Chapter 22 #2
We’re the last convoy to arrive at the campsite.
Pen pulls in next to a green Subaru that makes my heart lurch.
Everyone is unpacking bags and gabbing at the firepit.
I see Josh, Deep, Andres, Eitan, and some other bridesmaids talking in a circle.
In the minute I’m watching, Deep bats Eitan playfully in the stomach and lets her hand linger there. He makes no move to put an end to it.
As he should, I remind myself. You cut him loose. And yet, I can’t look away. My gaze is drawn to him, like a bug to a light that will electrocute it.
Josh sees Pen’s car and pulls Eitan toward it, presumably so they can unload.
I scramble out of the car and try to grab my bag before anyone else can—and thus avoid any awkward, unnecessary interactions—but the trunk is locked.
While I wait for Pen to open it, I’m smack dab in Eitan’s path.
I examine my thumbnails, trying to look busy. Nonchalant. Effervescent.
Someone clears their throat. “It will be easier to unload the car if you’re not standing in the way,” Eitan says. His first words to me in two weeks.
“I can get my own bag.”
“It’s no problem,” he says, stiff but polite. He reaches around me and begins unloading bags.
I step back and try to calm my heart down.
Frustration swells in my throat. It’s not upsetting, I inform myself, because there was nothing between us to ruin.
We shared a few moments and one kiss. That’s all.
If there was a friendship that spoiled, it was short-lived anyway.
Why would someone like Eitan want to be friends with a stormcloud in the shape of a girl?
Nothing gained, nothing lost.
A white van with a large logo of a map and thick letters spelling OUTVENTURES pulls into the campsite, honking like it’s in a one-car parade.
The driver door bursts open, and a tall, skinny, scraggly man hops out in a green flannel, Oakleys, and a buff.
“Howdy!” The man jogs toward us. “The name’s Randy. But everyone calls me Skip. I’m your Outventures trip leader.” He jerks a proud thumb at his chest. Randy/Skip appears to be mid-forties, and looks way too eager to be in the woods. He shakes every single person’s hand and tries to remember names.
“If I begin calling him Skip, it’s a cry for help,” I mutter to Eitan. I don’t even get a whisper of a chuckle.
Andres and Deep catch sight of me and give a polite wave. Once Pen’s trunk is unloaded, and the bags are deposited in the same pile as everyone else’s luggage, Eitan walks away.
With Eitan successfully avoided, I have to come to terms with the fact that for all the work that’s gone into the wedding, the original goal of getting closer with this group has been largely stagnant. Loneliness tingles in my joints.
Suppose it’s not that different from how it feels when I’m home.
Except, here, I can have a breakdown in the woods.
I walk to the edge of the trees that line the campsite, stretching my arms above my head.
The oxygen content in the air feels like double what it is in the city.
Instead of the heady aroma of exhaust and pee and trash, it smells like pine and wet earth.
Fluffy blankets of clouds roll and unfurl overhead, and leaves crinkle in a breeze, a few detaching from their branches.
They flash sunshine yellow and bright crimson, the colors truer than the concrete-shrouded city trees.
The birds and insects and forest creatures rustle and hum and scuttle in the background. Being alone out here feels less lonely.
“Hey, Ruby!” Pen calls me, her silver metallic nails flashing as she waves. “C’mere.” She’s on the other end of the campsite, the one that borders the river. I trudge toward her, taking my time, wanting to make her wait.
When I get closer, she uncaps a fat marker between us. “I want to write something inspirational on our backs and take a topless photo.”
My hands curl around my shirt. “I’m not really—”
“You know, something like ‘Check your boobs,’ or ‘Mammogram Life.’”
“I don’t get mammograms.” I frown. “I don’t have boobs anymore.”
“Come on. I’ll tag you and you’ll probably get loads of follows.” Penelope grabs my shirt and begins lifting it. Suddenly, a sweat is breaking out on my skin.
“I—don’t—”
“It will be so cool! It’s for breast cancer awareness. Don’t you care about that?”
“Yes, of course I do—”
“It’s not the same if it’s just me doing it—” She’s still holding my shirt edge, and I realize I’m not wearing a bra.
If she actually manages to lift my shirt, she’ll see my chest. No one’s seen it since my surgery besides Grant and my mom, and only one of those people was genetically obligated to still love me after.
When my chest is hidden beneath my clothing, it’s easy to pretend it doesn’t exist.
“I’m not—that’s not something I—”
“What’s going on?” Eitan stomps toward us. I use the distraction to step away from Penelope.
“Penelope’s about to take a cool photo for breast cancer awareness.” I hold out my hand. “Here, if you give me the marker, I can write it on your back. Then I’ll face the camera. How’s that sound?”
