The tires kick up gravel as Adrian pulls onto a dirt road, but through the trail of dust behind us I see the hand-painted sign for the “Majestic Ranch and Resort,” the letters written in blue paint, faded from years in the sun. The chains holding it up are rusted, and the metal bar it’s attached to is bowing under the weight. I hold my breath, waiting for the broken-down stables, crumbling farmhouse, or other unsightly horror that awaits me, but I’m overcome by the beauty of the place.
Six identical cabins sit at the edge of the property, the timber fresh and pungent with the odor of cedar. Burgundy Adirondackchairs and well-strung hammocks are placed around a firepit, and I can’t wait to sit and relax with my book as I watch the ducks slowly skimming along the blueish-green pond. In the distance, cattle roam across sprawling green grass speckled with yellow-and-white flowers, and Douglas firs lead the way to the snow-capped mountains sparkling in the distance. It’s a view that could sell a thousand postcards, and I resist the urge to take out my camera to capture it.
“You survive back there?” Adrian asks as he hops out of the car, opens the tailgate, and lends me a hand to climb out.
“Still in one piece,” I reply, rubbing at the indentations on my shins from the bungee cords that acted as my seatbelt. Hoisting myself up, I grab ahold of the crossbars, tossing one leg over the side to climb out of the back.
“I got you,” Derrick says, grabbing me by the waist and setting me onto solid ground. I barely have a moment to acclimate to my surroundings or the fact that a strange man just hoisted me like a rucksack before Meredith’s voice is calling for me across the lawn.
“You made it,” she squeals, skipping towards us.
She’s in a white peasant skirt and matching crochet top, her skin sun-kissed, her honey-soaked hair falling down her back. She looks exactly like she did in college, barefoot and carefree. The only noticeable difference is a thin gold nose ring that glints under the sunlight.
Her arms wrap around me excitedly and I find myself melting into her embrace.
I can’t remember the last time I saw her in person. Has it been five years? Or seven? I try to recall as regret pricks my conscience.
Nowadays, our friendship mainly consists of sharing the occasional meme and obligatory “Happy Birthday” text, but I don’t hold it against her. Choosing a career that took up my nights and weekends made it practically impossible to hang out with anyone with a normal work schedule. And when the invites stoppedcoming, I didn’t take it personally. So being welcomed with open arms makes me appreciate this trip for what it is: a second chance. And I’m not going to blow it.
“I’m so sorry about the car situation,” she says, releasing me from her anaconda-like grip. “I just got your text. Service out here is spotty, but I’m glad these guys were able to scoop you up.”
“It’s not a problem at all,” I assure her as Derrick comes up beside me and swoops Meredith up into his arms. She squeals playfully as he spins her around.
“Anyone up for a whiskey tasting?” Grant asks, pushing open the cabin door and holding up two bottles of liquor, one in each hand.
“Hell yeah,” Derrick says enthusiastically, setting Meredith back down on the ground and heading towards the entrance of the cabin. Angie and Jocelyn follow close behind.
“Adrian? Vanessa? A little pre-game before the boat ride?” Meredith asks, taking slow, backwards steps in the direction of her cabin.
Adrian defers to Vanessa.
“I would but I need to settle in,” Vanessa says. “It takes me forever to unpack.”
“How many suitcases did you bring this time?”
“Only three,” she says sweetly.
“You packed light. I’m impressed,” Meredith jokes, and I can’t help but wonder how many girls’ weekends I’ve missed out on. How many times have I put my career first? And for what? To please Phoebe, to make her proud of me, to prove that my work ethic is just as strong as hers? If only I could have known that it was all for nothing.
“Mira?” Meredith asks, pulling me from my spiral. “Want to relive the glory days with me?”
As much as catching up would be fun, I know better than to let myself blur the line between friend and client again.
“I’m feeling a little jetlagged. Think I’m going to take a quick power nap before tonight,” I explain as I watch Meredith’s mood deflate. “Is that okay?”
“Yes, yes. Go get settled. But I do want to carve out some girl time for us this weekend. Maybe tonight after dinner?”
“It’s a plan,” I say, already readying excuses to get out of it as I watch her disappear behind the cabin door.
Realizing I have no idea where to go, I try to spot other lost guests with luggage, but all I see are adventure seekers carrying fishing rods and dragging well-worn kayaks towards a building at the edge of the ranch.
A large, sun-stained sign outside the building reads “Adventure Starts Here,” a mantra accompanied by a collage of photos showcasing visitors participating in a slew of different wilderness activities. I step inside. Shelves of commemorative water bottles, keychains, and magnets are scattered throughout the space, and a gaggle of children run past me, their sopping-wet swim trunks dripping onto the carpet, as groups huddle around a wall of brochures completely oblivious to the idea of personal space. Caution tape splits the space in half, creating a barrier between the guests and construction workers who are hanging drywall on the other side. A large, laminated banner hangs overhead, depicting renderings of the updated building, proclaiming the mess the “Majestic Ranch Expansion Project.”
Between the shrieking of children and the pounding of hammers and drills, I’m overstimulated and eager for my room key.
“Climbing, rafting, or kayaking?” the woman behind the desk asks me, utterly unfazed by the chaos surrounding her. She can’t be older than twenty. Her honey-colored hair falls over her shoulders in a messy braid, tendrils sticking out all over the place, andthe purple shirt she’s wearing has a rainbow on it with the words “Hiking My Way to Happiness.”
“Neither,” I reply, hoping I’m in the right place. “I’m checking in for the Graham wedding.”
