20. Paige
20
Paige
S pend time alone with yourself.
I can check off Nelly’s advice for how to feel fulfilled since I’m currently holed up in my van while rain pelts the fiberglass roof.
I’ve spent most of this trip inside this van rather than exploring outside.
So much for enjoying the bougie campground.
After getting my tire fixed early this morning, I swung back by the bar for some food since Nelly assured me she’d be working, and breakfast at a bar isn’t all that weird in a small town. She even made me a pecan latte to go along with my sausage and egg sandwich, which I scarfed down, managing to save a few bites of the meat pattie for Cleo as a treat.
By the time I got to Missoula, the clouds had rolled in, heavy with rain, which let loose the moment I checked in and pulled into the nicely paved spot I booked for far too much money a night.
The pool and hot tub they highlighted on their social media were a siren call.
Too bad, since the rain has put a huge damper on reading my book poolside. With rain pelting my roof in a beat that sounds a whole lot like a sped-up version of “We Will Rock You,” I’m staring at all of the eyes on my wall, thinking about how Rhodes said it would feel like they’re looking at me. I heartily disagreed, but now I see what he was saying. The eyes aren’t judgmental, but they are watchful. Watching to see if I’m going to figure out how to be alone and observing how much I suck at it.
I can’t take it anymore.
I turn my back on them, facing the double doors I hoped to be able to open up and watch the sunrise or sunset from the comfort of my bed like all of the van influencers do. But not me.
I’m dealing with bees and rain.
Picking up my phone off the charger, I text Amber.
Me:
I’m regretting the eyes.
There. I said it.
The wind whistles outside while I wait for her reply.
Amber:
Are you telling me so you don’t have to admit Rhodes was right?
Me:
Maybe.
Me:
Okay, yes.
Me:
But they are starting to creep me out.
Amber:
LOL
Amber:
Then just go outside.
Me:
I can’t. It’s raining.
Amber:
Are you allergic to water? Too afraid you’ll melt?
Me:
Something like that…I only have one raincoat, and it doesn’t seem sufficient for the kind of downpour happening out there.
I stare at the coat hanging on a Command hook right behind the driver’s seat. Living in Washington, where it rains a lot, doesn’t mean I own proper gear. It’s kind of a mark of pride not to use an umbrella. But Montana rain isn’t drizzly by any means. It’s a full-on downpour that has me questioning whether my van will be picked up and carried downstream.
Amber:
Have you talked to Rhodes?
Me:
Of course not. I can’t tell him the eyes are closing in on me.
He’d just love that.
Rhodes isn’t one to gloat, but I imagine him doing it, and it’s enough to make me keep some thoughts to myself.
Amber:
No, I meant about…other things.
Did Rhodes tell Amber that I like him?
Me:
What other things?
Amber:
Pickleball…
I laugh to myself and lay back on my bed. It bounces Cleo slightly, and she looks at me as though I’ve never done worse. A quick scratch on her ears and all is forgiven, though.
Me:
He told me he picked it up so he could stop thinking about me.
Or that I was gone, but I can read between the lines. Sometimes.
Amber:
I’m surprised he said that much.
Me:
Yeah, well, I sort of…like him. And knowing he’s trying to give me space to have this trip is sweet.
It feels odd to type it out rather than just think it in my head, but Amber is my best friend and knows how much I’ve struggled the last few weeks.
Amber:
Of course you like him. That much was obvious. I'm waiting to find out what you’re planning to do about it.
Me:
I’m going to figure out how to be alone with myself, be honest about how I’m feeling, and eat a lot of tacos.
Amber:
So…you’re going to do nothing about your feelings then?
I let out a slow breath.
Me:
I guess so. For now.
Amber:
Who are you?
Me:
I barely know. But he was convinced I needed time, and I think he’s right. I’m always jumping from one relationship to the next for all the wrong reasons. This time, I want to do it for the right ones.
Amber:
And what are the right ones?
I think about what Nelly said at her bar last night.
Me:
That I want to be with Rhodes because we add to each other’s lives instead of needing him to fulfill something inside me.
Amber:
Now I really don’t recognize you.
Amber:
But you know Rhodes is as faithful as ever. He’ll give you the time you need.
Me:
That’s what I’m afraid of. How much time is the right amount of time? I don’t want to rush things like I did with the other guys.
Amber:
I see Rhodes as being in a completely different category than “other guys.” He’s been your best friend for as long almost as I have. He knows you, and you know him. Just figure out what you need and then tell him. Don’t make him suffer.
Amber:
Selfishly, I can only handle so much exercise.
I laugh and send her a middle finger emoji, then sit up and stare at my raincoat again.
I’m going to do it.
I’m going to go outside.
MY SNEAKERS ARE less than ideal to be trudging through muddy grass, but I’m determined not to let a little rain squander my time here.
Russell Crow almost convinced me to go home.
The bees already tried to destroy me.
My flat tire wanted me to cry.
Not the rain, too.
I have to keep my eyes on the ground to watch where I step since the earth is soft and sludgy, ready to absorb my feet as though it were really quicksand.
But I keep going. There’s a trail leading up a short embankment that looks made of gravel and is much easier to walk on, so I set my eyes on it. The woman at the front desk assured me this path circles the entire park. I’ve already passed three pools, one with a water slide and spray park that is currently closed, and a playground I would have died to play on as a kid. Honestly, I still might if it doesn’t rain tomorrow.
Then my phone begins to ring.
I pull it out and see Constance’s name scrawled on it, answering immediately.
“Are Mom and Dad okay?”
“Yes,” she states, void of emotion. “Why wouldn’t they be?”
