He angrily points forward with his arm. This is a no parking zone, and apparently there are no exceptions for broken hearts or panic attacks. Shakily, I turn the engine over and meander through the maze of paused vehicles. Hard gasps rile up every few seconds as I peel my eyes wide, trying to keep yet another pitiful tear from falling down my face.
On autopilot, I make my way to Yosemite—to Riley.
I called her right before we left for the airport while Reid was showering. As soon as she asked me if I was okay, I spilled everything to her, right then in hushed tones on the edge of the forest. She almost drove to get me, and I almost let her, but I need to prove to myself I can brave this road alone…literally. I drive to her, flocking from one source of sunshine to another like the wilted flower I am.
It’s dark when I get there. I managed to rent a tiny little cabinon the outskirts of the park last minute. There’s a security system and a hot tub, and I really can’t ask for more. Except I want to. I want to ask the universe to send Reid back to me.
Riley comes over with boxed wine and pizza. We sit there on the worn wood floor, stuffing our faces. She doesn’t even know about Rampage yet. I know she doesn’t follow the competitions, so I’m not sure why I expected her to.
It occurs to me she must think I’m even more pathetic than I actually am. The thought makes me sit up higher and I say, “I got an invite.”
Her bright eyes light up even more. “To what?”
Riley’s lack of awareness has never bothered me much before, but right now it’s staring me in the face, and it makes me nauseous. I’m always there for everyone, but is anyone ever really there for me? I guess she is, at least physically. She’s on this floor with me right now, but would she be if I didn’t ask?
Clipped and chipped, my words are laced with years of resentment. “You really don’t know?”
She scrambles forward. “Oh, to the big race? That’s awesome, Addie.”
Her smile looks real, but it still pisses me off. “It’s not even a race. It’s a competition.”
Riley grabs both of my hands and pulls me into a tight hug. “That’s amazing, Ad. I’m so proud of you.”
She doesn’t even realize I’m mad at her. Suddenly, I don’t want sunshine anymore. I feign a yawn and give her a half-hearted smile before heading to bed. The dark walls of the cabin close in around me, and I cry myself to sleep.
30
Buttery yellow streaks of sun paint my room. It’s cozier than I realized in the dark of last night. My eyes are puffy and sore. Dots of light circle my vision as I stumble out to the kitchenette.
There’s a slightly melted latte sitting next to a single blueberry muffin. A piece of stationary covered in tiny sunflowers is propped up against the back splash, it reads:
‘Addie. I’m sorry I wasn’t more supportive or understanding last night. Of course your passions matter to me, and I’m endlessly proud of you. I should tell you more. It just never seems like you need it, you’ve got the whole world on your shoulders and you don’t even act like it’s heavy. I was really in my head last night, and your call was honestly the last thing I expected. I have a guided hike today til ten. Please meet me up at Taft Point for a basket brunch? Just like we used to.’
Her signature is swirly and girly just like her, and my heart thuds. Caffeine hits my bloodstream, and the world feels less bleak. She got my coffee preference right this time—sweet maple syrup with a hint of sea salt swirled in oat milk. The tightness in my chest starts to unwind—I never can be mad at her for very long. It’s challenging to believe Riley ever intends anything maliciously. Plus, maybe she’s not as inconsiderate as my ego is telling me she is.
I spend the better part of the morning moping around the tiny cabin, trying to wrap my head around the absurdity that is me riding in Red Bull Rampage. A team full of guys I’ve never met is going to help me build a trail, which could very well end my career before it even starts. On my three-hundredth loop around the tiny living room, I decide to take my pity party outdoors.
The park is still sleeping—massive tourist groups haven’t made their way through the west entrance yet. I haven’t been here since I was a kid. I’m feeling reflective, grinding myself into a never-ending spiral of self doubt. I take a few deep inhales of fresh mountain air, and I’m feeling ever so slightly more centered.
I worry the desert isn’t going to have the same effect on me. What am I going to do without the pines to remind me of my favorite person? How will I cope without soft greens and high peaks?
The desert is my least favorite place. It’s alluring…at first. The reds and oranges are like a sunrise, but sunrises fade, and then you’re left with dry lips and sand in your unmentionables.
My legs carry me down the trail. I slowly climb out of my rumination and back into my body for the first time since Reid told me he was leaving. A crackled cry bobs up into my throat without warning. Clutching at my chest, I fall forward until I nearly land on my face—all because of a tiny loose rock.
It’s some messed-up metaphor for my life. I centered everything about me around one loose piece, one which never even belonged to me, and now that it’s gone, I’m left unsteady. I’m ashamed, honestly. How did I let myself get so wrapped up in a fantasy that I’m heaving sobs on a hike over a man I never even had? Just when I started to believe he could maybe have feelings for me too, he runs off. I’m foolish for letting myself hope.
Wiping my tears with the edge of my flannel, some dirt gets in my eye, and I work to blink it out, stumbling as I do. People probably think I’m drunk or something. This is truly ridiculous. I pull out my phone to make a note to myself about messaging my therapist.
After what feels like hours, I make it to Taft Point. The overlook leaves me breathless.
Towering high above Yosemite Valley, I finally get a grip on myself. Nature always has a way of humbling me, a sublime reminder of how minuscule my problems are. This is exactly the view I need right now, and I wonder if Riley chose it on purpose.
Stumbling on one of the fissures in the rock, I make my way under a pine tree. The smell comforts me, just like home—like Reid.
I sit staring at the horizon, watching as the morning sky mixes baby blue with smeared smog in the distance. The falls are all dried up—it’s too hot towards the end of summer. El Capitan is gleaming, solid and strong. I focus on it, steadying my breaths and letting my negative thoughts flow onward like a meandering river.
It works. My spiral has slowed to a meandering serpentine.
