Chapter 25 Avah #2
I complete my leg without dropping it, gaining some ground on the competition in the process. I hand the egg to Jeremy with a look that says, “If you drop this, I will never let you forget it.” He takes the spoon with both hands, steadies the egg, and starts walking. The other teams sprint by him.
“Run, Jeremy,” I shout like he’s Forrest Gump.
“If I run, the egg falls.”
“If you walk, we come in last again.”
He doesn’t take his eyes off the egg as he smiles. “I’m okay with last.”
He walks the entire course at the speed of a man enjoying a Sunday stroll, and when he crosses the finish line—a full thirty seconds behind the fourth-place team—he holds the intact egg up like a trophy.
“Didn’t drop it.”
I burst out laughing, and he grins at me.
He doesn’t care about winning. He’s simply happy to be here with me, terrible at camp games and loving every minute.
And once I allow myself to shed a lifetime of trying to measure up, stuffing the shadows and secrets in the dark basement of my soul, I feel exactly the same. Happy without qualification.
The final obstacle is a cargo net climb. Someone has strung a wide net between two tall wooden posts. Another beam is attached horizontally at the top, where you swing your legs over and climb down the other side. Both partners have to complete it.
Jeremy goes first, and for the first time all day, he’s in his element.
“My trainer is a big fan of pull-ups,” he tells me with a wink.
Then his hands grip the rope, and his body rises in smooth, powerful movements, his arms flexing under that navy T-shirt.
I temporarily forget we’re at a family-friendly event, and glance over to see the college-age girl staring, her jaw gaping open.
I guess lumberjack dad energy is her thing, too.
He scales the net in what feels like seconds, swinging his legs over the platform and looking down at me with a grin, then descending not quite as gracefully, but in record time.
He high-fives me as soon as his sneakers hit the ground. “Your turn, boss.”
I grab the net and pull myself up. The first few feet are fine, but by the halfway point, my arms are shaking, and sweat is making my palms slip on the rope.
I can run five miles before dawn, but upper body work—other than what it takes to lift a standing mixer out of the cabinet—isn’t really my thing.
When I reach for the next rope, my hand slips, and I slide back two squares with the net swaying beneath me.
I try again and only make it one square higher before my arms give out, and I drop back to where I started the second attempt.
Members of other teams scramble past me, shouting words of encouragement. I can hear clapping and friendly shouts from the sidelines, and my face burns with heat. I was so condescending to Jeremy, but I’ll be the reason our team won’t finish.
“Can I borrow your personal trainer?” I call down, forehead pressed to the ropes because I’m too humiliated to look at him.
The joke falls flat to my own ears because the embarrassment is real.
“You can do this,” he shouts.
“My arms are—”
“You can do anything.”
My eyes sting. I blink hard and grip the rope tighter trying to psyche myself up to keep going.
“Avah, look at me.”
Jeremy’s voice is close, and I glance over to see him no more than an arm’s length away, beside me on the net.
“You can’t do it twice.”
“I know,” he says gently. “I’m going to pace with you. I won’t touch you or give you any kind of advantage. I’ll just be here.”
He’s close enough that I could reach out and touch his arm if I needed to. Far enough that it’s clear he’s not doing the work for me.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
I want to be a woman who can do this. Not the girl my father raised to bully and manipulate in order to get what I wanted.
Or the woman Jon whittled down to someone who couldn’t even stand up for myself.
I want to be a woman who does hard things because I’m strong and will not give up, especially not on myself.
My arms scream, my shoulders protest, but I grit my teeth and haul myself up one square, then another while Jeremy moves beside me. He doesn’t coach me or murmur platitudes that would make me want to punch him in the throat. He’s just there, and it’s exactly what I need.
Three squares from the top, I nearly lose my grip when my left hand cramps. Jeremy twitches like he’s going to reach for me, but pulls back just as quickly. I shake out my hand and grab the rope again.
Two more squares, and my fingers curl over the wooden edge of the platform. I drag myself up and sit on top of the cargo net with my arms shaking and my chest heaving.
A moment later, I’m greeted by enthusiastic applause, whoops, and whistles from the other teams and the campers and staff watching from below. Lumberjack dad girl cups her hands around her mouth and yells, “Yaaasss, Queen,” and I laugh…because I did it. I did the hard thing.
Jeremy pulls himself onto the platform, looking at me like I just summited Everest.
I grab the front of his bold fashion choice T-shirt and kiss him full on the mouth in front of fifty near strangers.
His hand comes up to cradle the back of my head, and he kisses me back, slow and thorough.
The clapping gets louder, and someone wolf-whistles, but I don’t care.
I could not possibly care less who sees.
This is joy, and I’m inviting it in for as long as I can.