Because she’s calling me for the first time since I left. “No reason. What’s up?”
“I need to borrow your room.”
“You mean my basement apartment?”
She isn’t amused. “I mean the basement room you lived in.”
“ Live in,” I correct. “You know I’m coming back?”
Silence ensues once I reach the small hill leading to the path. It’s bigger than I thought, with dispersed trees and rocks, making it look like a game to walk up.
“Yes, I know you’re coming back. But in like a year.”
“I said weeks , Constance.”
“You said you had to find yourself.”
I push the hood of my rain jacket out of my face as it tries to blind me while I climb. “That’s right.”
“Two weeks won’t be enough time for that. A year, minimum.”
“I appreciate the confidence,” I grunt, pitching forward, nearly on my hands and knees as I climb. “What do you even need the space for?”
“Stuff.”
I slip, my knee sinking into mud. “What kind of stuff?”
“A business thing.”
“Constance!” I grind out, trying to brush off chunks of mud from my jeans. “I don’t have the patience for this right now. Just tell me!”
“A grow operation, okay!” she shouts back.
I pause, standing straighter and breathing heavily. “Like weed?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she states in a condescending tone. “I need to turn the basement into a greenhouse so I can sell house plants.”
My patience is thinner than my coat right now, which is saying a lot since I can already feel rain seeping through the supposed waterproof layer. I stare at the remaining hillside left to climb and say on an exhale that forces my shoulders to slump, “No.”
She hangs up quickly, and I pocket my phone so I have both hands to grab onto trees and climb. This isn’t the first time she’s asked for some weird request, but I haven’t been in this circumstance when she’s asked. I manage to make it to the top with mud on my knees, hands, and my face by the tight feel of it.
But I keep going.
Despite the rain, birds are calling to each other from one branch perch to another, chirping as though they have something important to say. The tree branches lining the one-lane trail, wide enough for a car to pass, sway slightly with the light gusts that blow through at random intervals, and I have to dodge the greedy puddles absorbing every raindrop that falls.
The air smells clean and fresh, while my runny nose tells me it’s cold outside.
This feels like another test. Another way I’m learning how to be on my—
My phone rings again, and I wrestle it from my pocket.
“Hi, Mom—”
“Honey, where’s the bundt cake pan I like to use?” she starts in. “I can’t find it anywhere.”
Really ?
“No idea, Mom. Have you asked Constance?”
“You know she doesn’t bake.”
Baking to Constance is akin to torture, but mostly because she doesn’t like getting her hands messy. To be fair, when Mom and I bake, we somehow are covered head-to-toe in flour. Constance’s all-black wardrobe wouldn’t mix well with this.
“What about Dad?”
“He’s getting the car serviced.”
“Okay, well, I’m on a hike and totally useless right now.”
She sighs. “I’ll just find something else. Thanks, sweetie.”
She hangs up, and I slide my phone back into my pocket. It would be great if I could actually pass this test of being alone without my family calling every three seconds.
I’ve always loved how close we are. Even with Constance in our own way. But breaking away and separating myself from the family has come with its challenges. I can’t help but feel I’m always missing out on something. Mom told me just yesterday how she got a haircut…three days ago. How could she not tell me?
But then there’s this other part of me that deliberately pulled away, needing the practice of flying out of the nest instead of falling like it feels I’ve been doing for years. I don’t want to miss out on their lives, but I also don’t want to stay nest-bound for the entirety of mine.
Boundaries aren’t a bad thing, I don’t think. I’ve just never been good at setting them.
You know what ?
I pull my phone out and turn it to silent. I’ve never done this before, too worried someone would need me or there would be an emergency I could miss—like a haircut. But so far, nothing has been important enough to disrupt this peace.
Surprisingly, I feel a little more free, maybe even a touch reckless, for silencing my phone.
It’s just me, nature, and—
My foot lands with a splash in a large puddle, soaking my jeans to the muddy knee. At first, my mouth hangs open, hands splayed wide since droplets of water sprang up all the way to my face. My glasses are already fogged up thanks to the moisture in the air, making it difficult to see. I slowly drop my arms to my side, and I do something that feels out of character for this moment.
I smile.
Like a real one that I can feel stretching my lips to their furthest capacity, then I do the unthinkable.
I laugh.
A giggle at the back of my throat to start, and then an audible one that forces my chest to rattle. It reminds me of Winnie after Cleo tried to dig up the dead bird we’d just buried, but it’s also more than that. It’s the feeling I had knowing Penny could help me become better acquainted with my rig, or I could change a tire on my own. When I helped Nelly serve behind the bar or the second I kissed Rhodes in the parking lot, and I forgot about the before and wasn’t worried about the after—just the moment.
It’s quiet, apart from my laughter cutting through the rain.
Cold but still warm enough to create moisture in the air.
I’m alone but not lonely.
It’s a freeing thought, really, to not be accessible.
To be drenched and laughing and okay .
Looking up at the sky, I let the raindrops batter my glasses and dribble down my
cheeks, some even sliding down my neck beneath my jacket, causing me to shiver. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel good.
Okay enough to be here in this moment and not feel like I need to move on to the next. And certainly okay enough not to need to reach for my phone and call someone. I’m just here, feeling each raindrop, losing track while trying to count them, and being comfortable in my skin despite the conditions. I’ve spent a lot of my life being there for other people, but at this moment, I am simply here for me—laughing and maybe crying a little because I understand what adventure really is.
It’s people and places, the known and the unknown.
It’s trying something new.
It’s failing.
It’s anything but linear.
For the first time in a while, The Itch isn’t there, nagging at the back of my mind.
And I think I’m going to be okay.