Chapter 12
They are loud. Their voices carry in the arid desert air.
Laughter and screams pierce the distance as I sit with my glass of wine and paperback copy of The Secret Garden.
I always pick a childhood book for these trips—to transport me back to my old bedroom with the star reading light, a papier-maché contraption that my mom made and hung over my bed for my late-night reading habits.
I read the same paragraph about Colin’s hump for the third time when a glowing light catches my eye. It gets closer and I realize it’s Ellis holding a lantern.
“Evenin’,” he says in a funny little drawl.
“Evenin’.” I watch as he approaches me, a little hop in his step. So excited to see me—and a part of me crumbles.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he says. “Is this a good time?”
“Of course.”
“We have so much booze and food and it’s getting late so…” He waggles his eyebrows. “Would you like to join us?”
It feels surly to say no. And there’s no denying that it’s been near torture sitting here mere steps away from a man I have spent a decade waiting for.
“What kind of wine do you have?” But I’m already putting my book down and getting up.
He shrugs. “Sorry, I am the least helpful person about alcohol of any sort. I drink what is given to me. But I know we’ve got some fancy assholes in our office, and they would not be serving you subpar stuff. Especially if Daniel’s around.”
I tuck that little bit of info away. Fellow wine slut.
A few minutes later, I’m bundled up in a fleece jacket I stole from an ex-boyfriend in Chile, and wearing a headlamp.
The thing about fateds is that they will somehow fall in love with you despite your very unsexy outfit.
I do, however, put on some tinted lip gloss and a swipe of blush. I’m not delusional.
We start the walk down to their camp together, and Ellis asks, “The Secret Garden, huh?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Mary, Mary, quite contrary.” He keeps the lantern held between us even though I can see perfectly fine with my headlamp. The desert is almost pitch-black, but the stars are scattered and give off a diffusion of light that reminds me of those stickers kids used to put on their ceilings.
A smile hitches on my lips. “Wow, you being familiar with the works of Frances Hodgson Burnett wasn’t on my bingo card.”
“I have an older sister, remember?” The lantern swings between us, our shadows long and entwined. “I know all the greatest hits. The BSC, The Little Princess, Margaret and her period, being Team Jacob, and knowing firmly that I, too, would be divergent.”
“Did you actually read them, though?”
He stops walking, and his expression is one of mock indignation. “Did I read them? No, I just burned them in a fire as I popped wheelies around the raging flames.”
I burst out laughing. “Okay, okay! You were ‘not like all the other boys.’ ”
“Nah, I was. I was embarrassed about reading them so I did it in secret. But I was just a voracious reader in general. Still am, I guess.”
I am not Rory Gilmore, and this kid is not going to seduce me with dog-eared copies of Bukowski. He will not. There is a grown man at the end of this path who enjoys good wine and is handsome in a way that makes me literally weak-kneed. The stars remind me to stay on course.
The camp is still rowdy. People are dancing, mostly swaying, to some Pearl Jam. A few are piled up on a blanket, like teenagers giggling at a slumber party, staring at the stars.
Daniel’s sitting on a literal log playing a literal guitar.
Part of me wonders if, somehow, I got secondhand high. It’s hard to explain, but this entire scene is just so Fraggle Rock. Daniel spots us first, and grins. “Ah, you managed to woo her back here.”
This reminds me of his earlier, easy comment about me being Ellis’s girlfriend. “No wooing necessary,” I say. Also easily. My body moves just the slightest bit away from Ellis, and I snap off my headlamp.
“Welcome to day one of…this,” Daniel says with a grimace. “We’re usually a really proper bunch.”
“This actually looks extremely peaceful for a drunk work retreat.” There are two men attempting to balance lightweight tent poles in their palms.
Ellis and Daniel exchange glances.
“What?” I ask.
“I would say people are more—high. Than drunk.” Daniel clears his throat.
“What, weed? Sir, I don’t know if you’re aware that marijuana has been legal here for quite some time,” I say with mock gravity.
Ellis pulls something out of his pocket. “It’s not weed.”
Part of me fills with trepidation. Then I see what’s inside.
