Chapter 30
Buttery yellow streaks of sun paint my room. It’s cozier than I realized in the dark of last night. My eyes are puffy and sore. Dots of light circle my vision as I stumble out to the kitchenette.
There’s a slightly melted latte sitting next to a single blueberry muffin. A piece of stationary covered in tiny sunflowers is propped up against the back splash, it reads:
‘Addie. I’m sorry I wasn’t more supportive or understanding last night.
Of course your passions matter to me, and I’m endlessly proud of you.
I should tell you more. It just never seems like you need it, you’ve got the whole world on your shoulders and you don’t even act like it’s heavy.
I was really in my head last night, and your call was honestly the last thing I expected.
I have a guided hike today til ten. Please meet me up at Taft Point for a basket brunch? Just like we used to.’
Her signature is swirly and girly just like her, and my heart thuds.
Caffeine hits my bloodstream, and the world feels less bleak.
She got my coffee preference right this time—sweet maple syrup with a hint of sea salt swirled in oat milk.
The tightness in my chest starts to unwind—I never can be mad at her for very long.
It’s challenging to believe Riley ever intends anything maliciously.
Plus, maybe she’s not as inconsiderate as my ego is telling me she is.
I spend the better part of the morning moping around the tiny cabin, trying to wrap my head around the absurdity that is me riding in Red Bull Rampage.
A team full of guys I’ve never met is going to help me build a trail, which could very well end my career before it even starts.
On my three-hundredth loop around the tiny living room, I decide to take my pity party outdoors.
The park is still sleeping—massive tourist groups haven’t made their way through the west entrance yet.
I haven’t been here since I was a kid. I’m feeling reflective, grinding myself into a never-ending spiral of self doubt.
I take a few deep inhales of fresh mountain air, and I’m feeling ever so slightly more centered.
I worry the desert isn’t going to have the same effect on me. What am I going to do without the pines to remind me of my favorite person? How will I cope without soft greens and high peaks?
The desert is my least favorite place. It’s alluring…at first. The reds and oranges are like a sunrise, but sunrises fade, and then you’re left with dry lips and sand in your unmentionables.
My legs carry me down the trail. I slowly climb out of my rumination and back into my body for the first time since Reid told me he was leaving.
A crackled cry bobs up into my throat without warning.
Clutching at my chest, I fall forward until I nearly land on my face—all because of a tiny loose rock.
It’s some messed-up metaphor for my life.
I centered everything about me around one loose piece, one which never even belonged to me, and now that it’s gone, I’m left unsteady.
I’m ashamed, honestly. How did I let myself get so wrapped up in a fantasy that I’m heaving sobs on a hike over a man I never even had?
Just when I started to believe he could maybe have feelings for me too, he runs off. I’m foolish for letting myself hope.
Wiping my tears with the edge of my flannel, some dirt gets in my eye, and I work to blink it out, stumbling as I do. People probably think I’m drunk or something. This is truly ridiculous. I pull out my phone to make a note to myself about messaging my therapist.
After what feels like hours, I make it to Taft Point. The overlook leaves me breathless.
Towering high above Yosemite Valley, I finally get a grip on myself. Nature always has a way of humbling me, a sublime reminder of how minuscule my problems are. This is exactly the view I need right now, and I wonder if Riley chose it on purpose.
Stumbling on one of the fissures in the rock, I make my way under a pine tree. The smell comforts me, just like home—like Reid.
I sit staring at the horizon, watching as the morning sky mixes baby blue with smeared smog in the distance.
The falls are all dried up—it’s too hot towards the end of summer.
El Capitan is gleaming, solid and strong.
I focus on it, steadying my breaths and letting my negative thoughts flow onward like a meandering river.
It works. My spiral has slowed to a meandering serpentine.
Ink glides onto the worn paper of my journal as I let myself spill every illogical and unhelpful thought I’ve ever had.
I must have fallen asleep. Riley’s curls are shimmering in the sun as she hangs over me, shaking me gently. Crying is exhausting.
“Morning, sleeping beauty.”
She somehow seems even more free and beautiful than she did in Wyoming. It stuns me for a second. Riley grabs my open journal off my chest, and I snatch it out of her hand. “Uh, sorry. You can’t read that.”
My best friend tosses her hair over her shoulder and grabs my wrist to help me up. “I was just closing it for you. How invasive do you think I am?”
We both giggle before I reply, “You’re pretty invasive, Ri. Remember that time you walked in to ‘coach’ me during my first make out with Josh Barnes?”
Our giggles cascade into full blown laughter.
I let myself out from under the safety of the pine, and the sun blankets me in warmth.
Yeah, I fell apart, but I also put myself back together again.
Reid didn’t show up to save me. I waded through negative thought after negative thought, and I came back up for air again.
That’s a success, I have to believe that.
In typical Riley fashion, she sets up our picnic in the best spot—full sun and in the way of anyone trying to see the same view. Plopping down next to her, I do my best to catch her carefree attitude, even if it only lasts the morning.
We cheers our sandwiches. Every few minutes the panic starts to set in, and I have to let my eyes wander back to the crested domes of pale granite.
Riley stares at me intensely. “Addie, tell me what’s going on. What’s actually going on. Stop holding back, I can handle it.”
I’m not sure she can, but I tell her anyway. And I don’t apologize for how any of my emotions might make her feel.