3. Paige
3
Paige
I didn’t sleep at all last night.
I’d like to blame it on the fact Cleo was jumping on my feet under the covers anytime I moved them, but she always does that. It could have been the faint noises traveling through the return vents from Constance’s room. She was up late playing some kind of game that required a lot of groaning and smack talk.
But I’m fairly used to her night owl ways, too.
No. I’m pretty sure I didn’t sleep because I’m having second thoughts.
Maybe Rhodes has a point, and instead of traveling across multiple states alone, I should just take a few shorter trips. All night I kept thinking about everything that could go wrong: flat tires, kidnappers, road pirates, bad weather, bears, etc. The list I made in my head last night while I should have been sleeping is longer than Santa’s Naughty and Nice list.
I tap my phone screen beside my bed to check the time yet again and decide five a.m. is a perfectly reasonable time for someone to get up.
Someone who has a death wish, sure, but acceptable.
I throw the covers back, missing Cleo’s sprawled body by an inch, and slip my feet into the banana slippers Amber got me for my birthday last year. This year, we won’t be together, though. I’ll be on the open road. Alone.
Stop it !
I’m doing this for a reason.
I’m going to morph into an independent badass by the end of this trip.
Shaking my head, I shuffle my feet to the bathroom, which is basically a small closet behind my “kitchen,” a counter with a hot plate for a stove and a mini fridge below it. I brush through my shoulder length red hair that is every bit as frightful as the mirror says it is, scrub my teeth, and wash my face, packing my supplies into a small toiletries bag I’ll be taking with me. I top off the look with my circular, dark-rimmed glasses that hide the fear in my eyes.
I get a strong urge to pack the bag into the van right away so I don’t forget it, so without changing into shoes, I unlock the twenty-five deadbolts I— Rhodes —put on the door to my basement apartment when I first moved in and head for the van. Unsurprisingly, it’s still where I left it, parked in the center of the driveway in order to have enough space to pack and finish the odd jobs. Dad helped me load the remaining storage bins under the bed last night and stocked the pantry with food items.
I’m sure my parents will be excited to have this monstrosity out of their driveway again, but it only makes my anxiety spike to an uncomfortable level.
They aren’t coming with me.
A part of me, while small, is looking forward to this. It’s easier to be dependent on people when they are right there, in your space, your life. But when they aren’t, they are less of a crutch. I think that’s what has happened to me. I rely on them too much.
Like last month when I was short on rent, and my parents reminded me I don’t pay anything to live here. Or recently when I took Mom to my dental appointment, and the hygienist asked if she’d be staying, to which we both looked at her with a duh expression. Not to mention Dad’s way of picking up nearly two of everything from the grocery store, including my favorite kind of chocolate, to make sure I have a stocked pantry.
This needs to stop.
I'm almost thirty!
I love my family, but without them, I fear I might literally starve to death. But how else am I supposed to learn?
I take a deep breath and open one of the two side doors that sound like two squirrels fighting to put my mind at ease that everything is the exact same as it was yesterday. The wallpaper is still where it should be, the pots and pans are still in the single basin sink that is smaller than a toilet bowl, and my accent pillows are thrown in a heap on the full-size bed at the back.
The tension in my shoulders starts to recede, and a hint of a smile tugs at the corner of my lips. Worry and fear, and stress leaves my body when I think about my adventure. The solo traveler making it happen on the open road. It’ll be worth every penny I’ve scrounged up to have an experience like this one. It has to because I don't want my thirties to be like my twenties: aimless.
“Today’s the day,” I hear someone say behind me.
I have a guess at who it is. Pivoting quickly, I wave to Machete Lady, who is sharpening her swords on a rock. “Good morning. We ride at dawn.”
She looks off toward the sun peaking over the horizon. “It is dawn.”
I twist my lips and decide not to explain the reference. “After dawn, then. Later. I still have a few things to pack.”
She kneels to set one machete down and pick up the other. “Did you bring the knife I gave you?”
The pocket knife with twenty-four different utility uses I could never come up with—except for the scissors, which I’ve already used to clip a stray thread on my sweater—is tucked under my front seat.
“I sure did,” I confirm.
“Good,” she says with a nod. “Are you sure you don’t need a machete?”
I nod emphatically. “Positive.”
If I need a machete at any point in this trip then I’ve done it wrong.
Fiddling with the zipper on the toiletries bag, I let my doubts show. “Do you think I should do this? Go on this big road trip by myself, that is?”
What I don’t ask is: should I also rethink the machete ?
She braces her hands on her legs when she stands and tosses her long, black braid over her shoulder. “Depends.”
Great. I knew I bit off more than I should.
“Why are you going?” Her stare is level and steady.
I squirm a little and try to remember why . If I hadn’t been asking myself this question for the last couple of weeks, I wouldn’t be prepared to answer. But it’s been the only thing I’ve been able to come back to any time I’ve tried talking myself out of going.
“I’ve never really taken the time to think about what I wanted or taken a risk like this on my own. My parents and friends have always been there, encouraging me toward particular avenues and possibilities, picking me back up when my ideas fail.” I pause, restraining the emotions clawing up my throat. “I want to do this on my own and figure out what I want my life to look like at the end.”
The knife she gave me has more pockets than the cargo pants she wipes her hands on. “And you have to do it alone?”
I shift on my feet. “I mean, yeah. I’ve always had their input and support. I want to do this on my own.”