“Oh, shrooms.” There’s relief in my voice which makes them both laugh. “Ah, I was scared you were going to hand me some kind of acid-laced wafer with a religious logo stamped into it.”
Ellis shakes his head, laughing. “That is so specific.”
We’re smiling at each other for too long and I open the bag. “Shall I?”
“If you want,” Ellis says. “Obviously no pressure. We’re not a cult.”
“The more times you say that the less I’m going to believe it.
” I take one piece. I’ve done this before in the desert, on a crafting retreat with Marcella and a couple of her college friends.
At the time, I couldn’t tell if the shrooms were there to make the crafting more interesting or if the crafting was just an excuse to take the shrooms. Either way, it was a good time and I could use a good time right about now—wedged between two men, one of whom I had lots of sex with, and the other of whom is my fated. Casual.
After I pop it in my mouth, Ellis hands me a cup of wine. I take it gratefully, the smooth red washing out the mild earthy flavor of the mushrooms. “Mm. This is good.”
Daniel lights up. “Oh, I’m glad you like it. It’s an organic red blend that always tastes better chilled.”
“It’s perfect and I want to have it come out of a tap in my home.
” I lift my glass to him. He lifts his, and that’s when I get a nice long look at his left hand and notice that there is no wedding band.
Something I hadn’t even considered until this very moment, and a belated sense of relief rushes through me as I take another sip of wine.
Something passes between us—a low frisson of mystery. His eyes stay on mine for a moment, dark brown and thoughtful, before he puts his guitar down. “Take a seat and please drink the wine. Some of the interns have been guzzling this like bloody juice and it makes me want to cry.”
Before I can look for a chair, one is procured for me by Ellis. He’s carrying two spindly yet efficient camp chairs under his arms. “Thanks.” I sit down, facing the fire.
Daniel gets up and hollers, “Everyone, this is Ellis’s friend Cassia. Be nice and be normal human beings, please and thank you.”
Everyone hoots and hollers. A woman who looks to be around Ellis’s age, with a cute French bob and perfectly slouched Kelly green sweatshirt, whoops, “Ooooh, this is Cassia.”
The man next to her, the older one from the campsite I saw earlier, looks perplexed. “Wait, you invited her here? Already? After one date?”
Ellis is slouched low in his chair, taking a long pull from a beer bottle. “Please, everyone die right this instant.”
It’s endearing, if alarming. I wave with a small smile. “Hi. I just took a single mushroom.”
Everyone laughs and cheers. “One of us!” some young person far away from me yells.
And within half an hour, I am so relaxed I can’t remember how my birthday ever bothered me.
Yes, my mother died. But Jesus Christ, woman, it happened thirty-two years ago!
You’ve been in therapy for half your life, and you have the most loving family in the world.
You have magical abilities that let you kinda time travel and help people find love. You have an incredible life.
And you are sitting between two very attractive men who seem to be giving off some very particular vibes.
End second-person mushroom narration.
“So, you are all, like, really into plants,” I announce.
There’s laughter and Ellis’s is loudest. This guy makes me feel like John Mulaney.
“Some of us were into plants since childhood,” a guy named Max says, pointing at himself. “And some of us are like this asshole who just showed a natural proficiency in plants and design.” He’s looking at Ellis.
“Really?” I look at him.
“Okay, he’s exaggerating,” Ellis says with a shake of his head, but his tone is good-natured. He is relaxed, stretched out in his seat with one of his arms lightly draped behind my chair. I feel his fingers brush against the back of my neck on occasion and it’s all just very nice.
“When I found you on the streets of Los Angeles, you were canvassing for an MP who later got caught having not one, but three orgies with various staffers,” Daniel says.
Everyone starts laughing, in this familiar way, as if this is not the first time this story has been discussed.
“Oh my god,” Ellis says. “First of all, it’s congressman, not MP, you British dork. Second, I didn’t know that at the time. He supported universal childcare.”
Fondness overcomes me and I find myself snuggling into Ellis. Even though Daniel is right there. Damn these fungi! “Did you want to go into politics?” I ask.
He shrugged. “Yeah. I was young and impassioned.”
“As opposed to now—wrinkled and disaffected,” I tease.
