2. Lila
TWO
LILA
I’m off to a great start.
Turn up late to a trip I don’t want to take? Check. Meet the hottest man I’ve seen in eons? Check. Feel an absurd zing shiver across my skin when we shake hands? Double check.
Watch as his smile turns from friendly to frosty in a matter of heartbeats? Also check.
I smile even wider. I got used to being dismissed by the tech bros I used to work with and my ex-fiancé, who was their king. The key to dealing with it is to never let them know when they get to you. So when this guy’s smile does a disappearing act? I don’t even notice.
Even if a tiny little worm of insecurity wriggles around inside me, reminding me that I do, in fact, notice.
Honestly, he’s a very noticeable guy. Tall and broad, with wavy dark hair that just kisses his forehead, sky blue eyes that seem designed to see straight into my soul, and an actual dimple in his chin.
Oh, and also? He’s watching me with his mouth tugged down like I just ruined his vacation. The moment doesn’t last, and he smiles at me again, but it’s not the same .
“Grant Irwin, from Texas,” Deena had said. Well, Grant Irwin from Texas, you can go jump in a lake.
Considering the trip we’re about to go on, he would probably love to do exactly that, but whatever.
I try to put the guy out of my head—no small task—and turn back to Deena. “Did I miss anything?”
What I want to say is, “Can I miss everything?”
The closest I get to “outdoorsy” is driving around in my Honda Accord blasting Folklore with the windows rolled down—exploring the woods has never been on my list of to-dos.
Not that I would complete a to-do list if I ever made one.
But if I want to turn my part-time job as Sunshine’s special events planner into a full-time job as their tourism coordinator, I need to get familiar with the woods, and fast. Everything else around town, I’ve got covered—where to shop, where to get the best meals, where to stay—but when it comes to all the outdoorsy stuff people might come here for? I’ve got nothing. Thus, the five days ahead of me pretending to be a Girl Scout.
It’s fine. It’s all going to be fine. This is just a little adventure. True, my adventures usually spin more toward populated places and five-star hotels, but I can work with this.
I kind of have to.
“We’re just about to load up our packs.”
Deena leads me to the back wall where six backpacks and a dizzying array of camping gear are laid out. Their storefront is mostly an empty room. Posters of people on mountaintops or rafting down rivers line the walls, blasting their inspirational messages. A counter sits near the door where someone could theoretically greet walk-in customers, but it’s pretty clear this place is just a staging area for their trips.
Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine going on one of them semi-willingly.
Mitchell explains that this will be a light hike—we’ll only walk five to seven miles per day. I exhale the tiniest of whimpers. He adds that this is the trip they take families with little kids on, so nothing should be outside of our ability. Feels kind of pointed, to be honest.
Since we’re going backcountry camping, we have to carry all of our supplies with us. Everything is already divided according to individual essentials and group necessities, with color-coded patches on each pack so we know which one is ours. I walk over to my section, and I think my eyes fall out of my head. They’re making a whole lot of assumptions about what we can carry, that’s all I’m saying. God gave us luggage with wheels for a reason.
“Don’t some companies have alpacas or donkeys to carry all of the supplies?” I say, staring at everything in front of the pack. I don’t even know what half of this is, and I have to lug it around for a week?
Mitchell’s good-natured laugh rumbles around the room. He’s very unassuming, even though he’s low-key ripped for being in his fifties. Like a hot dad in a K-drama who turns out to be a mob boss. “As much as Deena would love to own an alpaca, we don’t have one.”
“It’s something to consider. Backpacking with alpacas could be a big draw.” I can see the website updates now, with a picture of one happily toting everyone’s supplies on the trail. His name would be Jean-Pierre, and he would relish the attention.
If only.
“Alpacas might not get along so well with the bears.”
“The couples share tents,” Deena says before I can ask for bear-related specifics, “so we have room to carry more food supplies than the singles do.”
My eyes dart to the only other single’s wide shoulders. I bet Grant can carry a lot of food. Maybe not as much as Jean-Pierre could, but he would have no problem bringing the groceries home, that’s for sure.
“And Mitchell packs the camp toilet,” she adds.
I hold a breath. Here I was thinking bears would be the worst this conversation had to offer. “The what?”
“Camp toilet.” She says it again as though those words make any more sense the second time around. “It’s a collapsible chair with a bag underneath filled with a drying material. Kind of like cat litter.”
Can you feel it when all the blood drains out of your face? Is that what this creepy-crawly sensation washing over me is? I’m not even going to try to imagine what she’s describing. That could only compound my horror and embarrassment. In all my research, in all my prep for this trip, never once did I consider that there would not be toilets available.
Why wouldn’t they put that right on the website home page? Five days exploring the best the National Forest has to offer. Hey, also, you’ll be peeing in a cup. Sign up now! There. Fixed it for them.
