Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
The Camping Trip
Over the next week or so, Luke and I start hanging out almost daily.
He joins me during lunch breaks at work, and for the first time in years, I don’t pick up a book to pass the time.
Instead, we sit together in that little upstairs room, talking and laughing our asses off until the hour flies by.
We text each other as soon as we get home—sometimes well into the night—until it becomes routine.
It’s effortless, like we’ve known each other our whole lives instead of just a few weeks.
With Luke, the conversations are playful and fun with just the right amount of seriousness, and I get the sense that he’s equally eager to keep talking to me.
Even when we have nothing profound to say, he’ll send memes or TikTok videos that give me insight into his sense of humor and the kinds of things he likes.
Little by little, I’m getting to know him better, and it only intensifies my desire.
I want to tell him how I’m feeling, but it becomes clear early on that I’m a coward.
I’ve come close to saying the words a few times, but whenever I open my mouth to speak, I panic and snap it shut like an idiot.
It shouldn’t be this hard, but I’d be lying if I said part of me isn’t terrified that I’ll only fuck this up if I move too quickly.
Or that he won’t reciprocate, and I’ll lose him altogether instead.
The thought of that feels worse than never progressing beyond this point.
I’d rather spend a hundred days like this with Luke than have to give him up entirely.
If only I had an idea of how he felt, I could approach this more confidently.
As Labor Day weekend approaches, I take a risk and ask Luke if he wants to come up north with me and the guys for our annual camping trip.
At first, he seems hesitant about the idea. Not only does he not know my friends very well, but he hasn’t been camping since he was a kid and has no gear. However, with some persuasion and a guarantee that he doesn’t need to bring anything but himself, Luke finally gives in.
While Marcus and the others were surprised but accepting of the idea, they did seem a bit disheartened that Chrissy wasn’t the one joining us.
In their opinion, half the fun of this weekend is the romantic getaway in the great outdoors.
They have no reason to suspect there’s any chance of that between Luke and me, and I don’t have the heart to tell them I’m secretly hoping for that outcome.
For all they know, Luke and I are just becoming good friends.
And for all I know, that’s all that’s happening, too. Fuck.
Still, the flame of hope is there that I’ll somehow gain the courage to tell Luke the truth.
I have no idea if anything will pan out this weekend, and I have no expectations.
At the very least, I’ll have someone to hang out with whenever the other couples decide to break off and do their own things. I’ll be content with that for now.
It’s been our tradition for the last fifteen years to go up to the U.P.
and camp along the Lake Superior shoreline.
It started the year after my dad died. Marcus, Eric, and Ben took me up there to help me grieve, bringing a little light back into my life when I wasn’t sure anything would ever be good again, and we’ve come back every year since, almost like a pilgrimage.
Eventually, we opened it up to allow wives and girlfriends when our lives started changing, but the point of the trip has always stayed the same—to let loose and forget about life for a little while.
The only hard and steadfast rule we’ve ever kept was ‘no kids allowed.’
Our favorite camping spot is on Twelvemile Beach near Grand Marais, part of the Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore.
It’s rustic, but it’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been.
We take kayaks out on Lake Superior, dance to music on the beach, and drink enough booze to make us forget about our troubles.
Only this year, my troubles are coming with me.
Luke arrives at my house at 6:30 on Friday morning, more awake than I’ve ever seen him this early. As we pack up my truck, he’s bouncy and wired, flitting around like the Energizer Bunny hyped up on cocaine. It’s ridiculously adorable.
At first, I was nervous Luke wouldn’t find rustic camping in the woods exciting enough to entertain him.
Hearing about his near-nightly escapades and the kind of social calendar he kept in NYC, it’s hard to imagine him spending a quiet night in, let alone sitting still for more than five minutes.
Maybe being stuck here for a couple of months with nothing to do made him willing to take whatever excitement he could get, but I’m not complaining.
By the time we’re done packing, the backseat and bed of the truck are bursting with supplies.
Luke only has a small backpack of clothes, a pillow, and a sleeping bag; everything else is mine.