Why does it feel like I'm trying to convince her?
Probably because I’m still trying to convince myself.
She nods slowly, methodically, as if the silence between our words isn’t currently being devoured by all of the chirping birds. “I hope you figure out what you want.”
My smile is pinched, if only because it feels like maybe she isn’t saying something more. We aren’t super close like she and Constance apparently are, but she seems to be there whenever I need someone to talk to.
“Why does it sound like you don’t agree?” I ask in a brazen attempt to get the answers I need or want.
“I think you’re going to find something out there on the road.” She brackets her hips with her hands. “But road trips have a way of showing us what we didn’t expect instead of what we did. They might seem linear—going from point A to point B—but they aren’t.”
There are so many layers to her response I don’t know how to decipher all of them. I open my mouth to say something, but Constance steals my next words.
“Decided to slash your own tires to put yourself out of the misery that is this trip?”
I turn around and shift in time to see Constance slowly walking down the front steps. Her hands are at her sides, and are those…machetes?
“What the hell—”
“Pearl,” Constance says with a nod toward our neighbor.
“Constance.”
“Why are you holding those—”
“Don’t ask questions,” Constance cuts me off. “Are you leaving?”
The irony of her asking me a question isn’t lost, but I simply smile and clutch my toiletries bag closer to my chest for protection. I’m surrounded by knives. “Not yet.”
“A shame.”
I laugh even though it’s clipped. A surge of affection and warmth passes over me, and I’m all too aware of how much I’m going to miss my sister. Sure, she has machetes in her hands, but I don’t let it stop me from wrapping her in a tight hug when she gets close enough.
“I’m going to miss you,” I tell her.
She doesn’t move, but I think that’s because her arms are pinned to her sides, and she doesn’t have that option.
“Don’t change while I’m gone.”
Her breathing is strained. “Don’t…plan…on it.”
I let her go and take a deep breath before letting it all the way out as a car pulls up along the curb.
Rhodes .
I didn’t think he would come since we said our goodbyes yesterday. Suddenly, my hands are sweaty, and my stomach feels as though it will fall out of my ass.
Make that two cars since Amber is pulling up behind him and crawling out of hers.
They aren’t supposed to be here. One goodbye yesterday was good enough.
“You’re up early,” I yell at both of them.
Amber wraps her beige sweater around her tighter as she approaches. “It’s your fault. You’re leaving us.”
Touché .
Rhodes puts his hands in his pockets and sidles up beside Amber. “All packed?”
I peer at the toiletries bag I’m holding. “Not exactly. You didn’t have to come, you know.”
“We did.” His stare is unwavering. “Figured you’d be up early.”
Tears rush to my eyes because I’m such a sentimental mess. My best friends know me so well, the parts of me that wake up in a torment of anxious thoughts and a lack of focus because I’ve decided to take a last-minute self-discovery journey. Not that this has ever happened before, but it’s nice to know I don’t have to try and explain what’s going on in my head.
It’s an absolute nightmare in there right now.
Amber extends her hand with a coffee I hadn’t noticed at first.
I want to cry and thank her, but with Constance and Machete Lady comparing swords behind us, I try to keep it light by tugging her into a hug and whispering how much I love her instead.
There might also be tears that slip out.
Mom chooses this moment to pop her head out the front door. “Who wants breakfast? I made a thousand waffles and every egg I have in this house.” She shuts the door without waiting for our answer.
Clearly, this is an act of stress cooking.
I pull away from Amber and greedily take the offered coffee to guzzle a sip, burning my tongue in the process. I wince. “I’m going to remember this moment all week now that I’ve singed my taste buds.”
“My plan exactly,” Amber says with a smile.
I bounce my gaze to Rhodes, who is being quiet. Too quiet.
He clears his throat, pulls a journal from behind his back, and holds it out to me. “This is for you to write about your trip.”
I take the small, tan leather-bound notebook from him, turning it over in my hand only to notice my name etched into the side. “My very own Little House on the Prairie journal!”
He beams with a smile. “You can write about anything you want, but don’t forget to include all the boring stuff, too.”
There’s a catch in my throat as I drag my thumb across the soft leather. The weird part about going on a trip like this is I have no clue what’s going in this journal yet. I don’t know what the boring moments will look like or the epic ones I hope to have. The unknown of it feels like the actual adventure.
“Thank you,” I say quietly, then look up at him.
He’s staring directly into the deeper layers of me, just like I knew he would be. It’s how he always looks at me. It wasn’t until recently I figured out it was because he liked me. Do I look at him like this? Eyes slightly lowered but still ready to catch mine at every glance?
Someone clangs two machetes together, startling me out of my thoughts. It’s an abrasive sound that grates on my remaining sanity but also snaps me back into the present moment.
I shake my head and reach to give Rhodes a quick hug. It isn’t the kind I would’ve given him minutes ago, but it’s the kind I need to offer him. My heart and mind have been in a heated war about how to act around him these last couple of weeks, and I’ve somehow managed not to blur any lines. I just have to make it through a little while longer.
“Can we help load anything before we eat those waffles?” Rhodes asks, hands back in the protection of his pockets.
I laugh and wave for them to follow me toward my apartment door, saying over my shoulder, “Do you think my sewing machine will fit?”
Rhodes and Amber both speak at the same time. “No!”
I love them, but I’m still going to try.