I stifle a groan, hating how many things in their lives are out of my control. I just have to sit back and watch them navigate things the way they want to. It’s uncomfortable and borderline scary.
At last, my mind drifts back to Ashley. Hopefully, tomorrow we’ll have a chance to talk more and catch up. In one sense, I feel like we have unfinished business. Like there were so many things left unsaid. But then I remember that I said everything I wanted to say. In texts, messages, a handwritten letter, and an unexpected visit during her bachelorette party.
What remains left unsaid, from my perspective, anyway, is her side of things.
I allow my eyes to close and wonder if I’ll actually get some sleep tonight. I’m exhausted, so it’s not totally off the table, even if I do prefer my bed more the older I get.
I inhale deeply, hold my breath for a beat, and release it nice and slow, lifting a prayer of gratitude as I do. I have a lot to be thankful for. Cam is here with me, and Callie’s coming too. Gabrielle, bless her, agreed to watch Fifi while we were gone, specifying, unnecessarily, that she was doing it for Cam and not for me.
I drift into a deeper state of relaxation, and my thoughts go right back to Ashley. If I’m lucky, I’ll dream about her tonight.
I’m just on the cusp of sleep when I hear a tent zipper going up and then down. My eyes flick open because it seems to be coming from the direction of our tent. Hopefully, it’s not Nellie trying to sneak out here to get fresh with me; I’m one of the few men in the group she hasn’t at least made out with.
“Do we really have to go all the way up to those bathrooms?” asks one voice in a whisper.
“Yes, unless you want to squat in the woods and drip dry.”
I grin because I can tell the reply is from one of the moms to her daughter, maybe even Ashley & Lucy.
“Why do guys have it so much easier?”
“Don’t ask me.”
“It’s not hard forthemto go in the woods.”
I’m tempted to hop up and escort the ladies to the restrooms, but who knows if they’d be offended by the gesture. Besides, we rented out the entire campsite, and I’m sure the place is secure.
If I continue to lie flat as I am, I’ll likely go unnoticed when the pair returns. But since I’m ninety percent sure it was Ashley and her daughter, and I wouldn’t mind having a bit of quiet time with Ashley beside the dying flames, I hop up and hunker onto one of the nearby stumps, then grab a stick and poke at the glowing embers.
All right, Ashley, let’s see if you’re ready to talk.
Ashley
Lucy and I exit the restrooms and step back into the dark night.
Lucy darts toward the trail in front of me. "That chick at school I was telling you about, Becky, says they make these pee funnel things that allow women to pee standing up for like when you’re camping or hiking and stuff."
“Really?” Lucy never runs out of fun facts, does she? I consider a particular mishap I had squatting as a child. I accidentally wet my jumper, which sat helplessly in the line of fire around my ankles. And since the fabric was wet, the dirt clung to it and made one muddy, urine-soaked mess. My mom made me strip down to my undershirt while she washed the jumper off in the river.
"I didn't know they made things like that,” I say, noting that the path seems narrower than it did on the way up.
"They make allsortsof things," Lucy assures. The way she phrases it has me fearing she’ll start listing products I’d rather not hear about.
“I bet they do,” I reply before she can elaborate. “And remember to whisper because we’re getting closer to camp now.” As interesting as the urinary appendage thing is, I doubt anyone wants to be woken up hearing about it.
"You know that guy you were making dinner with tonight?”
The question is a jolt of electricity through my chest.
“He’s like the dad of one of the kids who helped take our things to the campsite.”
“Yeah,” I say, “I know who you mean.”
“Aunt Annica said you used to date him.”
I roll my eyes. Curse Annica for dishing out details of my past. Now Lucy will be watching my every move with him.
“Yep, I did,” I whisper with a tone of finality.
