Miller’s van functions as a symbol of her fear of attachment. The renovated green Sprinter is a self-contained world designed to keep Miller moving and insulated from the pain of forming bonds she’ll inevitably leave behind. Miller frames her nomadic lifestyle as a practical necessity of her career, but the novel reveals it’s a defense rooted in guilt and loss. She believes that never settling down spares her adoptive father from further sacrifice while protecting herself from the pain of growing close to others. When Kai challenges this logic by moving her belongings into his guest room, he confronts what the van represents: “[C]onvincing yourself that because you sleep in a place with wheels it’ll keep you detached from everyone around you, that’s on you” (193). His words reframe the van’s meaning by exposing the gap between the independence she projects and the isolation she actually experiences. The van allows Miller to avoid the vulnerability that genuine belonging demands, keeping her from the very connections that might heal the wounds left by her mother’s death and the guilt she carries over her father’s sacrifices.

As Miller gradually transfers her life indoors, the van loses its psychological hold over her. Its meaning shifts as she occupies Kai’s kitchen, his guest room, and eventually his bed. By the novel’s conclusion, when Miller drives back to Chicago for good, the van carries her toward connection rather than away from it. The vehicle that once embodied flight becomes the instrument of her return, illustrating the novel’s celebration of finding the courage to stop running and choose the people who make life feel whole.