16. Rhodes
16
Rhodes
P aige?” I’m pretty sure I mumble.
“Rhodes! I did it.”
I blink several times, and I lift my head off my pillow, trying to register what she’s saying and where her voice is coming from. It sounds far off, with background noise competing to be heard.
My neck releases and my head flops back on the pillow.
“Rhodes!” she yells again.
I smile, thinking I have to be dreaming. “Yes, Paige? Are you back for more?”
“Back for more?” she repeats. “What are you talking about? Wake up! I have to tell you something.”
In my dream, I imagine Paige is in the kitchen, which I can’t quite see from my bed while lying flat on my back. She’s telling me we should have ice cream, and I should lick it off her.
No, that’s not right.
Why am I holding my phone?
I blink several times again, peering into the kitchen to see that Paige is not naked in the kitchen with ice cream and instead calling my name through the device in my hand. “Paige?”
“Yes! Are you awake, or do you still think you’re dreaming?”
Propping to my elbow, I scrub my other hand down my face. “I’m awake.” I think. “Did you call me, or did I somehow call you?”
I must have fallen asleep after my midafternoon pickleball practice…with myself. Amber couldn’t make it, which makes sense since I’m the only one keeping a rigorous two-hour per-day schedule.
“Yes! I couldn’t wait to tell you,” she says again. “I left the bee campground for Missoula with Cleo, who was up all night running around the van thanks to your treats…” She takes a breath. “Never mind. That’s beside the point. What I’m trying to say is that I had a flat tire and changed it on my own. I did it! I could probably change another one right now. I mean, with Cynthia’s help, but still. I could do it if I had to, and I DID!”
“Cynthia?”
“Oh!” she yells through the line. “She’s my new favorite DIY-er. I only scanned her other videos, but she has everything from art projects using plastic bags to how-to’s on just about anything home or auto-related with random history facts for fun.”
There’s so much pride in her voice; it’s contagious. “Wow, you did it,” I say almost wistfully.
Not that I didn’t think she could, just that I know this feeling. When you try something hard and end up seeing the other side.
“I did it!”
“I’m really proud of you. Where are you now?”
“I have no idea!” she yells through what sounds like pure adrenaline. “I’m somewhere in Idaho going very slowly on the freeway. I changed the tire, but it’s not like I could exactly test that it was on properly without driving, so I’m pissing a lot of people off, but that’s okay because I DID IT!”
“You did it.” I smile and push myself to a seated position on my bed. “Have you called anyone else?”
“Just you,” she confirms.
Just you .
My entire body comes to life like I hadn’t been fast asleep seconds ago.
She laughs. “I’m sure Mom will want to put this in my baby book or something.”
She’s probably right about that one. “I hope you took a photo.”
“At least twenty,” she says. “There was no way I wanted to forget this. I’ll likely tell my grandchildren about it.”
I scrub a hand down my face, unable to keep myself from smiling at the prospect. “I hope I’m there to witness it.”
“You will be.”
I appreciate her spirit. “So where are you headed now?”
“I found a small town about an hour away from me that has a tire shop. But based on my current speed, I’ll probably get there kind of late. I need to stop for gas soon, too.”
“Hey,” I say, catching her attention.
“What?”
“You did it.”
“I did it,” she says like she’s ready to burst into song and dance. “Rhodes?”
I brace a hand behind my head and lean against the headboard. “Yeah?”
“Thank you for answering so I could share. I wanted to call you earlier so badly, but I needed to prove to myself I could do it more.” She pauses. “And I guess I can say I know how to change a tire now.”
I smile at this. “A skill you didn’t have until today.”
She laughs. “I know you’ve basically taken a crash course in all things car related and could probably change Cassandra’s footwear with your eyes closed.”
Cassandra is the name I gave my car to appease Paige’s prodding that it needed one. “You’re probably right, but look at what you did; you didn’t need me.”
This doesn’t cause me to break out in a nervous sweat like it might have a couple days ago. Instead, I’m smiling when I say it.
“Are you okay, though? Still have all your fingers?” Some things won’t change, like needing to know she’s safe after an ordeal such as this one.
“Besides a few bruises I’m sure I’ll find tomorrow, everything is accounted for,” she says before exhaling long and slow. “Thank you for celebrating with me.”
“Always,” I say in a whisper.
After hanging up with Paige, I get out of bed and pad into the kitchen, bare-footed and ready to eat. I hadn’t planned on falling asleep for so long, but it’s almost three, and I haven’t eaten since breakfast.
I ran through multiple scenarios Jim and Agnes might want to use in our upcoming game, visualizing myself taking them down. I guess it wore me out.
But as I pull out some things to make sandwiches, I feel weird.
Why do I feel this way ?
Paige was so excited to have changed the tire on her own, and what I said was true: I am proud of her. But maybe I just feel weird because my reaction is so different than I expected. I was missing a few words in this conversation compared to the one after the bird incident that are better left unsaid.
The control freak in me took a backseat to let the easygoing, you-go-girl part of me shine.
This is exactly what she wanted from this trip, and I suppose it’s what I needed, too, in order to confirm I’d be alright. When Dad’s stroke forced him into months of physical therapy, Mom and I were completely powerless. I didn't like that feeling. Still don’t. But I’m surprised to find that this—Paige stepping out on her own—isn’t that.
I’ve always been the go-getter, control-everything-in-my-life type.
The kind of person who may not know the answer but can figure it out. And with Paige, it’s always been easy to swoop in and be the firm rock for her to lean on. I like it that way. It’s a role I know how to be in.
But that’s not how love works.
It’s slippery and wild and a little unruly.
I want to protect her, be with her, tell her how much I love her, but that’s not what love is asking of me right now, and it’s weird. Love is asking me to cheer her on, clap loudly, and maybe get a poster board with some obnoxiously positive saying on it to wave around.
I slather a heap of chipotle mayo on two slices of sourdough, loading it with turkey, cheese, alfalfa sprouts, cucumbers, and tomatoes and thinking about how, if Paige were here, she’d ask for a PB&J instead.
It makes me smile to think about.
Being here, front and center, simply for the experience of watching her change before my eyes is worth it. I’m trusting the process even if it goes against everything in me, and finding that it isn’t that bad.
This is letting go, and so far, it doesn’t feel like I’m dying.