Chapter 11 Mira #2
The window is caked in dirt and there’s a weird film on the back of the seat that sticks to my arm when I accidently graze against it.
Removing my backpack, I locate my hand sanitizer inside my emergency kit.
It’s nestled between gum, wet wipes, eye drops, a sewing kit, Band-Aids, and various creams, lotions, stain kits, and hairsprays.
I squeeze a dollop onto my hand and offer some to Vanessa and Adrian.
“Do you always bring so much stuff with you?” Vanessa asks, examining my bag. It’s fully stocked with everything one might need to ensure a successful wedding day.
“I’ve learned it’s best to be prepared for any situation. I can’t tell you how many broken straps I’ve repaired, or blisters I’ve bandaged, or stray hairs I’ve smoothed down. I’ve used almost everything in here at least twice.”
“Is that really part of your job description, though? I’d assume that’d be more of the planner’s forte.”
“There’s more crossover than you think,” I explain, echoing the words Phoebe told me when I first started in this business.
“It never hurts to be remembered as the one who averted the crisis. Sometimes the memory of being the one with double-sided tape or stain remover outweighs bad weather or imperfect lighting.”
“As someone who is notoriously overpacked but perpetually underprepared, I’m going to need you to stay by my side all weekend.”
“I can definitely do that,” I assure her.
The vinyl sticks to the backs of my thighs as I settle into my seat, and find Hudson standing in front of me, his arms resting over the top of the seat.
The scent of his cologne is a reprieve from the odorous bus, the earthy fragrance familiar and comforting.
I pinch the skin on my thigh in an attempt to write over this positive association.
“Do you mind if I sit?” he asks, his evergreen eyes alight with the afternoon sun. I consider whether to be impressed by his audacity or concerned by his lack of survival instinct.
I move my bag into the empty space beside me. “I’m not big on sharing.”
I swear I see a flash of hurt on his face before he moves further down the aisle. I wait until he finds a seat in the back of the bus and let out the breath I’m holding.
“That was interesting,” Vanessa says, her eyebrow raised in a sharp arch.
“What?”
Her eyes dart from me and my backpack. “You don’t like sharing?”
“I just don’t like that guy,” I blurt out, the professional filter I try maintaining when I’m working all but abandoned.
“Hudson?” she asks, her jaw dropping in disbelief. “Really? I don’t know a single person who dislikes him.”
“Now you do,” I reply, crossing my arms in defiance.
“But he’s like a golden retriever, if golden retrievers looked like a ginger Paul Mescal. If I didn’t have this one,” she says, clapping her hand against Adrian’s shoulder, “he’d be a top contender.”
“Wow, babe. Good thing I’m not insecure,” Adrian scoffs.
“You know I prefer my men foreign and brooding,” she replies, returning her attention to me.
“How long have you known him?” I pry, hoping to fill in some of the blanks.
“A year or so now. But Adrian’s known him longer,” Vanessa says.
“I worked with him at Elite Elevation before I snagged my job at Duke. But I was only in the customer service department. It wasn’t like I was hanging out with the top brass.”
“Top brass?”
They both stare at me wildly as if I said I have no idea who Britney Spears is.
“His dad owns the company,” Vanessa whispers, inflicting another gut punch.
Over the last few months I thought that Hudson and I were in the getting-to-know-each-other stage of our relationship, sharing all the minute details that make up our lives.
Even though he told me how he saw Future Islands at a house party in college, and they subsequently became his favorite band, and he spent a summer working for a brewery in Asheville, learning how to make beer, and that he only wears his Grateful Dead shirt he inherited from his uncle when he’s having a bad day, there’s so much he’s kept hidden.
Like there’s always a hint of honeydew underneath his earthy scent.
And that he makes the softest, lowest moan when I pull at the hair at the nape of his neck.
“He was head of research and development for new products when I started. But he’s stepping in as CEO next week,” Adrian explains, the words processing slower than normal.
“It’s not nepotism, I swear,” he continues. “He’s crazy talented. Always coming up with the coolest shit and letting anyone in the company try the products. I must have taken home four of those hammock hooks he came up with. Freaking genius.”
“I had no idea,” I mumble.
