Chapter 22
Bonus tip when visiting Iceland: If you see Joseph, tell him I said hi.
Ben’s surprise requires a wake-up call of three a.m., so I’m not particularly thrilled when I’m startled awake by the buzzing alarm on his phone.
Our flight back to New York isn’t until later this afternoon, and I’d hoped to sleep in, eat a nice brunch, maybe get indecent against a sand dune again, who knows? The possibilities were endless.
Instead, Ben’s telling me to dress in warm hiking layers and to make sure I fill my water jug before we leave the hotel. Sadly, none of that sounds like there will be brunch or dune sex in my future.
Once the trusty Suzuki is loaded with our luggage, I snap one more photo of Joseph with my phone (to have framed when we get back home) as he lies in the tall grass at the edge of the softly lit parking lot with a judgmental expression akin to, Do you even know what time it is?
Sadness blankets me. Our trip is over, minus this one last excursion Ben has up his sleeve.
As much as my body is physically spent, and of course I’m excited to see what life has in store with Ben back at home—no matter what it all might mean for my career—this trip changed me on a fundamental level.
Iceland pushed me to my limits and never let up.
But I still did the hard things, even if I did them while crying or complaining or swearing I’d never do them again (i.e.
, anything involving the word whiteout).
And for that, even if I’m somehow lucky enough to travel to a hundred different countries in the future, it’s Iceland that will always have the biggest piece of my heart.
Ben holds my hand as we follow the one-lane road leading back to the highway. “We’ll come back, Ems,” he says, like he knows how sad I am to say goodbye. “We’ll have to come visit Joseph.”
I bite the inside of my cheek so my chin doesn’t tremble. “People always say that when vacation’s over, but everyone has to go back to real life.”
I know my bad mood is normal. I’m on the trip of a lifetime, and I’m not sure if or when I’ll get to do it again.
Calvin isn’t going to promote me when Ben doesn’t join the company.
I can’t afford trips like this on my own.
And even if I could, it’s deeper than that.
It’s the knowledge that there simply isn’t enough time in a lifetime to see every nook and cranny and small village and big city this gigantic, marvelous world has to offer.
What if I never find my favorite spot on earth because I never make it there?
“Well, I happen to be very excited to get back home and finally start a life with you in it again.” Ben kisses the back of my hand, and I smile over at him.
“Yeah. There is that.” The sorrow encompassing my chest dissipates the slightest bit. “Maybe I’m just tired. You know, since you dragged me out of bed in the middle of the night and all.”
We take a right turn onto the highway, and the bumpy ground beneath us smooths out. “Why don’t you recline your seat and get some rest?” Ben says. “I’ve got this.”
* * *
I wake again when Ben cuts the engine. Pulling my seat upright, I see we’re parked in a muddy field with a few other vehicles and a camper van nearby. Hills rise in the distance, but it’s still too dark out to get any real sense of what I’m looking at. This view isn’t exactly impressive.
“Where are we?” I ask, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my palms.
“Fagradalsfjall volcano.”
Confusion clouds my sleep-addled brain. “I don’t understand.”
I recall a brief mentioning of this area when doing the little research I’d had time for.
In March of 2021, a volcano on the Reykjanes Peninsula of southern Iceland erupted, spewing lava sporadically for several months.
YouTube and Instagram were flooded with videos and livestreams of hikers roasting marshmallows and hot dogs over the steaming orange slush.
Which, on my personal list of things in nature to take seriously, molten lava sits right up there at the top along with quicksand and the recently added glacial crevasses, but who am I to judge?
“What’s so special about an inactive volcano?” I ask.
“It erupted again after we arrived.” Ben opens his door and steps out, then dips his head back into view and winks. “Let’s go climb an active volcano, Ems.”
Turns out, hiking a volcano is hard AF (as Jacklyn would say).
To be precise, we don’t hike up the volcano itself, rather the mountain nearest the volcano that will provide the best view.
Ben had warned me as he loaded gear into his camera bag back at the Suzuki that from what he’d read on tourist blogs, this would be the most difficult hike we’ve done so far.
