Chapter Ten Sage
Chapter Ten
Sage
It’s Sunday morning, which means it’s time for my weekly scheduled check-in with my parents. Regardless of what either of us has going on, they always call me at noon. Other than that, I don’t talk to them that often. I live on my own now, and I don’t need their approval to do what I do.
The commune doesn’t have internet, for the most part.
The only place with access is the community office that they order supplies from.
I’ve always found it to be majorly hypocritical that they constantly preach environmental activism and socialism while simultaneously handing their money directly to Jeff Bezos when they need a re-up on toilet paper and rolling papers.
Don’t even get me started on the overpriced moon-charged crystal nipple clamps my mom sells online. We don’t talk about the nipple clamps anymore.
I fall back on the couch in the living room and look at my Instagram while I wait for their call.
I have a few posts scheduled to go up, but the analytics for my last post are already impressive.
At a place like Scoops Ice Cream, I had to take some cutesy photos with spots of ice cream on my nose.
Travis was glaring at me the entire time, but this is how I make my living.
I wish I was that cone!!! DarkHours99 comments with a string of drooling faces and fire emojis.
This time, he’s not the only one making comments like that.
There are about a dozen other guys under that parent comment making various suggestive comments about other things they’d like to see me lick.
Normally I would laugh it off, but they rub me the wrong way now.
Maybe it’s because I’m in love with someone else that I’m offended by it.
I’m interrupted from my work when the FaceTime from my parents rings through. I sit up on the couch and move my hair out of my face before answering the call. Both of them are smiling in the frame, squeezed in together to wave at me.
“Juniper, hello!” my mom chimes through the video. She has a soft, gentle singsong voice that most people feel calmed by. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m their daughter and have issues with the way they raised me, but it doesn’t do that for me.
“Hey, guys, how are you doing?” I force myself to sound excited, not wanting to make them think something is wrong. I’m going to tell them about Travis, but I don’t know how they’ll react.
“Doing great!” my dad cheers. “Before I tell you the big news, I have to tell you a joke Steve just told me.”
Mom rolls her eyes and slaps my dad playfully on the arm. “He’s been telling everyone who will listen.”
“Here it goes,” my father starts, his voice filled with the excitement of a toddler on Christmas morning. “What do you call an alligator in a vest?” His smile widens, his eyes staring at me expectantly.
“I don’t know, Dad. Tell me.”
“An investigator!” He bursts out laughing, throwing his head back like he just heard this joke for the first time. My mom shakes her head, but her face lights up. She pretends she is annoyed by my dad, but in reality she loves his little quirks and dad jokes.
“Okay, I admit, that one is pretty funny.” I don’t laugh as hard as my dad, but I do find myself grinning widely.
My parents look at each other, smiling from ear to ear as my dad wraps his arm around her shoulders.
Despite my own problems with them, they have a relationship that would be nearly impossible to live up to.
They’ve known each other since they were in diapers, and ever since they could walk and talk, they knew they were soulmates.
Both of them grew up in military families, which I think is the biggest reason they became the mega-hippie flower children they are now. I never got to have a relationship with my grandparents because of it.
“We’ve been elected as the chairs for the commune’s annual solstice festival,” my dad excitedly says, pushing up his wire-frame glasses as he speaks.
I know it’s impossible, but they both look older than they did last week.
My memory of them is as a youthful, sun-kissed couple, though I’m sure nostalgia plays a big role in that.
But now they look small—frail, even. My mom’s usual auburn hair is speckled with gray, and the lines on her forehead are deep.
Both my parents have smile lines around their mouths and eyes from decades of finding the inner harmony most people can’t even dream of.
“What’s going on with you?” my mom asks after they go into excruciating detail about the solstice festival. “Are you still at the cabin in Lake Lure?”
I sit up straighter as I prepare myself for the life-changing information I’m about to give my parents.
I’ve dated people in the past, mostly other young people from the commune I went to school with.
My parents believe in free love, and they’ve always been accepting of everyone I’ve introduced them to.
Even though they’ve never given me a reason to doubt them, I have a feeling Travis is going to be different.
“I’m still in Lake Lure, and I have some news,” I begin, watching the excitement grow on both of their faces. “I’ve met someone, and I think he’s the one.”
Both of them cheer at this information, excitement radiating through the screen. My mom claps her hands together in joy. “Tell us everything about him!”
Where to begin . . .
I tell them how we met and about our date at the ice cream shop—Travis might not think it was a date, but it had all the characteristics of one, so I’m counting it.
For the most part, the story sounds like the plot of some cheesy rom-com movie, where you just know the characters will end up together.
“Okay, but how is he in the sack?” my mom asks out of the blue.
“Mom!” I roll my eyes at her bluntness.
“What? Sex is an important part of any relationship,” she explains.
