He’s not fully healed; that will take weeks, but the edges have dulled enough that he’s ready to go outside for a bit, and I could see the relief in his face when we made our plans.
We start at Crown Point, awestruck by the vastness of the Columbia River stretching below. The Vista House is a beautiful stone dome with opal-like glass windows that glow in the morning sun.
We walk through the cool, echoing rooms, reading the plaques that tell the site’s history, and take photos like tourists.
Standing at the overlook of the gorge, with the sun casting a glow over the sprawling river, it’s the perfect spot for a selfie.
“Hey, take a picture with me,” I say, sidling up next to Jay with my phone in hand.
He stiffens, and his smile disappears instantly. “I’d rather not,” he replies, looking sheepish.
He’d been laughing and having a good time until then, and I feel like I ruined the moment.
“It’s okay,” I reply, trying to sound encouraging.
Ronda helped him put on some makeup to hide his fading bruises, but they’re still noticeable. I understand his hesitancy, and I won’t push him to do anything he’s not comfortable with.
On our drive down the scenic highway, we stop at a few smaller waterfalls, take short hikes, then spread out our picnic lunch and eat on a rock, talking about dumb things, like the worst movies we’ve both seen or our favorite playlists.
Our last stop is the famous Multnomah Falls. I’ve seen it before in photos, but it’s something else in person; the grand scale of it steals the breath right out of you. The top section pours from a height that makes you feel small.
We’re standing on the man-made bridge over the lower waterfall, the mist dampening our faces, blurring the edges of the lush greenery and the moss-covered rocks. The surrounding air is filled with the scent of wet stone and damp earth.
“This is awesome,” I say, because there’s no better word.
Jay looks up, moisture clinging to his dark eyelashes, reflecting the deep blue of his eyes.
“This was one of my favorite places when we first moved here,” he says quietly. “I used to pretend you were standing beside me. In my mind, I would tell you all about it, and I knew you would love it.”
His words hit heavy in my chest; the moments we missed sharing, the trips we didn’t get to take, and the unfairness of it all.
“Now you can tell me all about it,” I say. “And we can find new places you never got to see, together.”
He smiles, his eyes lighting up. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”
The more time we spend together and the more his injuries heal, the harder it becomes to keep things in the friend zone. Standing on this bridge, with the waterfall in the background, feels like a scene right out of a movie. It makes me want to wrap him in my arms and kiss him senseless. I feel the pull, the look in his eyes, that he’s thinking the same thing.
But the last thing I want to be is a rebound. So, I turn toward the trail and keep moving.
We climb a little farther until he gets winded and his ribs ache. I don’t want to push him, so we turn back and stroll through the gift shop in the historic lodge to buy a tacky magnet before calling it a day.
I drop Jay off at his mom’s so he can rest, then head back to my rental to look for places we can go, somewhere scenic, not too crowded, something that feels like a small adventure rather than just another item on a to-do list.
The next morning, I share my idea over our morning coffee. “Have you ever been to Astoria? You know, where they filmedThe Goonies?”
“No,” he says, his face lighting up. “But I’ve always wanted to go.”
“It’s only an hour and a half from here.” I’ve already pulled up directions and a short list of the top things to see. There’s enough to do that staying the night would make sense. I’m careful with mynext question, unsure how he’ll feel about it. “If we go, would you be okay with staying overnight?”
His grin is enough to make me forget my hesitation. “Yeah, that would be great.”
He looks excited, and it hits me: he hasn’t had adventures like this in a long time. That’s what I want to give him—a perfect day where he can forget the messiness of his life for a while.
“If we leave by ten, we’ll get there around lunchtime,” I say, already planning the route to avoid the worst traffic. “If we go on a weekday, there will be fewer crowds and cheaper rooms.”
“Sounds perfect,” he says, and the smile on his face makes me think about what other fun things we can do so I can keep it there.
I pick him up a few days later, and we head out after the morning rush, with an eclectic playlist I curated playing softly in the background. Timing it just right, we arrive in Astoria just before lunch.
