26. Evelyn
26
Evelyn
Wilderness Survival: Monday, 8 a.m. – 11:00 a.m. @ River Ridge trail
I look at the text again.
Garrett
Work thing. Can’t make it. Is that ok?
Evelyn
Yeah, that’s ok.
“Is something wrong?” Quinn asks as she stretches her calves using the trailhead marker for balance. The plan was for all of us to meet here at eight but I got the text just as I was leaving.
“No. Why?” I ask as I shove my phone into my shorts.
“Because you’ve checked your phone about ten times in the last five minutes,” she says.
Closer to twenty, but who’s counting?
“It’s nothing, just checking to see what’s up with Garrett,” I tell her.
Oliver finishes taking a drink from his water bottle then looks our way. “Is everything okay?”
“I think so.” I really hope so. Work isn’t a casual thing for him and it must be serious if they asked for him.
“You can go,” Quinn says.
“Would you guys be okay with that, going on the trail all by yourselves?”
“You know these things don’t require adult supervision. Even if they did, we are adults so I think we’ll be just fine.” A wry smile pulls on Quinn's lips.
“If you’re sure,” I hedge.
“You’re not going to let us down if you leave,” Oliver adds. “We have another week and a half here.” It’s what I need to hear and the moment his eyes meet mine, I know that’s exactly why he said it.
“We’ll do something tomorrow. Anything you guys want,” I say, my eyes already on the short path to the parking lot.
Quinn considers for a moment. “Dinner at the house you and Garrett are staying at.”
“I’ll take care of everything!” I promise as I start to dart off.
When I reach my SUV I pat my pockets looking for my keys. When I don’t feel them I check again as if they somehow got lost in the thin fabric of my exercise shorts. I keep my eyes on the ground as I make my way back to the trailhead, searching for any hint of metal or my black fob on on the packed earth.
Snippets of hushed voices cause me to slow down. I only catch parts of the sentences and they sound agitated.
“Do you think it’s necessary?” It takes me a moment to realize it’s Quinn because of her agitated tone.
“But what if?”
“I don’t see how? I’m still not sure—”
“We should. It’s for the best—”
I’m torn between hanging back for a few moments to let them finish whatever has them sounding upset or going for the keys.
When I reach the top of the rise, I see my keys at the edge of the trail, half-covered in a pile of leaves where Quinn and I were stretching. When I look up, I freeze.
Kissing. They’re kissing. Oliver’s hand cups the back of Quinn’s head, her dark hair flaring between the gaps in his fingers. It’s not a long kiss. I breathe and it’s over.
They’re dating. I know they’re dating, doing far more than this in private. But I guess seeing is believing, pushing unconscious understanding into stark reality.
The jealousy that settles on my tongue has a confusing flavor to it. I want to spit it out.
It’s not because Quinn is with Oliver. No, it’s the type that comes when you’re watching a rom-com and think I want to belong with someone like that. I want to belong so bad it hurts. They found it without me. Together.
There’s another fraction of a second where they look at each other. Oliver’s blue eyes shine for Quinn in the way that everyone wants to be looked at. He sees her, only her.
But Quinn sees me, all but jumping away from Oliver’s hold as she does. She stumbles over the rock she was using earlier to prop up her leg and Oliver reaches out to grab her. His arm snakes around her waist pull her back to him. The moment they’re both upright, they’re putting distance between them again.
I hold up my keys and then point at where I picked them up from the ground. “I lost these.” My voice comes out robotically before I turn and head back to the cars.
“Ev, we—” Oliver starts to say.
“No. Stay,” Quinn says, effectively cutting him off before there’s a light thud of footfalls behind me. The steps slow as she closes the distance. “I’m sorry. You didn’t need to see that.”
“I’m not upset,” I say.
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m not upset that you guys were kissing,” I clarify.
“Then why won’t you look at me!” she demands, causing me to stop in my tracks. Quinn kicks up dust around her as she works to not run into me with her forward momentum.
