Anywhere With You (10 page)

She ran her fingers through her long blonde hair, sweeping it away from her face. “Oh?”

“We are going to make a bet.”

I eyed her as she wrapped a strand of hair around her finger nervously. Then she grinned and eyed me expectantly.

I delivered my answer without skipping a beat. “On this trip, we’re together.”

Her face twisted and she released her hair. “What else would we be?”

“No, I mean we’re a couple. Full out. No bullshit.”

“I’m engaged, Jack,” she scoffed.

“Maybe so.” I shrugged. “But for the next fourteen or thirteen or however many days, we’re going to pretend that you’re not.”

She crossed her arms. “What does that even mean?”

“It means that we’re just together. Whatever happens, happens. We don’t fight it. And we don’t ask questions.”

Amelie threw her head back and laughed. “You’re funny,” she said and then she sat straight up and glared at me. “And then what?”

“And then, at the end of it—if you’re happy, well, then you’ll have the answer to the question you asked about marrying what’s-his-name.”

She watched my face for a moment and then bit her lip. “Do I have another option?”

“Yes,” I told her with conviction. “To get on that plane and spend the rest of your life wondering what might have happened if you hadn’t.

Amelie

Did he know I was going down?

It had been eighteen minutes since I’d agreed to Jack’s bet, and we’d shaken on it. Our first stop so he could throw some clothes in a bag was back to Jack’s place. Also, he insisted that we take his Jeep so we ended up swapping vehicles. As we were about to leave, as he was checking to ensure for the third time that he’d packed everything, I watched as he shook his head, and then he casually mentioned he needed to grab the box of his mother’s letters. I didn’t ask questions, but I also didn’t tell him that I’d been studying my dead father’s poetry and had been considering trying my hand at some of my own.

I wanted to tell him then, but I didn’t, not only because I wasn’t ready, but mostly because I’m not very good. And if I were any good, he’d be the first person I’d want to share it with, but I’m not. I’d only written a few things here and there, but my life was such a jumbled mess right then, especially where my thoughts and feelings were concerned, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to try and put a few of them on paper.

I texted Ian to tell him that he won’t need to pick me up from the airport, as I’d be driving back. When he immediately called and demanded to know what was going on, I sent the call to voicemail and then texted back that if he wanted me to meet him in Hawaii, then he’d just have to understand that this was something I had to do. Then I pitched Jack’s idea about scattering ashes—without telling him that it was Jack’s idea, of course—or that the pitch was optional—I reiterated that it was something that I had just decided I needed to do. In the end, he didn’t respond back, and I wasn’t sure whether or not that was a good or a bad thing.

Our second stop was to the Quick-E Mart to fuel up where Jack pumped the gas while I went in to purchase enough snacks to feed the both of us six times over. I pretty much grabbed two of everything, plus a map. As I was waiting in line to pay, I glanced outside and noticed Jack leaning against his Jeep, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He was staring at something off in the distance, his expression contemplative. Although his gaze gave nothing away, one way or the other, I wondered if he felt as mixed up as I did. As I was ushered up to the counter, I pushed the thoughts aside and reminded myself that I should be excited. I reminded myself to let the anxiety go. Then I exhaled and considered what a perfect day it was for a fresh start. The sky was cloudless, the sun bright—it wasn’t yet too hot, and the day was ours for the taking.

As we pulled out of the gas station, Jack looked over at me casually and grabbed the bag of Sour Patch Kids from my lap. “I need to stop at a sporting goods store on our way out of town.”

I asked him what for.

“We’re going to camp out,” he informed me, popping a green Sour Patch Kid, his favorite flavor, into his mouth. I knew this because he’d mentioned as much each and every single time he had picked a green one out of the bag. I glanced at him sideways and then clapped in excitement. “I love camping!”

Only at this point, it hadn’t yet occurred to me that Jack and I might possibly have completely different ideas of what camping actually was.

Inside the massive two-story sporting goods store, Jack gripped the basket as though his life depended on it. He was in his element, refusing to give even the slightest bit of control. Although I didn’t yet know the half of it. I remarked that I’d never seen so much stuff—all dedicated to sleeping outside. Jack ignored me and before long, he was throwing handfuls of stuff into the cart, just the way I had back at the convenience store.

We hadn’t even made it through the halfway point in the store when I stopped mid-aisle and surveyed the contents of our cart, which by then was filled a little more than halfway. “This seems like a lot of stuff,” I commented, picking up a flare. Jack stopped, shrugged, and continued up the aisle.

“Why do we need flares?” I inquired refusing to follow.

He stopped, searched my eyes, and walked backward to where I was standing. He gently took the flares from my hand and tossed them back into the basket. Then he leaned in and kissed my cheek. He pulled away and his eyes met mine. “Because I say we do.”

I sighed and he took me by the hand, grabbed the tail end of the cart, and continued to move along.

He did not, however, refrain or slow down his process of stuffing items in the cart.

