, Ben pulled up the GPS on his phone. "Three hours and twelve minutes to Door County. Do you want me to put on that historical podcast, or are we feeling a playlist?"

"Podcast until we clear the suburbs, then music," Maya decided.

Ben queued up the audio and rested his hand on Maya’s shoulder for a brief, warm second. As she signaled and merged onto the busy avenue, the lingering stress of their workweek finally began to dissolve into the rhythmic hum of the road.


Maya yanked the zipper of her canvas duffel bag closed, tossing it onto their unmade bed. "Did you pack the phone chargers, or should I?" she called out to the kitchen.

"I grabbed the extra ones from the living room," Liam replied. He stood in front of the open refrigerator, assessing the remaining groceries. "We have half a carton of milk and some spinach. Toss them or leave them?"

"Toss the spinach, leave the milk. It's only two days," Maya said, walking in with her bag slung over her shoulder. They’d been living together in their cramped Seattle apartment for three years, but getting out the door for a weekend getaway still felt like a synchronized routine they hadn't quite perfected.

Liam dumped the wilted greens into the compost bin and rinsed his hands. "Alright. The Airbnb host sent the door code this morning. I saved it offline just in case reception is spotty on the coast."

"Perfect. You got the cooler?"

"Yep, it's already in the trunk." He grabbed his keys from the bowl by the door. "Thermostat is down. Lights are off. Did we forget anything?"

Maya paused, mentally walking through the rooms. "I don't think so. I watered the pothos. Let's just get on the road before I-5 turns into a parking lot."

They locked the apartment and headed down the carpeted hallway to the parking garage. As Liam popped the trunk of his Honda, Maya arranged her duffel next to the cooler and the grocery bag of road snacks.

"You want to drive first, or should I?" Liam asked, hovering by the driver's side door.

"You drive until we pass Tacoma," Maya decided, climbing into the passenger seat and opening Google Maps on her phone. "I'll navigate and find us a drive-thru. I'm going to need a massive coffee."


Maya zipped her canvas duffel bag and set it by the front door of the apartment. "Are you taking the blue cooler or the small one?" she called toward the kitchen.

"The small one," Liam yelled back over the sound of running water. "We only need enough room for the sandwiches and a few seltzers. The Airbnb has a full fridge." He appeared in the hallway, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "Did you remember the extra phone chargers?"

"Got them," Maya said, holding up a small zippered pouch. "And I already watered the pothos. If we leave in ten minutes, we can beat the worst of the I-95 traffic."

Liam nodded, glancing around the living room to ensure the windows were locked and the thermostat was turned down. They’d been living together for two years, and the routine of escaping their cramped Boston apartment for a weekend in Maine had become a well-oiled machine. Still, there was always the minor negotiation of the road.

"I'll drive the first leg," Liam offered, grabbing his keys from the ceramic bowl on the console table. "If you navigate and handle the audio."

"Deal. But I’m forcing a stop at the drive-thru. I need a massive iced coffee if I’m going to survive your highway singing."

Liam chuckled and grabbed the cooler. Together, they navigated the two flights of narrow stairs down to the street. The autumn air was crisp, a preview of the weekend waiting for them up north. Liam tossed their bags into the trunk of their Honda while Maya claimed the passenger seat, immediately scrolling through her Spotify library.

As Liam merged onto the interstate, plastic coffee cups already sweating in the center console, Maya hit play on a podcast. Liam reached over, gave her knee a quick squeeze, and settled in for the drive.


Maya stood in the kitchen, double-checking the lock on the back door and making sure the coffee maker was unplugged. She reached over to adjust the thermostat down to sixty-five degrees. "Did you grab the cooler?" she called out down the hallway.

Liam emerged from the bedroom, a heavy canvas duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a reusable grocery tote full of pretzels, apples, and string cheese in his hand. "Got it. I put the ice packs in last night. Do we need both of our rain jackets?"

"Bring them," Maya said, grabbing her sunglasses and the apartment keys from the kitchen island. "The forecast said it might drizzle Sunday morning near the coast, and I don't want to be stuck inside the whole time."

They had been living together for over two years, and the routine of packing for weekend getaways had settled into a comfortable, efficient rhythm. This trip—a two-night stay at a small rented cabin—was a much-needed break from their hectic work weeks.

Out in the driveway, Liam popped the trunk of his Honda Civic. They played a brief, familiar game of Tetris with their luggage, wedging the blue cooler snugly beside Maya’s weekender bag.

"I’ll drive first," Liam offered, pulling the hatch shut.

"Deal. But I’m in charge of the playlist," Maya said, sliding into the passenger seat. "And we are definitely stopping at that drive-thru stand on the highway for coffee. I can't survive a three-hour drive on just half a piece of toast."

Liam started the engine, waiting a