37. Brighton
“What’s your favorite song?” Rhea asks, focused on her phone as we drive out of the city.
The one you sing in the shower in the morning… the one that you sing at the top of your lungs. It’s that one by Nine Days, Absolutely… or maybe it’s called Story of A Girl. It’s been stuck in your head for a week.
“Dunno. Probably something by the Eagles.” I adjust my grip on the steering wheel, checking over my shoulder to make sure that Daisy still has her headphones in.
It took some convincing, and none of it was me, but eventually we got her excited for the impromptu trip.
Rhea’s wearing shorts made of the thinnest fabric that rides up her tattooed thigh dangerously as she shifts in the seat and lets the wind push through her hair.
“Probably something by the Eagles,” she mocks me with a crazy laugh. “Says the guy who has a playlist for brushing his teeth. What is it really?”
If I told you, it would make it substantially harder to keep my hands to myself.
“The Reason by Hoobastank,” I tell her, it’s not the truth, but it’s so weird that she’ll overlook the way my heart is pounding, pinned to my sleeve and bleeding down my arm.
“Hoobastank!” She laughs even harder, and the soft strands of her dark hair fall from the ponytail she has in, “I can see it, you’ve got an unhealthy obsession with early-2000s rock-pop. I’ve never met a man in the top one percent of Nickelback's Spotify fans.”
“Don’t diminish that. It was hard to earn that award.” I scoff, and she smiles at me.
“I’m sure it was.” Her tone softens as she goes back to scrolling through her phone for music to play. “Give me your phone,” she asks, and I oblige. “You need to expand your musical tastes, Brighton Black. This is ridiculous.”
“If you put any girl-pop on that playlist, I’ll turn this truck around,” I toss out the empty threat.
“How fast? Because Sabrina Carpenter is itching to make your ears bleed,” she jokes, and her smile makes the lines around her eyes crinkle.
“At least three traffic violations will be made,” I grumble, but it seems to satiate her need to push my buttons because she quiets for a little while, and so does my mind.
I hate how easily she does that without knowing. Like having her close is an interference to all the other noise around me. I swallow tightly, checking on her out of the corner of my eye just to see her. Distraction isn’t healthy, but damn does she make it a comfortable place to be.
“How much further?” She doesn’t look up, but it’s clear she’s giving herself access to the road trip playlist I made so she can fix things she doesn’t like.
“We just left the city, Hellcat, don’t do that.” I sigh.
“Do what? Ask questions?” She laughs. Her hand is free of the splint now, but her fingers are still taped together for support.
She’s been antsy, pacing around the apartment like a caged animal because she hasn’t been able to play or lift weights.
I’m hoping that taking her out of the city does both of us some good.
She’s mentioned more than once how much she hates camping, but most people say that until they’re knee deep in it and having a good time in nature. She’s packed an extra bag full of God-knows-what and crammed it into the back of my truck, even though I told her it wouldn’t fit.
Just like I said she didn’t fit into my life and yet…
“Are you even listening?” she asks.
“Nope.”
She scowls and drops my phone back in the center console before kicking off her shoes and curling up her legs beneath her on the seat. “What’s your favorite song?” I question after a beat of silence, and her face scrunches up in thought.
“Uh,” she pauses, “maybe that song by Nine Days?” I try to hide the smile on my face.
“Story of a Girl?” I say like I don’t know exactly which one she’s talking about. “Is that your favorite or the song of the week?” I jab.
“Same thing.” She shrugs.
She closes her eyes and pulls the large hoodie she has on up around her chin as she rests back on the seat and eventually falls asleep.
The campsite is another two hours, and the silence that fills the truck is welcome as we pass small highway towns and rest stops, driving further into the wilderness.
The smell of trees and fresh air fills my nose, and it’s like balm to all the frayed nerves under my skin lately.
Rhea stirs a few times but never wakes, and as we pull into the campsite, I have to shake her shoulder gently to get her lucid. “We’re here,” I say quietly, reaching back to wake Daisy. “Sleepy head,” I tease her as she sits up and yawns, looking around at her new surroundings.
“We are in the middle of nowhere…” Rhea says.
“There’s no service out here, Dad,” Daisy whines as she looks up from her phone.
“Okay, you two…You’ll be alright for three days,” I say to them, and Daisy chucks her phone into her backpack. “Who wants to help me set up a tent?” I ask them, and both stare at me like I’ve got two heads. “Right…”
I climb from the truck and take a second with the fresh air and the quiet nature to steady myself.
