Chapter 26 #2
It’s not Eric’s fault every single one of our shared experiences is colored by a singular truth—that I’m hopelessly in love with him, falling harder each day.
Ever since we piled into his truck this morning, I’ve been indulging myself by stealing glances and raking my eyes down his form when he’s turned away or focused on something else.
Around our campsite, I’ve caught myself admiring the shape of his thighs and ass in his shorts, the fullness of his exposed biceps, the way his shirt clings to his torso.
No better than a voyeur indulging in one-sided attraction. That’s all it is between us.
A hand brushes my shoulder, and I glance up to see Eric behind me.
“Dinner’s done. Hope you’re hungry.”
I’m hungry for so much more. I’m starving for something Eric can’t provide.
We each fill a plate of grilled hotdogs and chips, grab a drink from the cooler, and take a seat by the fire to enjoy dinner. As the sun sets, the lake reflects a tall mountain peak on the other side and the colors of sky—orange, purple, and pink.
An intrusive voice in my head urges me to ask Eric what he was planning to do if we hadn’t been interrupted. What an insane idea. There’s only one outcome on the other side of that question: writing a memoir titled How I Ruined a Perfectly Good Camping Trip and Burned Every Bridge in One Easy Step.
Yet the silence isn’t easygoing between us. Social anxiety pushes me to bring up something, anything, to counteract the rising tension.
“So… I don’t think you’ve ever shared what actually got you into camping?” I ask before stuffing my mouth with the remains of my first hotdog.
Eric, to his credit, has behaved completely normal, unaffected by the frisbee fluke. He takes a long drink from his can and then wipes his mouth with a napkin.
“When Elizabeth and I were younger, our folks took us to Yosemite every summer. Sometimes we’d tent camp or they’d rent a cabin for a week. We’d do it all: hiking, biking, tubing, fishing, you name it.”
“Your folks must be big on the outdoors.”
“My dad’s dad always took his family out every summer, so it’s tradition.
” Eric smiles fondly as he stares into the wispy fire.
“When I was older, my dad and I would go hiking on some of the more advanced trails. At some of the higher elevation lakes around Yosemite, I’d catch myself being distracted by the view.
The way the water can shimmer like crystal is breathtaking.
It’s so peaceful. There’s nothing else like it. ”
Eric leans away from the fire and stretches. “What about you? Any big yearly traditions in your family?”
“My hometown had a ‘Shakespeare in the Park’ event every summer.” Nothing exactly as grandiose as reconnecting with nature on an intimate level. “Our local theater group would put on one of his plays. My dad took me a few times since he loves Shakespeare.”
I scratch my neck, trying to think of other family traditions besides hockey, hockey, and more hockey. “Does going to see the Nutcracker every December count?”
“Of course.”
“The Rat King used to freak me out as a kid.”
“Honestly? Same. Something about the costume and makeup always made the character look a little nightmarish.” Eric laughs. “The music’s wonderful though.”
The fire crackles as Eric tends to it, with tiny sparks flying up into the air and sizzling out.
“Did your hometown have any outdoor skating rinks?”
“Of course. I think there are as many rinks as there are old colonial churches where we lived.” I can’t resist the tug of a small smile.
“On weekends my parents would take me to a movie, and then we’d go to this one rink connected to the mall.
Every time we went, my mom would convince my dad to try skating.
She’d try to teach him, but it never really stuck.
She’d always grumble about the rental blades being so dull, how they couldn’t cut the ice whatsoever.
She’d say that’s why dad struggled so much.
In reality my dad’s got two left feet on the ice, but he took the risk every time because it made her happy. ”
“People do crazy things for the people they love.”
I close my eyes, and even after so many years removed, I can still clearly picture the scene—the soft snowflakes, the jaunty music, the smell of coffee and hot chocolate from a stand, the colored lights, the way my mom laughed as she skated with wobbly dad, the pride on their faces when they would stand by the boards and watch me skate on my own with ease.
Those winter weekends are some of the happiest memories of my childhood.
We clean up after dinner and pass the evening staring up at the night sky, warmed by the fire and the coffee Eric made.
“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” I ask while suppressing a yawn.
“I thought we could hike up to the falls and have a picnic lunch at the top. It’s a pretty easy trail.”
I nod, my eyes starting to fall closed on their own. As much as I don’t want the day to end, I’m having a hard time staying awake.
“Ready to call it a night?”
I smile half-heartedly and rub at my eyes. “Yeah, I think so. Sorry.”
“No need to apologize. We had a busy day.”
Eric puts out the fire, and then we pack up our camp for the night. Call me weak, but I’m grateful to be heading into a trailer instead of a tent. The temperature has fallen significantly since sunset, and I wouldn’t want to be shivering inside a sleeping bag.
“I’ll take the sofa bed,” Eric offers once we’re inside. “You can have the bedroom.”
“You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
Too tired from the busy day, I don’t protest further. I just want to change into my pajamas and crash for the night.
“If you need anything, just holler.”
I linger, having so much more to say but none of the courage required to admit any of it aloud. I settle on a simple goodnight, and we go our separate ways.
After changing clothes, I slip into the queen sized bed, surprised at the comfort. Warm under the covers, I reach up to turn off a small overhead light. My part of the trailer goes dark, followed shortly by Eric’s in the other section.
The night is still, calm. If I thought Eric’s home was quiet compared to the city, this is another level entirely.
My fingers touch the space where Eric could have been if I had been brave and bold and invited him to share the bed.
If I actually was an extraordinary goaltender who wasn’t ruled by his fears, I would have confessed my feelings for him and spared myself the agony.
The longing’s eating away at my sanity. Every fiber of my being wants him, craving him and everything he embodies—comfort, understanding, security.
Years of admiration transformed into pent up desire.
You can’t have him. He’s not yours to crave. You’ll always—
I roll away from the empty side of the bed, curl into myself, and hug the pillow to my chest. That’s the problem with quiet nights. They’re too quiet.
Every day, the risk of saying something damning only rises.
I’m terrified my feelings for him are all going to spill out, maybe even without an uttered word.
Eric might notice the way my body reacts to him, and I don’t know what would be worse: to have Eric respond with disgust or to have him let me down gently, confirming what I’ve feared all along, that he only sees us as friends.
I could torpedo one of the last remaining relationships in my life if I’m not careful.
How would I ever be able to come back from that?
I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out.
I can’t lose Eric, but every time we’re close, every time he touches me, I wish I could just give in.
When I rested against his chest on the couch days ago, I could trick myself into believing I was his partner and that I belonged beside him, safe in his embrace.
The world couldn’t hurt us because Eric was my knight, my shield.
If anyone could beat back the darkness, it would be him.
But Eric’s not here. He’s not across a hallway, behind a closed door; he’s sleeping on the other side of a short divider separating two parts of the trailer.
If I focus hard enough, I swear I can hear him breathing.
It’s just the two of us at the campsite, miles away from the nearest town.
Closer now than ever before, but still so far away.