“Your mom is right,” my father agrees. “Tim and Linda stopped having sex, and see what happened to them.”
I’m somewhat curious to know what happened to Tim and Linda, but not enough to actually ask. I’d much rather keep talking about Travis.
“I’m not discussing mine or someone else’s sex life with you,” I say sternly, hoping they get the hint.
My parents look at me disapprovingly but don’t push the subject further.
Thank fuck.
“So needless to say, I’m probably staying in Lake Lure for a while.”
“But your travel channel? How are you going to keep that up? Doesn’t that pay your bills?” My father raises a valid point.
“Well, I do have some money saved up, but also I don’t really have to worry about money if things work out with Travis.”
“Why is that?” my mom asks curiously.
“Travis is kind of a billionaire,” I say, watching my parents’ faces fall immediately.
This is why I didn’t want to tell them.
“He is very smart. Founded a tech company when he was younger and sold it for millions.”
“That’s a lot of money for only one person,” my dad says, shaking his head, unimpressed.
I don’t want to entertain this conversation. I won’t listen to them speak badly about Travis—my future husband. If they love me, they’ll support him too. So I make up some excuse about having plans I need to rush to and hang up the phone, falling back on the couch with a huff.
I close my eyes, and I think about Travis, which immediately brings a smile to my lips. My parents may not know him, and doubt his sincerity because of their preconceived notions of what a man like him should be. But that doesn’t stop me from feeling the buzz in my heart.
I grab my phone and walk toward the balcony, situating myself in a perfect ray of sunshine and snapping a few pictures. When I’m done, I post it to my story with the caption Never thought love could feel this good. I pick a trending song to put in the story with the picture and post it.
After only a minute of being on the internet for everyone to see, DarkHours99 replies to my story. I thought I was your one and only?
I ignore the comment and put my phone down, shaking it off as him just being flirty, as he always is. Then I get a notification on Instagram alerting me to our direct-message channel. What do you mean you’re in love? Do I need to come out there so you and I can have a talk?
“Out there?” I say, sitting upright and furrowing my brows as I stare at our chat exchange. “He can’t know where I am. Right?”
I look at my profile to see if there is any indication of where I currently am.
I post travel content, so my followers know where I’ve been, but I stagger the content about the Airbnbs themselves so they never know where I am currently posting from.
It’s one of the many internet safety protocols nearly everyone in this industry has in place.
Unfortunately, the picture I posted of myself at the ice cream shop very clearly has the name of the shop in the background.
Would someone actually try to find me? I’ve always thought the relationship DarkHours99 has with me is a little strange, but I never thought he would be a problem like this. Was I wrong all along?
I jump to my feet and slip on some flip-flops before I can think about it anymore. Luckily for me, I just so happen to be in a relationship with a tech genius who might be able to help me out.
I make my way over to his house, where I knock on his door and wait a few moments before I hear his feet pattering across the hardwood floors of his cabin.
“I thought we had an agreement?” Travis says, standing in the doorway, a hand firmly on the knob as he’s prepared to close it in my face.
“Do you have a way to trace someone’s messages or where they’re coming from?” I ignore his first comment. We can play this cat-and-mouse game later. The worry must be clear on my face, because his entire demeanor changes.
“What’s going on?” He opens the door wider so he can stand in front of me, but I slip through and invite myself inside. I hear a slight huff as the door closes, and he walks to the kitchen with me. The savory smell of what I’m guessing is lasagna fills my nose and makes my mouth water.
My stomach growls as I explain the whole situation, letting him know DarkHours99 has been a follower for a long time, and I never thought anything bad of it until now.
He listens intently, as if he’s hanging on every word I say.
When I tell him about the most recent message I received, I see a flicker of anger in his eyes.
In a weird way, I feel as though I should thank DarkHours99 for this. This is proving to me that Travis does care. He might pretend he is this hard-ass who doesn’t want to get close to people, but I’ve wormed my way into his heart, and I’m going to stay there. I’m a burrower.
“I’m just really scared right now,” I say, shrinking myself down to look as meek and helpless as possible.
If Travis is worried, I might be able to take advantage of the situation and get even closer.
“I’m staying at Ryan’s place all alone, and if this guy wants to do something, how am I going to stop it?
Can I stay here with you? At least until—”
“Yes,” Travis says, cutting me off before I finish.
And just like that, my heart swells, and I feel like I’m soaring through the air once again. Now this is a step in the right direction. With Travis and me sleeping under the same roof, our relationship is bound to develop.
“You’re a lifesaver!” I run toward him, wrapping my arms around him for a hug. His entire body stiffens, and I stand on my tiptoes to give him a small peck on the cheek. “Thank you so much.”
Turning and walking to the living room, I see him in a mirror, wiping his cheek with the back of his hand. That stings, but by the end of my stay here, he’s going to be begging for more. I take a seat on the couch, making myself at home.