If Hudson is the heir to a giant corporation like Elite, what was he doing working at Finn’s? Maybe being a barback was his alter ego? Or more likely it was a side hustle to pick up chicks he could cheat on his girlfriend with. The thought makes me gag.
Vanessa rubs her chin in contemplation. “I just can’t believe you don’t like him. Did he say something? Do something? I need to know everything so we can get to the bottom of this. It has to be a misunderstanding of some kind. I swear, Hudson has no enemies.”
“It’s just a vibe,” I reply, not wanting to involve anyone else in my fucked-up interpersonal relations.
If he’s as beloved as they claim, I won’t be the one to sour their opinion of him.
I learned the hard way that exposing someone’s true nature to those who don’t want to see it is a fruitless endeavor.
It’s easier to let people go on believing what they want to believe.
“Remind me not to be around you when I’m PMSing. I’m nothing but bad vibes,” Vanessa jokes, and takes a seat as the bus moves forward.
I spend the drive staring out the window, cursing myself for pretending that everything was fine between us.
Pretending is part of my job description.
Pretending that a bad haircut can be disguised with the right veil, or that the roadside flower bouquet the bride’s sister has put together is elegant, not kinda sad.
Pretending a timeline is fixable after the day has fallen so far off course that we lose all the daylight before they say “I do.” And most importantly, pretending that I am happy to do it.
I should have said that I was saving the seat for someone or made up an excuse that we’d found ourselves in an in-depth conversation about cameras and I didn’t fancy picking it up.
Anything but my actual opinion of him. An opinion I’ll have to spend the rest of the day backpedaling on so as not to cause any unwanted drama.
Not that it stops me from turning in my seat and sneaking a glance behind me.
I expect to see Hudson and Katherine canoodling like popular kids in the back of the bus, but instead I see Vivianne reading Katherine’s palm as Hudson sits alone, eyes focused on me.
The bus takes a sharp turn onto an embankment and I barrel forward in my seat.
We all bounce up and down on the uneven terrain as I keep a tight grip on my camera bag.
A few guests gasp, bracing themselves for impact.
Thankfully the tires lock against the gravel, stopping right before we careen into the river.
The driver gives us a lackadaisical thumbs up as we all anxiously disembark.
“Nothing like a little crash landing to remind you you’re alive, right?” Tonya, our guide, is unfazed by this descent, opening the doors with the same enthusiasm as a cast member at Disney World. And I have a new understanding of why the bus was leaking upon its arrival.
“Why do I have bad feelings about this?” Vanessa asks, still gripping onto the seat as if we survived a plane crash.
“Because it’s giving murder camp vibes,” Adrian replies, getting up with shaky legs.
I breathe a sigh of relief when I spot a quaint forty-person river cruiser with a blue-and-white awning waiting for us.
Bo stands on top of a boulder to assert his authority and addresses the group. “First things first, we gotta get you all squared away with some life vests.”
“Wish we would have had those on the bus,” Adrian pipes up.
Tonya opens the door to a metal shed to our left. A slew of life jackets plop onto the ground with a thud. Their absorbent material already weighed down by a day’s worth of water.
“Alright now. Don’t rush all at once,” Bo jokes as no one moves.
“Do we really have to wear these?” Katherine asks.
“Unfortunately I cannot allow anyone on board without one,” Tonya says sternly, and it’s apparent she’s the one really running this operation.
Willing to take the lead, Meredith and Grant are the first to toss the puffy polyester over their heads, which forces everyone else to fall in line behind them. Vanessa shrieks as cold water drips down her arms.
“Ew. Ew. Ew,” she whines as Adrian follows suit, clipping the protective strap around her chest.
Removing my backpack, I toss mine over my head and do my best to hold in the retch that wants to escape. If the suffocating, fishy odor weren’t enough of an omen, the residual river water instantly seeps into the silk shirt I’ve borrowed from Vanessa, exposing my black lace bra.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I mumble to myself, crossing my arms over my chest. Even though the buoyant material covers most of me, it does nothing to hide the side view.
“At least it’s a cute bra,” Vanessa says, and I’m thankful she’s not mad I’ve completely ruined her shirt.