Fanfare (16 page)

So, what it boils down to is this: I am not going to the bathroom outside. No. Never. I’ll hold it until my bladder explodes . . . and don’t even talk to me about the deuce. NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN.

Thus, money will not make me go camping as the demands of my bodily functions cannot be avoided in that scenario. I had a friend in Puerto Rico that I grew up with, and he went camping once with a bunch of his buddies. They probably didn’t cook their food properly, and he got sick . . . as in major gastrointestinal issues. He forgot to take toilet paper with him into the forest and used some leaves instead. Turns out . . . he used poison ivy. I still call him “Ass on Fire” when I see him.

It’s Celebrity Deathmatch Sunday. Don’t forget, you must make a serious argument for your pick. Miss Piggy vs. Optimus Prime. Go.

Chip

The morning after Tom first met my mother, I woke up early and put on comfortable clothes and tennis shoes, as he directed the night before. Grabbing my packed overnight bag, I met him at the bottom of the stairs in my house and knew I sported a markedly suspicious look on my face.

“I hate it when you won’t tell me what we’re doing,” I grumbled.

“I know.” He flashed a close-lipped grin at me with unabashed smugness.

“You’re sure I don’t need to bring anything except water?” I asked for the fifth time.

He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and gathered his things.

“Are you going to play for me?” I teased as I took note of his guitar.

“No. I don’t go anywhere without my guitar. It’s my version of Linus’s blanket,” he bit back smarmily.

“Gotta love that British sarcasm. It just reeks of too many sunless days and secondhand smoke,” I retorted with a half-smile.

After giving my mom promises to return safely, we walked out the front door to my car. He wordlessly handed me a piece of paper with an address on it, and I proceeded to type it into my Garmin GPS. Twenty minutes later, we pulled up to a car rental place in Raleigh. He stepped out of my tiny Civic after directing me to sit still (if possible) for a few moments, and then he carefully concealed himself behind large aviator sunglasses and a worn baseball cap. Soon, he came out with paperwork and a set of keys.

“No. You’re wretchedly adorable, but I have nothing to say yet,” he stated flatly when he saw the look on my face.

Taking his lead, I removed my bags from my car as he took down my GPS from the windshield and walked over to a gunmetal-grey Jeep Cherokee that had just been moved out front by an employee. He loaded our things into the backseat and took position behind the wheel.

“You’re just going to have to trust me. Give up. You’re not going to suss it out anytime soon,” he jibed.

I glared at him for a moment before climbing into the passenger seat.

“I’m the planner!” I sputtered as I watched him type a destination into my newly muted Garmin. How childish did that sound?

“What are you talking about?”

Might as well embarrass myself fully. “I’m the planner. Ask my friends. Anytime we go someplace or do something, I plan everything right down to carpooling. I don’t know how the responsibility always fell onto me, but it’s just been that way for a long time,” I muttered.

“I know how it fell onto you. You’re a total control freak. Most people don’t want to fight with a woman who’s gone mental and takes her inspiration from Mussolini.”

I shoved his shoulder lightly. “Seriously, though. I can’t remember the last time I felt so utterly out of control.”

He paused a moment. “The wanker never surprised you with a trip?” His jaw always set with slight tension whenever Ryan was brought into the conversation.

“No,” I answered honestly. “I usually did most of the planning.”

“I told you he was a wanker.”

“So, when are you going to tell me what the hell we’re doing today?” It was never a good idea to dwell on an ex-file.

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes as it usually did. “Hopefully, I won’t have to tell you. The closer we get, the more obvious it should become. I’m counting on your natural intelligence just as much as I’m counting on you liking me enough to forgive me.”

My mouth fell open a bit as I narrowed my eyes at Tom. “So, you think I’m not going to be happy about it.”

“I’m living dangerously right now. You should try it.”

I refused to answer as I wracked my brain for possibilities. From the corner of my eye, I could see him studying me.

“Cristina, you really need to live outside your head more,” he said gently.

“Meaning?”

“Exactly that. I can see the wheels turning. Have you ever considered spending a day every once in a while where you don’t think . . . you just do?” His tone was introspective and slightly prodding.