So much has shifted in my life over the last few weeks that most days I feel completely sideways.
Being out here resets everything. It always does.
And when the breeze rustles through the trees, I feel them.
Hey boys.
My heart clenches for a moment, painfully so in my chest. Somewhere deep in the woods, the birds fight back and forth in the branches.
The lake stirs, the soft sound of waves kissing the shore, and I feel it in my bones.
This is a good decision. I breathe in the clean air, close my eyes, and root myself in the dirt before I start unloading.
Eventually, the two of them begin moving and start helping set everything out on the spot or on the nearby picnic table.
Rhea and Daisy laugh as she flips out about a bug she can’t identify, and I lay out the poles to the tent on the ground.
Daisy wanders over eventually to aid me in my struggle, her hands a welcome help but pretty unexpected.
“Sorry, there’s no service,” I say to her as I thread a pole through the fabric.
“All my music is downloaded, it’s chill.” She hands me another and holds up the stiff side as I push the pole up and around. “Well, it wasn’t, but…It’s only a couple of days.”
“That’s my girl,” I say to her and finish the third pole. “Hey uh…” I slow down, trying to come up with a way to word it that doesn’t have her closing up on me. “So who’s the boy?”
Daisy’s head snaps up, and she looks entirely unimpressed.
Okay, so wrong approach.
“Dad, no.” She shakes her head, “We are not having this talk.”
“Why not?” I scoff, “I wanna hear about him,” I say. I really do not, but here we are.
“No, you don’t,” she calls my bluff.
“Come on, I do. Tell me about him, what’s his name?” I ask her, even though I already know, it’s better to give the illusion of me being completely in the dark, so she can share what she wants and nothing more. Even though I’d prefer to hear everything…
“Auggie,” she confesses gently, and it feels like I’ve won the lottery. You got this. Keep her talking.
“What kind of name is Auggie?” I pull the line out again, and she scowls, but I can see the amusement on her face and know that I have her attention.
“His name is August, its a nickname,” she explains as she helps me flatten out the bottom of the tent. “He really likes music,” she says next, and I’m surprised by the information. “All the stuff I like.”
“Yeah?” I look up at her, and she’s smiling softly as she lines up the Velcro. “So are you like…”
“Dad,” she groans. “Please don’t.”
“Oh, come on, talk to me.” It’s not a plea, or a demand, and Daisy knows this because her body goes slack and she scratches the back of her neck. “I just wanna know what’s going on in your life.”
I’m trying. Please let me try.
“He hasn’t asked me,” she blurts.
He hasn’t asked you, but he’s kissed you… I hold my tongue, and in the distance, Rhea gives me a goofy thumbs up as she unpacks more stuff. It takes everything in me not to shake my head at her while Daisy has a teenage crisis in front of me.
“Have you talked about it?” I question, snapping the last pole in place. The tent pops up nicely, and Daisy hands me the rain cover from the bag.
“I can’t just be like, ‘Hey Auggie, so am I like your girlfriend or what?’” she says in a bundle of slang I barely catch. “That’s so not smooth.”
“So teenagers don’t talk about their feelings anymore?” I’m confused, and I catch Rhea covering her mouth to stifle the laugh. When Daisy disappears around the tent, I shoot Rhea a death glare. She throws both hands up in surrender.
“Also embarrassing Dad,” she whines. “We’re friends…”
This time, when Rhea catches my eye, something stirs.
“Isn’t that the best way to start something like that?” I swallow hard.
“Yeah, but what if it ruins it?” She proposes, and I can feel her worry.
The fear that by bringing it up with Auggie, there’s a chance she destroys the friendship she cherishes.
Rhea pretends like she’s not listening, but I see her pause briefly at the question, her shoulders roll back tightly before she starts piling the wood for a fire.
“If telling him how you feel ruins the friendship, then he isn’t a very nice boy,” I say, trying to avoid the thoughts that crawl around my subconscious. “Besides, he kissed you at that dance, didn’t he…”
“Dad!” Daisy yells and throws a stick that she swipes off the ground in my direction. “Please stop talking now, maybe forever. Just never speak again!” She throws her hands in the air and stomps away to help Rhea, who’s back to laughing.
Before long, the three of us have found a groove, and the campsite actually looks pretty livable, with lamps and a good fire burning in the middle. Rhea throws some blankets down on her air mattress inside the large tent and surveys the surroundings with pride.