With how full it is, you’d think I was planning a month-long vacation instead of a four-day weekend, but experience has taught me it’s better to be over-prepared.
It only took one drunken mistake with a knife to remember to pack first aid equipment going forward, and I didn’t hear anyone complaining.
It's a little over a six-hour car ride upstate, and even though we started driving at 7 a.m., the roads are already packed as we merge onto the freeway. Everyone in Michigan seems to have the same idea to head north the last weekend before the public beaches close for winter.
The drive is comprised of talking, snacking on junk food, and listening to music—or rather, arguing over who has the better taste in music.
We go back and forth with the AUX cord, showing off our collections like little kids quarreling over who has the better deck of Pokémon cards.
It’s more fun than it has any right to be.
Luke listens to my terrible singing and doesn’t judge me for it, and I get a front-row seat to his vocal genius, loving the way my skin tingles with every overture.
I make some interesting discoveries this way.
For one, Luke is surprisingly obsessed with K-pop.
Outside of BTS, I haven’t heard of any of the artists he listens to, and there are many.
Half the songs have non-English lyrics, and Luke doesn’t speak Korean as far as I know.
That doesn’t stop him from jamming out, though.
Some of those songs are catchy. I make a point to add a few of them to my playlists for later. They’d be good workout songs.
On top of the expected collection of show tunes and soundtracks that any self-respecting musical theater kid would have, Luke also has a shocking mix of bluegrass, indie, and folk music. He’s even got a lot of older country music, claiming it’s from the golden age before the genre went to crap.
“Anything that came out after 9/11 is utter bullshit,” he says passionately.
“It’s like it turned into this aggressively patriotic garbage, always talking about how ‘America is the best,’ and ‘God this,’ ‘God that,’ and ‘we treat our women like property.’ I always found it obscenely gross and still can’t stand to listen to anything new that comes out like that. ”
I’ve never paid attention to it, yet I can’t help but laugh once he points it out.
There’s some truth in the observation. Not everyone did it, but many early 2000s albums followed that formula.
At the time, I didn’t notice the shift, but going through my music now, I can point out handfuls of songs that would fit that description when I think about the lyrics.
Still, my music collection is vast, and Luke seems to enjoy the newer country songs I play when it’s my turn with the AUX (even though he pretends he doesn’t). I just make sure to avoid the ones he wouldn’t.
I’m playing through Elton John on my next turn when Luke’s energy from the morning wears off. We’re somewhere outside Gaylord when he curls up against the window and drifts off to the sound of Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. By the time I notice, he’s out cold, and I turn the radio down.
I can’t stop glancing over at him while he sleeps.
It’s as if my mind won’t rest until I’ve had the chance to study him, taking in every way his body relaxes when he’s not consciously holding it—from the curve and sweep of his hair as it falls over his face to the way his chest slowly rises with every breath.
His face looks so at peace, and somehow, he still looks like a model, tragically handsome and perfectly posed as if he’s waiting for someone to take a picture.
Lord knows I don’t look that good when I’m unconscious.
My brain drifts to what it might be like to sleep with him pressed against me, and the thought brings warmth to my cheeks.
I’m tempted to brush my fingers through his hair, desperate to feel if it’s as soft as it looks, but I manage to restrain myself and force my attention back to the road with a heavy sigh.
Dear fucking lord, I’m hopeless. I’ve got to be the biggest pervert in the history of perverts for thinking about all this while the man is sleeping less than a foot away from me, completely oblivious.
I really hope I’ll be able to get through this weekend without fucking this up, or I might die from the torture.
Pulling into a rest stop a few miles outside Mackinaw, I park and turn off the truck. Luke suddenly snaps awake and looks around with wild confusion before turning toward me like a deer caught in headlights.
Something in his expression makes me freeze. He’s genuinely panicked, like he forgot where he was. His eyes are filled with terror, and my heart clenches.
“Are you all right?” I frown.
Luke takes a deep, shaky breath and swallows, blinking a few times, turning away from me awkwardly. He rubs his hands over his face. “Yeah. Sorry. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Are we there yet?” Luke asks instead, dismissing my question.