I thought for a moment more. He laughed outright. “What?” I asked in confusion.

“You can’t even answer that question without stopping to think first!”

“Hah, hah.”

“I believe I have my answer. Well, my goal is to make you live outside of your head. This is only the beginning,” he stated with satisfaction.

“I might not like it.”

“How would you know?” He wagged his eyebrows at me in an absurdly cute fashion.

After a few hours of traveling in a westerly direction, the Appalachian Mountains loomed majestically before us. When it became clear to me that we were heading intentionally closer to them, I cleared my throat in an attempt to stifle the slew of questions bubbling precariously in my chest, just waiting for an opportunity to burst forth.

Soon, he parked the Jeep on Main Street near a Sporting Goods store in a sleepy town that emerged from the endlessly winding roads slicing their path through the rolling terrain. I stepped out of the Jeep and stretched my arms over my head as I breathed in the clean air and watched a soothing breeze ripple through the trees around us. Armed with his hat and sunglasses, we proceeded to walk up and down the quiet street and peer into the windows of the shops along the sidewalk. I was fairly certain we didn’t have to worry about the paparazzi in this quiet haven. Tom reached over to take my hand as we paused in front of a gallery to look at the clay pottery lining the window. About an hour later, we walked back towards the car, intent on getting something to eat. A delicatessen was attached to the Sporting Goods store, so we went inside to order some sandwiches for a picnic lunch. I grabbed more water and a few granola bars in preparation for what I felt certain was an impending hike.

Holding our selections, we walked to the register located between the deli and store to pay for our food. The grey-bearded man nodded at Tom with a patient smile as he rang up the few incidentals in our hands.

“That will be $421.67,” he announced in a kind tone.

“What!?” I cried involuntarily.

Nonplussed, Tom handed the man his credit card. “Thanks, Jim.”

“Are you crazy?” I demanded. “There’s been a mistake, sir,” I said to the man as he proceeded to slide Tom’s credit card through the machine.

“The maps and manuals are sittin’ on the driver’s seat. You call me if you need anything,” Jim said to Tom as he reached over to shake his hand.

“Of course. You’ve been a lifesaver. Thanks again. Say hello to Janie for me,” Tom said with a big smile.

“Will do.”

Tom took my hand and led me outside. My face still registered nothing but complete confusion . . . until he opened my door for me, and I saw that the trunk was filled to the brim with . . .

Camping gear.

“Priceless. You look utterly gobsmacked. It’s perfect,” he crowed as he nudged me into my seat by prodding on my lower back.

“You . . . no . . . I . . . THOMAS!”

“Just wait, just wait. Before you verbally berate me in multiple languages, let me explain,” he started.

“¡Este hombre esta del carajo!” I wailed.

He started the engine of the Jeep while snickering to himself, obviously proud of his successful gambit.

“I found a campsite right next to public toilets. Relax. You don’t have to piss in the woods,” he teased.

While slightly mollified at hearing this news, I still felt as though I had a right to some important information. “Have you ever been camping?” I demanded.

“No.”

“Um . . . two idiots alone in the forest with no prior camping experience doesn’t sound like a recipe for a fun time,” I stated dubiously.

“It can’t be that hard. You’re intelligent, and I’d like to think I’m reasonably smart. Isn’t camping essentially sleeping and eating in the woods? I don’t think we’re going to die trying it out.”

“Famous last words. I think they probably said the same shit to each other in ‘The Blair Witch Project’ before a psycho in the mountains killed them all. Just so you know, I can’t be counted on for much, but I’ll give it a try.” I snatched the manuals from the floor in between us and tried to set a course of action in an attempt to assuage my fears.

We found the campsite and parked the car nearby before yanking the accoutrements out of the trunk and laying it all out on the ground to begin devising a scheme for assemblage.

“All these fucking poles look the same,” Tom announced in dismay as we still struggled to erect the tent an hour later.

“Because you’re not even looking at the directions! How predictably male!” I pried the papers from under the rock employed by Tom to keep the instruction manual from blowing away. The afternoon sun grew hotter on my back, so I rolled the sleeves of my T-shirt and the bottom of my jeans higher to fight back against the heat.