“Because you practically shoved Oliver away to not touch in front of me,” I say. “I don’t want it to be weird. If you guys want to touch, touch. I don’t want to be the reason you can’t.”
“Stop it!” she shouts.
“Stop what?” My voice rises to match hers and my muscles tighten in my shoulders.
“Stop it,” she says softer this time, but only slightly. “You’re doing that thing I hate where you act like nothing can touch you if you decide that it should be okay. You’ve been doing it all week. Barely talking to me at the wine bar then avoiding conversations yesterday.”
“It is okay. Haven’t I said that already?” Haven’t I said that enough? Can’t we just move on? Please, can we move on?
“Maybe things aren’t supposed to be okay. Maybe we should talk through things because we’re friends and it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, and I don’t want to act like that doesn’t matter?”
“I don’t want to fight. We don’t fight.” We all have our reasons for it. When we all met each other, we were thick in the magic that’s reserved for new beginnings.
In those days, we always ended up in Oliver’s room because his roommate had upperclassman friends who lived off campus and Quinn and my roommates liked to use our rooms for studying. I had a fake ID and bought us a box of wine, a shitty red blend that we still buy on principle and not for the taste even though we can afford much better.
The first time it happened was during the third week of classes. Nothing mattered besides finding a place to belong for the next four years. Secrets and hidden thoughts bled into casual conversation, until we could never be strangers ever again.
It was the time that Oliver told us about his sisters and how they were his favorite people in the world. How he delayed college by a year because of his dad’s most recent divorce.
Quinn told us about her parents. How they couldn’t stand each other and were only still together because of their staunch religious beliefs. That she lies to them about going to bible study and church every Sunday. We promised to be her unconditional alibis if she ever needed us.
For me, it was the first time I talked about my brother. It was the first time I told anyone about my deep need for things to be okay. We all cried and let it be okay to cry.
My eyes catch on a red sedan pulling into the parking space.
“Then why are you running from us? If everything is fine, why did you leave?” she asks, and I don’t think we’re talking about their kiss anymore.
“I didn’t think it was right to stay.”
“You can tell me if there’s another reason. You can tell me anything,” she says, opening an opportunity with her words. An invitation I nearly take.
“Not right now,” I say. It’s not the right time. “And also, I’m not all that into voyeurism, so I thought walking away was an okay response.”
“Can you at least admit this is a little awkward?” Her plea is purposefully exaggerated. “Can you at least do that because I feel like I’m going crazy. Oliver is doing the same exact thing because that’s what both of you always do.”
“Fine.” A laugh soars out of me. “It’s definitely awkward. But I really do just want you two to be comfortable and happy and know that I’m okay with it. That’s always going to be true.”
“You’re not going to pay off townspeople to spit in our food or anything?”
“Of course not,” I deadpan. “If I was going to be petty, I’d be far more original than that. Spitting in food has no shock factor.”
“If the hot water is suddenly shut off at the bed and breakfast?” she presses.
“Then you have a reason to be suspicious,” I confirm. “Now, go enjoy the hike and I’ll see you two tomorrow for dinner.”
“Will your fancy boyfriend be offended at the sight of boxed wine? Because if he will be you have to get rid of him,” she says seriously, and I know she’s not joking. Few things are sacred to Quinn, boxed wine is near the top of the list.
“He’ll survive,” I say.
“Good.”
When I reach Alina’s house, I hesitate for a moment deciding if I actually should go to check on Garrett. It’s not like he gave me any indication that anything is wrong. Still, if this means he’s headed back to the city earlier than he planned, at least this way we can talk about it as soon as possible. That doesn’t exactly appeal to me, but I’d rather know now than let it loom over me.
I park in the driveway behind his truck so I don’t block Alina in if she needs to leave. There’s something about coming here casually. There’s so much purpose to how Garrett and I meet up. We have our calendar invites that set clear boundaries, but over the last two days we’ve started to test them.
I’m almost tempted to send an invite to announce my presence, a gesture that would feel like a shield for the concern that’s building in my chest like a rapidly inflating balloon. At the door I take the lion’s head knocker and release it to percussively hit the metal plate behind it.
