12. Paige
12
Paige
I knew something was wrong the moment my feet touched the paved ground at my new camping spot.
It’s a state campground with spaces for small RVs and vans—like mine—and plenty of open grassy areas for the tent enthusiasts. I dropped my payment in a wooden box on the bulletin board as I drove in and chose a spot that I thought would be the best. But really, I don’t think best exists here.
I only had to drive about forty minutes, but I’m already exhausted. Likely because I’m waving my hand around in the air above my head, swatting at bees that think I’m made of honey.
I’m not.
It’s probably closer to Sriracha.
I nearly trip over the leg of a picnic table as I twirl around in circles, clutching Cleo to my chest while I try to decipher where I parked. Since I don’t have a reliable bathroom in the van—the trash bag toilet is only for emergencies—I had to brave the great unknown of bee country just to make it to the vault toilet on the other side of the campground. The path was anything but straight, even with my eyes open. There was a bridge, potholes, and gravel with large rocks ripe for tripping,
And the website did not mention anything about bees.
They only showed scenic photos with the Coeur d’Alene Lake in the background, mountains, and colors so vibrant they span most of the color wheel. The babbling brook running somewhere behind my camp spot that feeds the lake appeared refreshing, as exhibited in the JPEG photos, but is nothing more than a cesspool for these pesky, flying creatures.
“Hold on, Cleo!” I swat around us, feeling bees hit my palms with every swipe as though I’m swimming in a pool of them. “We’re almost there!”
Except now they’re multiplying as we pass the trash can with a special lid I couldn’t quite figure out because it’s meant to keep bears out, and apparently me, too.
I think one of them touched my lip when I opened my mouth to scream.
It only makes me run faster, but they can fly, those sly little bastards!
And there are so many of them. Are they hatching—or whatever bees do—and multiplying in the air?
Did they call all of their bee friends to pester me?
The van is in sight, so I run.
I run like I’m being chased by a bear.
I run like there’s an entire colony chasing me.
I run like I want to live to see another day.
Flinging the door open, I toss Cleo in first, knowing she’ll land on her feet, and hop inside after her. I almost slam the door on my foot in order to avoid letting any bees inside with me, but it looks like we managed to escape them. The buzzing has quieted, but my ears are still ringing.
“We survived.” I swing my gaze to Cleo as she licks her lips with a slow blink.
Unfortunately, she didn’t go to the bathroom. She got her harness and leash on without even getting a chance to climb one of the many trees taunting us from the windows of the van, either.
I undo her harness. “Sorry, girl. We’ll wait until the sun goes down. Maybe the bees are just really bad at this time of day.”
It’s only three o’clock.
I can tell this is going to be a one-night stop. Tomorrow, I’ll move on from here the second the sun is up. But it still bums me out. Did I mention the views I was supposed to be enjoying? The mountains look different through a van window than being outside and staring up at them.
I’m probably just hangry. I haven’t had lunch yet, but the adult macaroni and cheese—which isn’t really a thing; it’s all the same—I brought is going to have to wait since I still need to hook up the van to power. And that is outside, with the bees. I’ll have to wrap a scarf around my face and put my sunglasses on just to brave it.
Nope.
Not a chance.
“Tuck in, Cleo, I don’t think we’re going to be getting out anytime soon.” Maybe I should quickly search for another campsite instead of waiting until tomorrow. Practical me does not like this idea since I’ve already put cash into the small drop box at the entrance. I’d be losing money, and that just isn’t an option. “We’re going to have to suffer through the night.”
I say that while I can quite literally hear the bees buzzing through the walls.
Grabbing a granola bar and a beef stick, I hop onto my bed, pushing aside the sky-blue window coverings I didn’t have a chance to replace before embarking. Maybe I could stop at a thrift store and find some spare fabric to make my own. Penny’s ended up looking perfect. The ones she bought were too long, so we took them up a little, and she couldn’t have been happier. Meanwhile, she mapped out my entire electrical system on a piece of paper that I now have hanging on the wall like a piece of art.
She also provided me with her number in case I ran into something and needed help.
I don’t think that included fumigation.
Bees hit the window from outside, searching for food like the little savages they are. “I have nothing!” I holler at them, though the jerky stick in my left hand would say otherwise.
I sigh and grab my phone while Cleo decides to eat the rest of her dry food and curl up in the driver’s seat. My bed welcomes me as I lay back.
I haven’t heard from Rhodes all day. Or Amber, for that matter, except for the GIF she sent with a dancing pickle holding some sort of paddle. I didn’t get it, and I’ve spent an exceptional amount of minutes thinking about it today.
My parents have been good about calling each night to confirm I’m alive while Constance lurks in the background of the video call like she’s the girl from The Ring , trying to freak me out.
She does.