Which is fantastic news after ten days of hiking more than I’ve ever hiked in my life combined and having sex (same parameters sadly still apply) in multiple positions that haven’t been easy on the thighs.
I can’t even sit down to pee without my legs trembling and threatening to give out.
And we start this hike in the dark.
With flashlights.
So cool, cool, cool.
Ben wasn’t lying, either. It takes an eternity just to walk around the field to get to the base of the mountain where the real journey begins. Thankfully, by the time we do, daylight breaks over the horizon and we put both our flashlights away in Ben’s backpack. (I already have the keys!)
Now I’m able to clearly see why we walked all the way around the field instead of through it; most of the area is covered in lumpy, hardened lava that at some point spewed from the top of the volcano like a shaken bottle of fiery orange soda.
The curved, irregular edges of the solidified rock fascinate me, as if when the lava flowed down the mountain, it suddenly stopped and declared, Okay I think we’re done here.
I walk over to one of the now-cooled edges and sweep my hand along the rough, texturized surface, knowing that not all that long ago, this belonged miles underground.
Continuing on our way, I pull my jacket off and tie it at my waist, sweat already forming a sticky layer between my skin and my wool undershirt.
The dirt trail we follow becomes steeper as the mountain portion really kicks in, and despite the tread on my hiking boots, small rocks and debris give way under my feet and slide back down the hill, making it difficult to find footing.
“I don’t know about this.” I glance over my shoulder to where Ben follows behind me this time—probably prepared to catch me if I start to tumble down the hill like ill-fated Jill in the children’s nursery rhyme.
“Just go slow. We’re in no rush.”
I blow out a breath and let my gaze sweep over the valley below.
More hikers file into the field of lava now that the sun is up, some even climbing atop it to pose for photos, blatantly ignoring the posted signs explaining exactly why they shouldn’t do that.
Although the top layer has cooled and hardened, there’s a chance someone could fall through into what is still very much hot, burning lava underneath.
And since Iceland doesn’t play, it’s made quite clear on the posted signage that if someone is foolish enough to try this, no rescue squad is risking their own lives to try and save whoever doesn’t have luck on their side that day.
Essentially, in less polite terms, You’re on your own, dumbass.
“Okay,” I say aloud. “I can do this.” I put one foot in front of the other again, concentrating on a single step at a time. The trail narrows at certain points, and the last thing I want is for any of the hikers below to catch up to us and me to become that person who is holding everyone up.
Several minutes—hours? decades? lifetimes?—later, we reach a part of the trail so steep there’s a rope strung between wooden posts to help hikers pull themselves up. I shoot another snarky look back at Ben.
“Really?” I huff with all the breath I have left.
To his credit, Ben at least attempts to suppress his amused smile. “Where’s Ms. World Traveler now?”
“For your information, there’s a big difference in traveling the world and using a goddamn rope to pull my body weight up the side of a mountain.”
His chuckle does little to ease my current irritation. “If it helps, hundreds of people do this each day.”
“No, that doesn’t help, Ben.” But in a way, it kind of does. Because if hundreds of people can do this, then surely I can do it, too. I clench the thick, corded rope in my hand and start to heave myself upward.
By the time the rope ends and the ground levels out—and I am playing fast and loose with the term level here—my panting could put any dog to shame.
I bend at the waist, desperate to pull any available oxygen into my lungs, and I don’t know, maybe there’s more of it a couple feet closer to the ground.
“I think…” Gasp. “The air…” Another gasp. “Is thinner up…” This time it’s a wheeze. “Here.”
“I’m certain it is.” Ben’s response isn’t meant as sarcasm, but the only sign of a struggle on him is the sheen of sweat glistening across his forehead like he’s a goddamn Cullen.
Meanwhile other hikers are closing in on us, so I need to get my ass in gear.
We start moving again, and now I have a new problem: wind plus heights does not equal my friend.
I already knew Iceland’s winds were no joke, but at this altitude, they’re downright brutal.
