15 #2
“Everything okay?”
“Yep. Just someone being a pain in my ass.”
“Fucker?”
From the corner of my eye, I see her nod faintly. She remains quiet. Though I’m used to her cold shoulder, something else is bugging her. I’m curious to find out what, but already know she won’t talk about it. Especially not with her brother in the back seat.
We pull up to a stop and wait while an old lady crosses the street slower than molasses.
“It might have been faster to walk,” I joke.
“Patience, my dear,” Maxine says. “That’s Mrs. Talbot. She’s like a hundred.”
“Old Man Talbot’s mom?” I ask, stunned. “Damn.”
The moment the old lady steps onto the curb, I press the gas and haul ass out of town, but the drive becomes too quiet. I can hear the telltale signs of Hunter and Celia kissing in the backseat. Maxine seems to notice, too, and clears her throat.
“Oh, this is going to be fun,” she says, heavy on the sarcasm.
“Then why’d you agree to it?”
She shrugs. “I needed to get out of town. Away from… things.” She glances at her phone clutched in her hand.
“That’s something I miss about living here. Didn’t have many chances to go camping in the city.”
“Same. I haven’t been camping in ages.”
“No way. You used to be Miss-Camps-a-Lot. Figured you’d be in the woods every weekend.”
“Well, I’ve been a little busy.”
“How long’s it been?”
There’s a heavy pause while she glances out her window. “A while.”
That weak, low tone in her voice tells me exactly when the last time was and I clutch the steering wheel harder, biting the inside of my cheek. The strain between us thickens, the silence expands, but I let it.
Neither of us has been camping since that summer. The thought terrifies me, only because we’re about to spend twenty-four hours together, secluded in the one spot where things between us changed. The heaviness of what we’re heading into hits me like a freight train.
This is more than friends hanging out for the weekend. Max and I are being thrown full-force into a past we’ve spent years trying to erase.
The campsite is about a twenty-minute drive deep into the woods. I steer up the twisty mountain road, following Hunter’s shoddy directions and finally pull into the clearing.
A sense of déjà vu hits me, but I aim all my focus on how excited Hunter is when he hops out and shows Celia the spot where we spent so many hours as teenagers. Nearby, Spencer and Bethany emerge from their tent, looking—big surprise—disheveled and flushed.
The exaggerated exhale I hear from Max’s side saddens me. She may deny it, but something is definitely bugging her.
“Okay, let’s hear it.”
She turns to look at me, her face stoic. “Are you sure you’re not just looking for some drama?” The faint smile on her lips makes me think not all is lost between us and that trying to help her out won’t be hopeless.
“Listen, I get it. I have a lot on my mind, too, but whatever’s bugging you, try to forget it, if only until tomorrow.
This trip is about us having fun and letting go of everything.
All of it,” I add, reaching over and placing a hand on her fidgeting thigh.
“For a few days, why don’t we forget why life sucks, okay? ”
She glares at my hand, but doesn’t recoil from my touch. “You know what’s weird? For some odd reason…” As if her words are mud rolling around in her mouth, she pauses, then pulls her gaze up to mine. That smile she’s fighting finally cracks through. “I’m sort of happy we came out here.”
Before I get the chance to ask if she means everyone, or specifically me and her, she’s out of the car. I stay in my seat for a minute longer, getting used to this feeling. It’s as if she’s opened a window into a world we destroyed because we were stupid kids too blind to see what we had.
Trying to absorb it all, I realize this might be the chance we’ve always needed. This weekend might be when we finally kiss and make up, so to speak. Like a vivid daydream, the idea of kissing her pops into my head, and I rub a hand over my smile.
It’s only once I’m out of the car, helping to unload the trunk, and take a deep inhale of fresh, mountain air, that I notice the pressure from the last few days has lifted.
Max
I leave the safe bubble of Mitch’s car and walk toward the area that seems to be designated as the kitchen. Three coolers sit under a small wooden picnic table covered with enough snacks to feed a small country.
“Hey, Bee,” I say, dropping my bags. “You sure you brought enough food?”
“Max!” She pulls me into her arms in one of her bear-hugs she’s so good at. I giggle when she squeezes me tight.
Ever since she moved back to Oakwhite from England, we try to see each other as much as possible, but she’s been super busy lately, either with her job at the Oakwhite Observer or with Spencer remodeling their new house.
It’ll be nice to spend some time with her this weekend, if she’s willing to pry herself away from her boyfriend’s lips, that is.
I hand her a late birthday gift—a silly jar filled with positive affirmation cards.
She reads the label with a smile. “Positive Pickle, dill-ightful affirmations?” Her sultry laugh instantly cheers me up, and she drags me into another hug. “Thank you! I love it.” She glances over my shoulder. “Oh my god! Where’s Mitch’s beard?”