But it’s still hours from when I typically hear from anyone because they have jobs . That thing that keeps them occupied for most daytime hours. It’s been precisely twenty-two days since I had one of those, and I’m all too aware of this. I’m no closer to knowing what I want to do for the rest of my life. All I can think about is some kind of office job behind a desk that comes with a device to suck the life out of you a little bit more every day.
But maybe I need to get a grown-up job like this for once. Everything else I’ve done has ended in disaster.
I can feel Cleo judging me. I’m positive she can read my mind even from across the van. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ll eventually figure it out. Taking a month off work isn’t going to kill me.”
Her direct stare would say otherwise.
I scroll through my phone for a while, avoiding the inevitable when I finally open the text string with Rhodes. It feels like I just talked to him this morning when I wrote in my journal, but it lacked one key element of a conversation: a response.
Me:
Turns out you can die from too many bee stings.
Expecting him to respond right away probably isn’t healthy. It’s just that he usually does. So when I have to wait fifteen minutes, I swear I’m one hundred years old. I’ve also gone on a deep dive through the dark web of mutant bees who will probably live through the apocalypse.
Rhodes:
Is this another random thing you learned from the internet? Or are you stating this from experience?
Me:
If it was from experience, I’d be texting you from beyond the grave.
Rhodes:
Not impossible.
God, I miss him. The way my mind and body remember the comfort he brings to my life is instant. The way he already knows my muchness without me needing to explain it away.
Me:
My ghost is here to warn you.
Rhodes:
Consider me warned.
Me:
The internet had a lot to say on the matter, but also this campground I booked is infested with bees. Cleo and I are going to be stuck in the van all night.
Rhodes:
I’m glad I packed you that deck of cards then.
Me:
What???? Where?
Rhodes:
Check the cabinet above the sink.
I push up to my knees and crawl to the end of my bed, lifting the small cabinet door up and shuffling through the random items I shoved up here. Lighters, paracord, a small tin of sewing supplies, and…a deck of cards with cats playing poker on the back of them.
Me:
You just saved me.
Rhodes:
You’re welcome.
Me:
What are you up to?
I drop back to sitting and open up the cards, fanning them while I inhale. It isn’t a pleasant smell, but it’s familiar. I love playing cards, and Rhodes knows this since I often force him and Amber to play with me. It’s the best when you’re bored: fun, mentally stimulating, and can be played solo or with others. There are so many variations like King’s Corners, Go Fish, Rage, and Poker…the list quite literally never ends.
Rhodes:
I was just finishing up some edits on my latest video. The Legos are going camping.
Me:
Timely.
Rhodes:
That’s what I thought.
Rhodes:
I might need to hear about these bees for inspiration. FaceTime?
I can’t explain why my stomach swoops like I’m freefalling on a rollercoaster, but it does. And I don’t want it to stop.
This is new and also kind of great.
I tap his contact and start the video call, propping my phone on the stray accent pillow shaped like lips.
He answers before the phone even rings. “Your face isn’t swollen, and you don’t have small bandaids all over your body. That’s a good sign.”
I smile at the teasing lilt of his voice, coupled with the way he’s trying to tame the hair falling over his forehead. “That’s because I’ve been stung in places I can’t show on camera.”
“Who says?”
We really just dove right in, huh? “Because Cleo would never forgive me.”
Thankfully, he changes the topic. “And how is Miss Cleocatra?”
“She’s ignoring me,” I say, leaning back against my propped pillow, giving her side-eye. “I told her we were going hunting, and then…bees. She’s full of judgment and despair.”
“I’m sure she’ll forgive you if you give her a few of the treats I stashed in the glove compartment,” he says as if this is nothing.
But it’s something .
My mouth falls open with a gasp. “You didn’t!”
“I did.”
I sit up and slide off the bed, taking only a few steps before I’m seated in the passenger seat and holding up a bag of treats in front of the camera. Cleo is clamoring into my lap to try and get at them before I’ve opened the bag.
“You might just be her new favorite person now,” he says with a wide smile.
I feign shock with another gasp. “Are you saying I wasn’t already?”
“These are my secret weapon. She loves them, so I always keep a stash with me.”
Hearing this makes my entire body light up, especially the organ in my chest, and I’m ready to promise Rhodes just about anything. Except I probably shouldn’t. I’m a professional at offering all of myself up front. But I want to learn to keep things chill with Rhodes, grow our relationship at a natural pace like normal humans do.
I clear my throat and sit back in the passenger seat after offering Cleo her prized treats. All is forgiven. “What have you been up to lately?”
He leans back against his couch, his preferred office. “A lot of pickleball.”
“Pickleball?” Ah . This explains Amber’s GIF. “Like tennis?”
“It’s different,” he says, being evasive.
I prop the phone in one of the cupholders. “Come on. I want to hear all about it. Like I didn’t even leave.”