Penelope looks up, thinking, then nods. “Sure, yeah, that would be cool too. Eitan, you may as well take the photo.”
Eitan watches with a disapproving glare while I write CHECK YOUR BOOBS on Penelope’s flawless back.
As her arms fidget, I get a front row seat to her perfect, perky boobs.
By the time I’m closing the loop on the S, I’ve blocked out everything but the slash of magenta pen.
Penelope cranes her neck to look at my handiwork and my eyes shoot away, not wanting to see any more of her chest.
“Okay, you stand here.” She positions me while I keep my eyes mostly closed. “And I’ll stand here.” She plants herself next to me and throws her arms up. “Maybe, like, point to my back or something.”
If nothing else, Pen’s bizarre request has accomplished one thing: breaking the ice between Eitan and I.
We hold in our laughter, our eyes pinging against each other like marbles, while Penelope stands with her hands raised, posing for the world’s dumbest photograph. Maybe a mosquito will bite her nipple.
I half-heartedly point at her back, while arranging my mouth into a smile. Eitan takes it, wincing.
“How’s it look?” Penelope calls over her shoulder.
“Incredible,” he says dryly.
“Campers!” Randy projects from the firepit. “Let’s all gather round.”
I’m so grateful to have an excuse to exit this photo-op that I consider calling him Skip. Pen puts her shirt on, snatching her phone back from Eitan, examining the photo.
“Who’s ready for an Outventures trip of a lifetime?!” Randy claps his hands together as the sixteen souls stuck on this joint-bach weekend sit around the firepit.
Pen clears her throat, prancing to the center of the circle.
“Thanks, Skip!” Skip’s eyes bug out and he steps back, letting Pen take the floor.
“It’s actually called Camp Goldberg.” She nudges her chin at Calliope, subtle yet manic.
“Thank you all so much for coming! This is going to be the best joint-bachelor-bachelorette weekend there ever was!”
Calliope grunts as she hoists a large cardboard box and plunks it down in the center of the circle.
“And here’s the merch that Calliope had made,” Pen announces as she begins handing out printed tote bags.
Calliope made Camp Goldberg merch? This I gotta see.
Inside the tote, there’s a matching lavender sweatsuit with a Camp Goldberg logo, a purple water bottle, packets of electrolyte powder, a friendship bracelet, and…a Smirnoff Ice.
“Ha!” Pen points around the circle. “You’ve been iced! Bottoms up!”
The guys—besides Eitan—immediately go to a kneel, well-trained frat boys that they are. Steve is first to finish, beating his fists against his chest. The girls drink it slower, not making any move to get down on one knee. I crack open the bottle and pour it onto the pine needles.
Pen returns to the edge of the circle. “Back to you, Skip!”
“Uh, thanks.” Skip adjusts his buff. “Outventures trips are all about teamwork. Working together. Tonight, everyone is going to do their part to cook and clean a feast of campfire spaghetti and skillet brownies, and over the next two days, we will be canoeing and hiking the almighty Au Sable River.”
“Wait.” Penelope holds up a hand. “We’re canoeing?”
Calliope shrugs. “You said you wanted a camping trip.”
“I meant, like, a picturesque walk through nature to a yurt,” she says through gritted teeth.
“Come on, baby, this will be fun!” Josh squeezes her shoulder. “This is exactly like summer camp.”
“I promise the Au Sable will be a special experience. Are there any fishers here?” Skip looks around the group, met with blank stares.
“These are holy waters for fishing. So we’re going to be a good friend to Mother Nature and leave no trace.
” The group nods, agreeable if not enthusiastic.
“On Sunday, Bessie and I will shuttle everyone back to their cars after breakfast. Sound like a good plan?”
Is his van…named Bessie?
“Everyone can pick their bunkmates and set up their tents, and then we’ll start dinner in—” Skip makes a show of looking at his watch, which appears to have been purchased in 2006. “Thirty minutes!”
“Are tents co-ed?” one guy asks. His voice is suspiciously Steve-like.
“We’re all adults.” Skip nods.
“Nice.” Steve holds up a hand for a high five that no one accepts.
“Tents are inside Bessie. We’ve got the campsite to ourselves tonight, so set up anywhere you want!” Skip gives us a pair of lethal finger guns.
It’s a mad dash to pair up for a tent. Pen and Clara cling together like they’re glued. A slap in the face to the person who spent all summer helping her put this wedding together, but I manage to stay reactionless. Deep and Emma are next. I swivel around, looking for Calliope.
She’s disposing of the Smirnoff Ice bottles. I step toward her, manic. “Want to bunk together?”
“Yeah, for sure,” she says.