“I’m no expert—” I said, “but I really don’t think camping requires all of this—”

“Well, I am an expert,” he replied, studying the nine thousand varieties of sleeping bags the store stocked on their shelves. There are seriously rows and rows of sleeping bags. I glanced at the price tag on the one he was eyeing, as the thought crossed my mind that I might not have a job to go back to when this is all said and done.

“Why don’t we share a sleeping bag?” I suggested.

Jack looked over at me and smiled. “That could work,” he smirked taking two off of the shelf, “but it’s always best to be prepared.”

I placed my hands on my hips and decided, at that point, I’d had enough. “Obviously, you’ve never been poor!”

Jack looked over at me slowly, furrowed his brow, and then quickly turned his attention back to one more thing we didn’t need sitting on the shelf.

“I hate to tell you this,” I said removing several items from the cart, “you know, sadly a large portion of the world’s population lives in tents… or less, even.”

I watched as he fished something out of his pocket, which turned out to be the keys to the Jeep. He didn’t take his eyes off mine as he walked over to where I was standing, took the items from my hand, and placed them back in the cart. Then he turned my hand over, placed the keys inside my palm, and closed my fingers around them without ever taking his eyes from mine. “I think you should wait in the car.”

I rolled my eyes.

Jack smiled curtly. “We’ll be on our way sooner that way, I assure you.”

“Fine,” I said attempting to hand over my credit card.

He laughed, shook his head, and walked back toward the shelf. “I don’t want your money, Amelie.

I felt my face grow hot. “Jack… just one question…”

He looked over his shoulder briefly.

“Just what in the hell are we going to do with all of this stuff—after the trip?”

He’d turned so I could only make out his profile, but I swore I saw a slight grin play across his face. “We’ll use it for next time.”

And there it was—I’d used the word ‘we’ and now, so had he. Not only that—but he’d insinuated a future between the two of us. I turned and stormed out of the store. Once outside, I perched myself on the curb and rested my chin on my knees. I hugged them in tight. My heart pounded, and I realized all along, my unease had little to do with the number of items Jack was putting in the shopping cart—or even our different ideals of what camping entailed—and everything to do with the fact that he saw a future between us that I wasn’t sure existed.

Eventually, I made my way back to the Jeep where I waited for Jack to finish purchasing nearly every item in the entire store. After twenty minutes, and he still hadn’t emerged, I was even more restless than I’d been sitting on the curb. I considered taking a nap—only the thoughts in my head wouldn’t stop coming. My mind raced, I was bored, and the walls of that tiny Jeep started to feel like they were closing in on me.

If my current situation was any indication of how things would play out, I realized that this was going to be one hell of a trip. It was with that thought that I reached into the backseat to grab a bottle of water and noticed the box of letters sitting there. My curiosity piqued. The next thing I knew, I was carefully opening the box, and pulling out one of his mother’s letters. As I held it in my hands, I considered whether or not I should open it. But, eventually, boredom and curiosity won out over any good conscience I might have had. I removed the note from its envelope, looked out the window toward the store, and without seeing Jack, I began to read.

Dear Jack,

I’m sick today, but I wanted to make sure I got a letter in while you’re at school—and I still mostly have a few shreds of energy left to put pen to paper. They’re playing with my medication, and it’s making me feel very off. This is why I feel so terrible. That’s perhaps the saddest thing of all. It’s not even the cancer doing it.

I decided yesterday that I no longer want to take this particular medication anymore. It’s a trial drug anyhow, and your father is furious at me. He says I’m not trying hard enough. In moments such as these, I hate him, Jack. I really do. How can he possibly not see how hard I’m trying? I’m trying so hard, son. But I just can’t stand to feel like this every waking second of the day. The cancer may beat me, at some point—but I can assure you, the medication never will. I refuse to trade being dealt one shitty hand for another.

So, while I’m angry with your father for insisting that I continue the meds, I understand that he loves me and just wants me to get better. It would be easy for me to take my anger about having cancer on him just as he’s taking the fact that he’s afraid out on me. Fear is a very powerful thing, Jack. But only if you allow it to be.

It is with this sentiment that I want to tell you about handling disagreements. Not just any disagreement either—I’m particularly talking about the big ones. Because the more something matters—the bigger the fight. And the bigger the fight, the bigger the hurt—and the more each of you stand to lose. You have to really understand your opponent and whether or not they’re really your opponent at all. You have to understand what they have to lose. And if you can do that—if you can see their fear and their hurt for what it is—then you can come out on top.

However, coming out on top doesn’t necessarily equate to winning. Often, it simply means minimizing the damage. And while winning is fun… in love, the stakes are typically too high to declare a clear-cut champion. More on this later, my hand hurts, and my heart is heavy.

I love you, Jack. And I continue to fight, for you—and for your father.

Love,

Mom

I tucked the letter back in the envelope and carefully placed it back in its rightful spot in the box, making sure not to disturb others in the process. When I looked up again, I could see Jack pushing an overly filled cart my direction. But my mind wasn’t on him, or the goods he’d purchased.