“It’s gone.”
“I see that. Where did it go?”
“I shaved it off.”
Her eyes widen. “You shaved it off?” She tucks the gift into her large messenger bag, then grabs my arm, tugging me away from the others. “What do you mean, you shaved it off?”
“We made a bet, and I won. I hated that thing, so…” I shrug.
She bites her lower lip and stares at me, but her eyes are alive with amusement. That’s what I appreciate about Bethany—she’s a supportive friend, and doesn’t pry or beg for gossip. Still, her wide eyes and curious smile say she’s struggling not to ask for more.
“Don’t read into this too much,” I warn her.
“I’m not reading into anything. But a few weeks ago, you pretty much wanted the guy dead and now you’re getting close enough to shave him.”
“I never wanted him dead,” I correct.
She cocks her head, squinting those stunning hazel eyes.
“Not dead, Bee,” I say, chuckling. “I just didn’t want him in Oakwhite.”
She throws a hand out toward the car. “And yet you came here with him.”
Mitch and Hunter unload the gear, arguing about where to set up. When Spencer joins in on the debate, Bethany and I share a laugh.
“To be fair,” I say. “Hunter and Celia carpooled with us, so it’s not like I came here alone with him.”
“That’s it? You were just bumming a ride?”
“That’s absolutely it. We’re both trying to work past our shit.”
More like ignore it as best we can.
Mitchell comes over, clearly annoyed. Before he overhears, I whisper out of the corner of my mouth to Bethany, “Let it go, okay? Nothing’s happening.”
She nods just as Mitchell’s wide body blocks the sun, casting us in his shadow. “Hey, Bethany,” Mitch says. “Happy belated birthday.”
“Thank you!” She quickly gives him a hug. “Love the new look.”
As if reminded, he rubs his chin. “Oh, yeah, thanks. It’s taking some getting used to. Like everything in life, I suppose.”
It’s been two days since I shaved his beard but it’s already grown back into a short scruff that, oddly, I don’t hate. He briefly looks at me, and Bethany, as if picking up on the palpable tension, shifts her eyes back and forth between us.
“I’m going to go see what’s the holdup with them,” she says, leaving us.
Mitch sidles up next to me and glances around.
“Where are you putting your tent?” I ask.
“As far from yours as possible,” he answers. “No offense, but if memory serves, you snore like a chainsaw.”
“That’s not the long rod. This is,” I argue, holding the black metal stick.
“No, Maxine. This is,” Mitchell replies, his tone dripping with condescending arrogance.
“Ugh, you’re so fucking wrong.”
“I’m not wrong. You’re just stubborn,” he shoots back.
“Why are you even here? I don’t need your help. I’ll handle this.”
With too much force and determination to prove I know what I’m doing, I shove the pole into the sleeve and hear the fabric tear.
I pause, my eyes widening. “Oh, no. Fuck, no, no, no. Fucking hell.”
“My, my. Such a potty mouth,” he tsks, then holds up the tent, exposing the very obvious hole in its roof. He smirks, clearly loving every second of this. “That’s not good.”
“Shhhhiiiitttt.” I drop my head into my hands.
“Is this your tent or…?”
“Hunter’s.”
He hisses through clenched teeth, letting the tent fall. “He’s gonna have your ass for this.”
“Well, obviously you’re giving me your tent,” I state, crossing my arms.
“And why the hell would I do that?”
I point to the heap of blue canvas on the ground. “Um, because this was your fault.”
“This wasn’t my fault.”
“Yes, it was. You were arguing with me and pissed me off and—”
“Oh, please!” he interrupts, laughing. “It’s not my fault you can’t handle your anger.”
“My anger? Seriously, Mitch. Let me have your tent.”
“Umm, no.”
“You could sleep in your big man-car,” I suggest.
“Again, no.” He crouches and studies the tent. “Does anyone have a needle and thread? Or tent patches?” he calls out over his shoulder, but everyone shakes their heads. With a slight wince, Mitchell stands up and crosses his arms. “I guess you can sleep in mine.”
“I can?” I pause for a beat, my mind struggling to catch up. “Thank you. That’s really sweet of you.”
He shakes his head with a smirk. “I’ll do my best to ignore your snoring.”
“I thought you were letting me have it.”
He holds a hand up. “We’re sharing my tent. Unless you want to sleep in my car. You’re welcome to.” He winks, then walks toward the fire pit. Everyone is recovering from our two-hour hike Hunter took us on after lunch.
I shoot daggers at Mitch’s wide back, but follow and overhear him explaining what happened to the others.
“You ripped my tent?” Hunter whines.
“I’m sorry. I’ll buy you a new one,” I reply. “But for real, is anyone willing to let me bunk with them tonight?”
The awkward glances the two couples share tell me their answer.