He pauses for a minute, studying me through the phone while I dart back to the bed for my cards, shuffling them and waiting for him to continue. I know what he’s thinking: but you did leave . Fair. I did, but is it so wrong to still want to go on a self-guided discovery journey while knowing every little thing happening in his life?
Okay, I see the point.
He rests his forearm on top of his head. “It’s just something I started in order to keep my mind off the fact you’re gone.” A pause that could fill a swimming pool follows. “And I miss your couch.”
“My couch?”
He exhales. “Watching shows with extra legroom on mine is weird.”
“Are you saying my couch is small?” I prod.
“I definitely am.”
“It’s not that small.”
“Maybe not for someone of average height.” He sucks in a breath, his chest rising. “The pickleball is working, though. Except for the part I can’t play all day and night.”
“That’s…revealing.” So is the fact I want to curl myself against his chest right now, tucking my head in the curve between his neck and shoulder. “Is there anything else you miss?”
I know I’m asking for trouble, but my heart doesn’t heed the warning. It wants the torture of knowing he misses me, not just my perfectly sized couch.
He shakes his head. “I mean, sitting on your couch without you there wouldn’t be as fun. You’re my favorite person to watch trashy TV with.”
I know for a fact I’m also the only one he watches trashy TV with. Amber is strictly a documentary person, especially those of the nature variety. But it feels like there is more he wants to say, and I wish he would just tell me the more , which is that he clearly misses me. I know I was the one who put physical distance between us, maybe a dash of the emotional kind, too, but I don’t like it.
It’s a new feeling coating the inside of my gut that makes me want a deeper connection. I’m desperate in a way I haven’t been when it comes to him. The kiss we shared unlocked so much in so little time that I don’t know how to categorize all these desires inside me. They are new but also like a favorite shirt you center your laundry schedule around, so you can wear it again as soon as possible. The one that fits like it was made for you and highlights all of your good features with its color and shape.
This is how Rhodes makes me feel.
My mouth is already opening and saying words I can’t take back, but I don’t think I want to. “I miss you, Rhodes.”
His expression softens, lips curling into my favorite lazy smile. “I miss you, too.”
It’s like my heart takes a full breath, and I smile back. “I don’t know what this is supposed to be like,” I admit to him. “You and me.”
“I don’t either. I’m out of my depth here.”
I blow out a sigh. “This is all so new. How you feel, how I feel. But, if I’m honest with myself and you…I like you, Rhodes. I don’t want us to hide how we feel. Maybe we can just tell each other what we’re thinking and try this thing out together.”
“And this thing is…”
I clear my throat. “Dating. Long distance, of course. But we can try it out and see how it feels, you know?”
What just came out of my mouth ?
Am I really suggesting this right now? I can’t help but nervously pick at my fingers, feeling all sorts of exposed by my own suggestion. Where did that come from? I went from I miss you to let’s date .
He nods slowly, chewing the inside of his cheek. “As the one who spent years hiding my true feelings from you, I get this. There really is nothing I want more than to tell you exactly how I feel. But right now is your time, Paige—your moment—and I don’t want to get in the middle. We have time for dating.”
Time is annoying.
You did this , a condemning voice says in my mind.
“What if I don’t want to wait?” With the words out of my mouth, I wish I could reel them back and pretend they didn’t happen because I sound so impatient and whiny.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, without giving him a chance to respond.
I’m doing what I’ve always done with guys: rush. But this is Rhodes. I put space between us for a reason, and it’s because, deep inside, I know I want to do it the right way. I want to stretch out in the truth that he loves me and let my feelings catch up.
“Why are you sorry?” he asks, sympathy lacing his question.
“I’m doing it again. Rushing into a relationship.” The confession feels weird to say out loud. I’ve never called attention to my serial dating.
“No, you’re not.”
I meet his eyes through the screen, close but still hundreds of miles away. “Rhodes, I’m ready to ask you to be my boyfriend after telling you I wasn’t ready and fleeing the state.”
He groans. “Don’t remind me, or I’m going to throw away my resolve and make you mine. I’m more helpless when it comes to you than I think you know.”
He is ?
It’s so new hearing him say these kinds of things unguarded. A thrill runs through me at just how good it feels and how eager I am for him to keep going. But he’s right; I’m on this journey to find the me I want to become, and it’s probably normal to want to revert back. But not this time. Not with Rhodes.
“I won’t let you,” he says with a sureness I don’t have. “Not until you feel ready.”
I lean against the seat and pull my knee up to rest my chin. “And how do I know when I’m ready? What if this trip doesn’t fix me? What if I’m not ready for years?”
He pushes up and leans forward over his knees. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You say that now.”
“I’ve liked you for years. Trust me when I say that won’t change today, tomorrow, or years down the road. If that’s what it takes, what you need, I’ll be here.”
Tears push at the backs of my eyes, and I know deep inside the code of my DNA that this man, my Rhodes, is everything he says. He is true and loyal, open and patient.
He’s my best friend.
My person.