“This shite is doomed,” he stated as he looked at the ragged excuse for a tent that was beginning to take “shape” under our inexperienced guidance. “One strong breeze and we’re done for.” He opened a bottle of water and dumped it onto the back of his neck to combat the rising temperature.

“Don’t look at me! Didn’t you tell me you spent your formative years in London’s West End? I guess they don’t offer tent-building classes or Boy Scout training in Leicester Square!”

“Piss off! I suppose you didn’t take much time from obsessively organizing your life on Microsoft OneNote to learn anything useful either!” he mocked as he tossed the empty water bottle in my direction.

“Dude. If some cataclysmic event befalls the earth anytime soon, we’re done for. It’s Darwinian. We can’t even put together a place of refuge from the elements.”

“No. It would only be Darwinian if we were unable to propagate.” He winked suggestively in my direction.

“Don’t hold your breath, you perv. I won’t ‘propagate’ with anyone unless I have shelter.”

“So demanding. I think you need to lower your expectations.”

“I think you need to stop talking and help me put together this friggin’ tent!” I said with exasperation.

An hour later and we were both dripping sweat. A ramshackle excuse for a campsite surrounded us. The tent had a decidedly fuck-it-all look to it, and the cooler filled with our food sat next to a pile of twigs surrounded by a circle of misshapen stones that comprised a miserable parody of a fire pit.

“I smell terrible!” I proclaimed as I tugged on the sleeve of my T-shirt again. “Good call on the camping, genius. I feel incredibly sexy right now.”

“Against all odds, you do manage to look quite sexy. Damn, it’s hot!” he announced loudly before yanking his sweat-soaked shirt over his head.

“That’s not fair. I hope you get chewed to bits by the bugs.” I pretended to study the manual again to hide the flush that flared onto my cheeks at the sight of his semi-nude form. Ugh . . . so . . . unfair.

He laughed at me. “No one’s stopping you from doing the same.”

I raised my head and wrinkled my nose at him. “You wish. This campsite didn’t come with a pool by any chance, did it?” I pulled at my sticky shirt to increase the airflow onto my skin.

“No pool . . . but . . . there’s a lake about a quarter of a mile that way.” A gleam had come into his eyes—a gleam that spelled trouble for me.

“No way.”

“Come on. I’ll race you.” He wagged his eyebrows at me in anticipation.

“Um. I—”

“Don’t think. Just do.” He grabbed my hand and took off towards the lake with me in tow.

“What about our stuff!?” I yelled through the trees.

“Run, you idiot! You don’t want to lose, do you?” he shouted back through his laughter.

Don’t think. Just do. I pushed aside the concern for my purse and our food. I forgot about worrying that I might trip over tree roots or get smacked by a branch in the face. Soon, I only worried about keeping pace with the tall man ahead of me. I had no idea where we were going . . . and for some reason I didn’t feel compelled to ask as I placed one foot in front of the other and willed my legs to fly. I dodged roots and trunks in our path. The mirth rose from my stomach and into my throat, eclipsing the exhaustion that had overtaken me only moments before.

I smelled the lake before I saw it . . . as though the hedonistic run through the forest had heightened my instincts. Tom curved the trajectory of our sprint in the direction of the lake’s center and grabbed my hand once more as we approached it.

“I’m not just going to run into it!” I yelled in dismay as I tried to slow down.

“Oh yes, you bloody well are!” He yelled a nonsense word I didn’t understand as he plowed ahead into the murky lake water.

“Ahhhhh!” I screeched as I closed my eyes and followed after him. The shock of the cool water drowned my scream as it mixed in with our laughter.

“Bollocks, it’s cold!” he yelled.

“What you said!” I shouted back.

He pulled me to him and placed his bare arms around my torso as he waded into even deeper water. My feet no longer found footing, and only our heads remained above water.

“There better not be leeches or weird blood-sucking creatures near the bottom of this lake,” I warned as I brushed my water-soaked hair out of my face. He chuckled as he slid his palms down my thighs to lift and wrap my legs around his waist.

“I’m saving you from the leeches,” he explained as I arched my left eyebrow at the suggestive stance he had just created by intertwining my limbs across his back. “But . . . I can’t in good conscience save you from myself.”