“Don’t worry,” one of the other women says. Shannon, I think. They both wear colorful bandanas to keep their chic gray hair out of their faces, so I’m not entirely sure which is which yet. “You’ll get used to it.”
I really, really don’t want to get used to a cat litter toilet.
“You also have the option of digging a hole every time,” Mitchell points out. “The camp toilet provides a more comfortable experience if you want it.”
I clamp my mouth shut on every retort about the definition of comfort. They’re comping my spot on this trip in exchange for some social media promo. Whether I have a good time this week or not, I’m technically here on a business arrangement. Complaining about the “amenities” wouldn’t be a good look.
No matter how justified .
“For what it’s worth, our camp toilet is pretty nice.”
Not exactly unqualified praise. Reminding myself to focus on the positive, I make a pathetic sound of agreement.
For some reason, my gaze meets Grant’s across the room. His eyebrows tick up in amusement, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. Well, why wouldn’t he? What sane person wants to use a toilet like that? If you have to use more than one word to describe it, it’s a bad toilet. If it’s the next step up from a literal hole in the ground, it’s a very bad toilet.
I tilt my chin at him in defiance and spin back to the gear on the floor. I force a smile as I take it all in. Smiling when you don’t mean it is supposed to reduce stress and instill feelings of happiness. I don’t know if I can reach “happiness” after hearing about the bathroom situation, but a little stress reduction would be nice.
I never really managed it at my last job working for my ex-fiancé, but I’m nothing if not optimistic.
“Go ahead and start loading your packs, everyone. The water reservoirs are already filled.” Deena slips closer to me, and her eyes dart down to my roller bag as if I might have an alpaca in there. If only I’d known it was BYOA . “I think you might have overpacked. Did you get the list I emailed you?”
Everyone else seems to have a small duffel bag or a tote for their clothes. My bright, shiny luggage is doing its job, and then some—it stands out in a crowd. A plastic grocery bag would have been less conspicuous here.
“I used the packing list, but this is the smallest bag I have.”
“Let’s take a look at what you brought and see where we can pare down.” She kneels right by my bag, waiting for me to open it.
Everyone else is loading their backpacks, but careful side-eyes shoot my way. This is worse than when TSA flags my bag and paws through it looking for the six ounces of vitamin C serum I forgot I packed.
I get on the floor with her and unzip my bag. Deena doesn’t paw, but she assesses everything in a single glance.
“You’ve got a few too many things here.” Her smile says she’s trying to be sweet, but her volume says she doesn’t care who hears this conversation. “What you’ve got on and a single change is enough.”
“For five days?” I manage not to screech, but barely. That can’t possibly be right. We’ll be sweaty and dirty from hiking every day—of course I’ll need more clothes than that.
“It’s a relaxed trip.” She shrugs as if that’s explanation enough. When I go on staring at her, she adds a little more. “By the end of the hike, you’ll be happier to have a lighter pack than clean clothes.”
I try to keep my smile in place as I look over everything I brought. Following the packing list she emailed, I’d carefully selected my clothes: light layers, a warm fleece jacket, a raincoat, athletic shirts, long sleeve camp shirts, thick socks, an extra sports bra, and several sets of undies. Just to be safe, I also packed flannel pajama pants, fuzzy socks, a swimsuit, and a cozy sweater, but thankfully, she isn’t making me inventory my luggage.
“Doesn’t it get cold at night?”
“You’ve got room for the fleece and the rain jacket, and a pair of long underwear to sleep in. Bring the lightweight shorts and a tank top if you think you’ll want to swim. Leave everything else but one extra shirt behind. We can put your bag in the office until we get back.”
Having said her devastating piece, she gets up to check in with some of the others.
What did I do to deserve needing to alternate between two shirts for five days? I haven’t committed any heinous crimes lately. It’s been at least eight months since I bumped another car while parallel parking. Maybe seven, but it’s up there.
Cindy leans my way. “Don’t worry. Everyone winds up smelling equally ripe on a trip like this.”
I try to laugh but just make a sad seal sound instead. Arguing about my clothes seems pointless, since I can’t take anything with me besides this backpack. I pull out the two warm layers, an extra pair of socks, and the overly optimistic swimming gear. Checking that Deena’s not looking, I grab all the underwear like a raccoon scooping up forbidden trash. I’m sure I can handle carrying a few extra ounces for the comfort of wearing clean underpants every day.
Following a helpful diagram on the wall, I load everything into the pack. First goes the sleeping bag and the sleep mat, both stuffed into tinier bags than seem possible. Next, the spare clothes and secret underwear, plus an abysmally thin camp towel and my extra-small toiletry bag. I predict a tween-level zit breakout in my future after a week of minimalist skincare, but if Deena thinks underwear is too much, I’d hate to see her reaction to my usual intensive routine.