Combined with the fact that the trail is only about fifteen feet wide in this particular area with a steep drop-off to my left, a very real fear spikes my already too-rapid heart rate.
The wind is going to blow my shaky body right off this mountain!
“Ben, I can’t do this.” I turn back to him, eyes burning with tears. Fucking everything burns. My lungs. My calves. My ass burns worst of all. “The wind is going to blow me away!” My voice is panicky, and a tear treks down my wind-burned cheek.
“Breathe, Ems. Just breathe.” Ben wipes away my tear with his knuckle.
“That’s the problem! I can’t just breathe!”
As I’d feared, some of the other hikers have caught up to us now, and they exchange awkward glances as they pass us by. Excellent. I’m now that person having a meltdown on the side of a volcano…or mountain…or whatever the fuck this qualifies as.
Ben stays quiet until they pass us, then says calmly, “I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t know you could do it. Look at how far you’ve already made it.”
He motions over the valley with his arm, and a wave of nausea rolls through my stomach at the view far below.
“That’s part of the problem,” I say through sniffles.
“Look.” This time he points back in the direction we’re hiking. “Over that next incline is the lookout point. We’re almost there.”
“That’s where the trail ends?”
“Well…no.” Ben scratches his jaw, hesitant.
“The trail continues for another two miles.” At the high-pitched noise that escapes me, he rushes, “But we aren’t going that far.
The trail leads to multiple lookout points.
We’re just going to the first. We’ll get a great view from there.
” He cups my face in his hands, expression determined. “You’ve got this, Ems.”
I nod my head, and something about Ben’s belief in me makes me believe in me.
So fuck it. This is my last morning in Iceland, my last excursion. If it takes every drop of blood, sweat, and tears I have, I’m going to do this.
I put one foot in front of the other again, moving up the mountain at a snail’s pace. But at least I’m moving.
Eventually, we reach the viewing area, and while I’m not sure my lower half will ever recover from this journey, the view across from us is nothing short of spectacular.
A circular lip forms the opening of the volcano, but the rest of the scene doesn’t look like the cone-shaped image I’d imagined.
The volcano looks like any of the other hills surrounding us in the mountainous region.
In fact, if it wasn’t for the sludge oozing from the top—ashy black and a hot, glowing orange—I probably wouldn’t know what I was looking at.
“Hey, Ems,” Ben whispers behind me. “That’s a fucking volcano. Like, right there. Erupting right in front of us.” The wonder in his voice roots me to the moment, and suddenly the journey to get to this point feels like a small price to pay for the gift of being here, with him.
“I did it,” I declare, covering my mouth with my hands as giddy laughter oozes out of me like the flowing lava in the distance. What an emotional roller coaster. Tears continue to track down my cheeks, but now they’re formed from a place of pride. “I made it! And that’s a volcano!”
Ben wraps his arms around me from behind, and I lean back against the solid comfort of his chest. Other hikers stand in scattered groups around us, but no one pays any attention to anything other than the miraculous feat of nature across the way.
“You see, Mona Mildred Miller,” Ben whispers against the shell of my ear, “you can do any fucking thing you want to do. You think you don’t shine like your brothers?
You think they’re the stars of your family?
Ems, if they’re stars, then you’re the fucking sun.
You’re the most incredible person I know, and I’m so lucky I’m the one who gets to love you. ”
Openly sobbing now, I twist my head and press a kiss to his mouth.
We stand there for a long while, watching lava seep down the side of the volcano, and Ben doesn’t make a move for his camera.
At least not yet. For now, we’re just still, enjoying the connection with each other, enjoying the view, enjoying life.
Eventually, when the sun is high in the sky above, I let reality slowly creep back in. “Hey, you have a plan, right? I can’t go to the airport this gross.”
Ben laughs softly and kisses my temple. “I booked a hotel room near the airport so we can shower before we leave.”
“I knew I loved you for a reason.”
That shower turns out to be a necessary foresight, because on the way back down the steep mountainside (somehow even trickier to navigate than going up), I manage to fall on my ass not once, but twice.
Despite the rope.