Chapter 31
The next two weeks pass in a blur. I am officially done with hiking as the air grows more and more cold and the park and trails close for the season.
I do, however, go into the office most mornings to fill my time now that I’m finished with repairs on the Airstream and trying not to hover around my parents’ house as often.
Uncle Silas and I clean the office and store the gear away, taking time to repair or log anything that needs replaced.
We file paperwork and send out client follow-ups.
It’s quiet and monotonous, the usual song and dance we perform every year before closing shop until March.
A flu hits the hospital, taking out staff left and right, so Jack works more often than not, but on the days he’s home for dinner, he shows up at the Airstream with groceries and a new recipe to try.
We don’t do anything besides cook and watch TV, but each time, it gets harder for me to say goodbye.
He feels it, too, I know, but neither of us say anything about it.
We’re on a precipice that both of us refuse to tip over.
We’re trying to be smart, but I don’t think it’s helping.
Regardless of whether we’ve let things become romantic between us, we’re two plants whose roots have tangled, growing into something indistinguishable.
Tonight is his final shift, and in two days, he’s leaving.
Last week, while we ate homemade Thai noodles on my sofa, a cheesy comedy show playing on the TV, he told me he’d made up his mind to go to Montana for Thanksgiving.
He still hasn’t signed another contract, and he isn’t sure where he wants to go next, but he knows he wants to go home first. See his brother and hold his niece.
I’m happy for him and unbelievably proud, but my chest still feels like it’s collapsing when I think about him leaving, when I remember how lonely my Airstream will feel when it’s just me in it again every evening.
When the days grow shorter but somehow seem to stretch on forever, waiting until spring.
I need a distraction, and I know just the one.
My hands are full as I climb out of my truck and make my way to Wren’s front door.
She doesn’t answer when I knock, but I hear a voice on the other side yelling for me to come in.
The door creaks open beneath my palm, and I kick it closed behind me before heading down the hall.
The conversation stops when I enter the kitchen, all eyes landing on me.
Wren, Finley, Alicia, and Nora. All of them shocked to see me, finally showing up for book club for the first time in months.
Alicia is the first to speak. “It’s about damn time.”
Finley’s mouth splits in a grin, and she rushes to give me a hug. “Let it happen.”
I do my best to sink into her embrace around the bags in my hands, her cheek pressed to mine.
“We’ve missed you,” she says.
My throat feels thick. “I’ve missed you guys.”
“Glad you could make it,” Nora says, and I give her a smile. “But now we’re definitely going to need more margs.”
Despite not making it to book club in months, I seamlessly fold back into the group.
Alicia is loudly telling a story about an aggressive encounter she had with a woman in the produce aisle at the grocery over the last mango.
Nora proudly recounts to Finley how her daughter Devina did something adorable at daycare drop off.
Wren and I work side by side, juicing limes for margaritas.
I’ve missed this. I’ve missed them, and I’m kicking myself for not making this a priority. For letting my friendships take a back seat the last year.
“How you holding up?” Wren asks softly, pulling me from my thoughts.
I look over at her. Her hair is pulled up in a bun, ringlet curls falling out around her face. She’s got a piece of lime pulp on her cheek and is licking agave off of her pinky.
“What do you mean?” I pour ice into the shaker, but hold off shaking it.
“With Jack leaving soon.”
“Oh,” I say, and shake the margaritas to give myself time to figure out how to answer.
I consider lying, but not being honest about my feelings hasn’t gotten me anywhere so far.
I set the shaken margaritas down on the counter and say, “Not great.” My chest pinches.
“I wish he wasn’t leaving. He fits here, you know? ”
She watches me for a minute as I pour the drinks into glasses with cactus stems, an addition to book club night that she added last year. “Does he fit here or fit with you?”
I think about her question. “Both.”
The look she gives me is sad. Wren knows I’m not like the rest of them—that I’ve always been fine being on my own.
Finding a partner was never high on my list of priorities.
Wren spent years on dating apps and Finley had lots of dreams, but her biggest was to be a wife and mom.
She wanted the white picket fence and the lazy Saturday mornings, and she got it.
Nora married her high school sweetheart, and Alicia met a kind-hearted man who worships the ground she walks on.
Finding someone was never my dream, but now that I’ve met Jack, I can see why they all wanted it. I understand how good it feels to know and be known by someone.
“I’m sorry,” Wren says. She looks around at the group of women, and lowers her voice. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I shake my head, chest squeezing. “Not now. Let’s drink.
” I push a glass across the counter toward her before lifting mine to my lips.
We always serve margaritas at book club, and we’ve perfected the recipe over the last four years.
It’s bright and strong and always has just the right amount of burn.
Wren stares at her margarita for a moment, then looks up at me, expression guilty. “I can’t have it.”
My eyes widen, but before I can respond, Alicia yells, “I knew you were pregnant!”
The rest of the girls swing to face us, wearing matching expressions of shock. Wren revealed her pregnancy with Wilder to us at book club three years ago, but I knew about that one ahead of time.
Wren affects a wince, but she’s smiling beneath it. “I was going to tell you first,” she tells me. “I forgot Alicia can hear everything.”
“You’re pregnant?” Finley asks, surprise lacing her voice. She is Wren’s sister-in-law, after all.
Wren nods, her blue eyes filling with tears. “I found out a few days ago.”
“How far along are you?”
“Five weeks. I’m due at the end of July.”
Finley’s grin is slow, and then she’s smiling, too, and I know what she’s going to say right before it comes out. “Well, the cousins will be very close in age then, because I’m due at the end of June.”
The room explodes, everyone yelling over each other and crying, grabbing each other in tight hugs.
I join in, wrapping my arms around both of my friends, listening to them each tell how they found out and sharing symptoms. Listening to the questions Alicia and Nora ask.
But it also feels like it’s happening behind a door, the sound muffled as my mind whirs.
They’re all moving on, their lives changing and growing and expanding.
I’m so happy for each of them, for the lives they're making, the dreams they're living. But I can’t help but feel more and more like my own has grown stagnant. I’ve planted roots that are rotting, and I’m withering instead of flourishing.
I thought coming here, finally doing something for myself, was a step forward, but I’m realizing it was just a move sideways. The worst part is, I have no idea how to change it, how to finally move forward. I’m afraid I’ve become stuck, my life quicksand I’ve sunk into, too late to pull myself out.