The other containers and bags they’ve set out are a mystery to me—and an even bigger mystery is when I manage to get it all in the pack. I give the straining backpack a test heft, and can’t help the little whimper I make. Why did I sign up for this again?
Right—to prove to Mayor Martinez and the town council that I’m serious about championing Sunshine’s many outdoor activities, as well as our restaurants and shopping scene. Which I am…I’d just prefer to do it from a distance. I can encourage everyone else to get outside without having to experience it myself, can’t I?
Mitchell double-checks our packs while Deena wheels away my rolling luggage in an embarrassing display. She disappears into a back room, and I long for my extra changes of clothes .
“You look like she just kidnapped your baby.” Cindy doesn’t do a good job of containing her smirk.
I clear my face of whatever pathetic thing it’s doing. “It’s just clothes. Who cares what I look like on this rustic adventure?”
This is another “fake it til you make it” type thing. I always care.
Shannon just grins. “You lose your pride pretty quickly on trips like this.”
“Especially when you have to carry a personal trowel for digging private holes,” her husband butts in.
A shudder wracks through me, crumbling my bravado. If that’s the upside I have to cling to this trip, it’s going to be a rough five days.
Meh. I always knew it would be a rough five days. Still.
“Do you go on trips like this a lot?” I ask them.
Cindy gestures between the two couples. “The four of us have had a backcountry adventure every summer for the last fifteen years.”
“You might say we’re professional outdoorsmen,” Scott says. I don’t think that’s a thing, but he beams like he’s just itching to point out a plaque with his name on it somewhere. “We can guess already that you’re new to this, Lila.”
Heat creeps up my neck at his patronizing tone, but it’s not like he’s wrong. My sparkly luggage probably gave me away the minute I walked through the door. “Pretty new.”
“What about you, Grant?” Brian asks. Everyone swivels around to look at the guy hovering by his neat pack in the corner. “Professional outdoorsman?”
He could be one, given his build and the way he looks like he just walked off the pages of an LL Bean catalog. Somebody get this man an ax and a tree that needs chopping, stat. Dismissive eyes or not, I’d watch that show .
His gaze skates over the couples and lands on me. He shakes his head, but a smile touches his mouth. “I’d say I’m an amateur outdoorsman.”
The prickle of heat crawling over my skin blossoms into something much more pleasant. I shouldn’t feel good that he doesn’t know what he’s doing either, but it’s a relief I won’t be the only clueless person on this trip. Grant and I can stumble through it together.
Not together together. Just in the same vicinity. Obviously.
Deena returns from wherever she hid my roller bag and heads straight for me with a weird light in her eyes. Can she sense the extra underpants in my pack? Is she going to make me surrender them?
“Before we load up the van and head out, do you mind if I take a quick picture with you?” Her smile turns awkward. “Normally, I wouldn’t ask, but our daughter Skye is out of her head with excitement that Genuinely_Lila is coming on one of our treks.”
“Of course.” I’m not really at my best in my athleisure and a high pony, but hopefully Skye won’t mind the departure from my usual Genuinely_Lila aesthetic. Deena leans in close and takes a few pictures before doing something on her phone, her grin back to full wattage.
“Genuinely Lila?” Shannon asks. “What’s that?”
I pull a face, hoping she’ll let it go. “It’s just a social media thing. Are we ready to be outdoorsy or what?”
I bend over and grab the top strap of my pack but can barely straighten up again. My attempt at nonchalance isn’t going so hot. I’m all chalance.
“Lila’s a local celebrity.” Deena’s fake whisper carries remarkably well. “She has thousands of followers.”
My smile feels a little too thin. People in town have an image of me, probably fueled by my mom’s constant stream of praise, that I’m this amazing success both on- and off-line. I was for a while in Seattle, but here in my studio apartment, scrambling to get a full-time job, that label doesn’t fit anymore.
Plus…my followers have no idea I’m still using old pictures and B-roll videos from my life in the city more than six months after everything turned upside down. Social media followers don’t exactly stick with you after your fiancé cheats, you end things with him, lose your job, and move back to your small hometown to restart your life.
Basically, Genuinely_Lila is a big old fraud.
“Are you one of those influencers?” Brian’s mouth twists as though the word tastes sour.
“I’m more of a content creator.” Most people don’t know either definition anyway, but they’re far more forgiving of content creators than they are of influencers.
Scott waves his hands across his chest in a big X. “I do not give consent for you to use pictures of me. I don’t want my face all over the internet.”
“Oh. I wasn’t going to?—”
“Like anybody wants to see your big mug,” Shannon says with a laugh.
“I’m just here to enjoy the views,” I tell them. “Nobody has to worry about non-consensual photographs.”
The two couples look me over like I’m a particularly precocious child who’s been indulged too long. Even Grant’s expression turned to mild curiosity when the word influencer was tossed around.
So yeah, off to a great start.