Daniel grins from across the fire. “But I literally did run into him outside of a grocery store one day, canvassing. He was so winning and persuasive, I actually donated money to the bloke’s campaign. And then I asked El if he wanted to intern for me.”
Green-sweatshirt girl rolls her eyes. “That’s how the bromance started. These two are disgusting.”
“I treat all my employees equally,” Daniel protests.
“Yeah, but Ellis is your special best boy,” Max says.
Everyone laughs but I look at Ellis with surprise. “Wait, so you didn’t go to school to do this job?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. I barely knew the difference between a pine tree and a ficus when I started here. Daniel taught me everything I know.” It’s kind of said jokingly, but I can sense the earnestness behind it. “My major in college was Latin.”
“What?” It almost sobers me, that revelation. “What in the hell? Who are you?”
Everyone laughs again but I’m kind of serious. This guy—he truly does go where the wind takes him.
“I wanted to go to college to learn shit,” he says, in a lower voice, a conversation just between us now. “But when I started interning at Watson and Associates, something clicked. I knew this was a job I could love.”
“And do you? Love it?” I ask.
“I really do. I owe Daniel a lot,” he says with a fond glance over at him. “He’s gone above and beyond for me.”
Oh, god. I was going to now get in between two men who were pretty much in love with each other.
Again, that’s a problem for Future Cassia. The night continues, the guitar strumming, the stars bright in the sky. At one point, someone asks me how I ended up in Joshua Tree, and I explain my birthday tradition.
Which then, of course, prompts a rousing and terrible rendition of “Happy Birthday.” Ellis brings me a pot brownie with a candle stuck in it that I blow out. “Thank you,” I say with a laugh, passing on the brownie. I don’t need to be completely wrecked tonight.
“You do this every year?” Daniel asks as he strums lightly on his guitar.
In my current state, I don’t find this embarrassing.
He holds the guitar like a natural part of his body.
Like it’s a hobby but one he’s had as long as I’ve been in therapy.
And it’s nice to hear in the middle of nowhere, the air dry as bone and cold as hell.
The fire crackles and almost everyone is huddled around it in various states of wellness.
I poke at the fire with a long stick. Earlier, I had stared at this stick for what felt like hours, marveling at the intricacies of wood.
I almost called my grandfather to talk about it, but Ellis gently moved my phone out of reach.
“Yeah, I’ve been doing this every year since I turned… twenty? So, a long time.”
“Ten years, then?” Daniel says with a put-on innocence.
“Ha.” I look up at him across the fire, feeling merry. “Nice try, fellow Asian. If I look thirty, I’m probably a retiree.”
Ellis shakes his head. “Cass, you have no idea what you look like.”
I catch the infatuation under the words and shoot a quick glance at him. Mm. Still cute. Probably still very good in bed.
Still very much twelve years younger than me.
I think of a line from Beautiful Girls, one of my favorite movies.
Noah Emmerich is making fun of Timothy Hutton’s character for having weird vibes with teenage Natalie Portman (it was the nineties, okay?) and says, “The girl was a zygote when you were in the seventh grade.”
Yikes.
But the uncomfortable moment passes, because I simply can’t be negative right now while feeling so great. I feel like I am at the peak of a good wine buzz. Maybe it’s the company. The desert sky. The sounds of other happy people around me.
“God, I would kill for a taco right now,” someone grumbles nearby.
“You always want tacos,” Daniel says with good humor.
“That’s because tacos are the perfect food,” the grumbler, I think his name is Parker, says.
“Name one item of food you can grab within five minutes that is as perfect as the carne asada taco,” Ellis says boldly.
“Hear, hear!” someone shouts.
“Wait. A Filet-O-Fish,” a man in his thirties says. He’s wearing sunglasses in the dark and drinking what looks like a “hard kombucha.”
“FILET. O. FISH?” green-sweatshirt girl screeches. “Get the fuck outta here.”
It becomes a chaotic fast-food standoff, and I am laughing so hard. Ellis leans his head toward me and says, “Let’s bail before they start a fight club.”
Some fuzzy part of me knows that I shouldn’t. That Daniel is right there and showing interest in me. But the part of me that is so happy and following every whim gets up with him, his hand gripping mine with assurance.