When the door opens a few minutes later, Alina is on the other side. She’s dressed in an orange kaftan and slippers. Her face is painted with a full face of makeup and reading glasses are perched at the end of her nose.
“Hello, dear girl.”
“Alina, it’s good to see you,” I say, a bit disappointed she’s the one to greet me.
“No need to flatter me. I know you’re not here for me,” she says curtly, and my cheeks heat.
“Is he still busy?”
“He’s finished with work.” She hesitates before adding, “but he’ll be upstairs for a while.”
“I can come back later.” I’m already shifting my weight to leave. This was a bad idea to show up unannounced. I should have at least texted to ask if it was okay to come over. I guess I just didn’t want him to say no.
“It should be another few hours before he gets up,” she explains, stepping back into the house to welcome me in.
“Up?” What is she talking about?
“He’s sleeping, managing a migraine. If he caught it in time it should only last until the afternoon,” she says plainly, like this is common. “But you’re here so you might as well keep me company. I know I’m entertaining enough for it not to be a chore. People don’t pay me like they used to, but I still shine.”
“You know what? I would love to stay a while.”
We head inside and I follow her to the kitchen as she starts an electric kettle. The backsplash is hand painted tile in shades of soothing blue. The oven is an old gas one. There’s a hominess to this place that I want to wrap up and reconstruct for myself. I have a moment picturing a younger Garrett here. I know this wasn’t his home, but I get the impression that he spent enough time here to at least consider it a secondary landing place during his childhood.
The China selection today is gold plated with clusters of little yellow flowers.
“Are the migraines new? I mean, when I visited the band on tour he never seemed to have them.” Or at least any that were bad enough to call attention to. Granted, I was usually spending time with Avery or Drew, but still I think I would have noticed.
“You knew him when he was doing music, yes?”
“Yeah, for the most part.” And even then I really only knew him in theory, as proven over and over again since I arrived here.
“He was happiest then. There were less things to be stressed about. I taught him to play and he had it ,” she says. Glowing pride is etched in every corner of her face. “You know what I mean, you have it too. Music likes you and you like it back. There are people who think it’s just playing the notes. Those are people who will never be good enough to be anyone.”
“And you had it too.”
“Of course I did. I had it and God, did I make sure everyone knew it,” she says, adding a subtle shimmy to her shoulders. “Our boy, oh, he seems like a show off, but he’s just that good. He might not be mine by blood, but I was always worried he’d pick up my bad habits. I was selfish when I taught him.”
“It doesn’t sound like you were.” From everything I’ve gathered, Alina’s home has always been a haven for him.
Alina tuts. “Good things can come from misguided intentions. You see, my children, they're dull and greedy. I wrote them out of my will, but they don’t know that so they’re waiting around for me to die so they can inherit it all,” she says then presses a finger to her lips and winks. “I wasn’t a good mother. I traveled and I hired nannies to do all the work I didn’t want to do. When I saw that boy continue to go home to an empty house when his own mother was off to who knows where, I took it as a second chance.”
“You found someone who loves music the same way you do,” I say. “That’s special what you gave him.”
“Yes, but he got it in his head that he needed to do more. We wanted to give him more, this town. He stopped the music and went to law school,” she tells me, as I recall the version of the story Garrett’s told me. “I think that’s when it started. He looks terrible when he comes back. That’s why I make sure he does. That job of his is no good. He doesn’t need it no matter what he thinks it proves to us. He hates it but he’ll never leave.”
Even when he told me about this from his perspective of duty and a need for a stable career it sounded clinical. After Friday night, it’s hard to imagine him choosing a life like this over one he obviously loved.
I feel like a hypocrite at the thought. Even if I struggle to picture it, right now I’m caught in that exact web. But I liked my job in PR; what he’s doing, it sounds miserable. And for what? Guilt? Obligation?
“That’s a shame,” I say, even though it hardly encompasses the reality of it.
“It is.”