I nod in agreement, as Grant runs over, throwing his arms around his fiancée. She squeals in delight as he leans down to kiss her neck, before scooping her up into his arms and over his shoulder.
“This woman is about to be my wife!” he shouts as he carries her across the lawn towards their cabin. Her laughter echoes through the air as the rest of the party posse couple up, windingdown to spend the rest of the evening snuggled up together, but I’m in no hurry to go back to my room.
Sneaking off, I look for a quiet place to wait it out for Hudson and Katherine to fall asleep, or hook up, or whatever it is they do together, but I barely make it halfway across the lawn before the ground spins beneath me.
“Fuck,” I say, overcome by the urge to lie down. The grass is cool against my skin, a fine layer of dew forming against the blades as I let the moisture cool me down. All I need to do is let the alcohol work its way through my system. Hiding away in the darkness, I stare up at the sky. It’s so luminous, thousands of stars sparkling like pinpricks in fabric as I begin mapping out the constellations: Cassiopeia, Gemini, the Little Dipper.
The last time I stared up at the stars like this was with Phoebe. It was after our final wedding of the season and we’d rented a cabin in Asheville to spend the night drinking red wine and daydreaming about the next chapter in our lives. It was only a few weeks after Phoebe got engaged but I was already thinking about the speech I’d give at her reception, the babies I’d be an eccentric aunt to, and the double dates we’d have once I found the right guy. I could see it so perfectly, growing old beside her.
“I can’t imagine doing this without you,” she said, clinking our glasses together underneath the stars.
People can understand romantic breakups, the soul-crushing depths of losing a person you thought you’d be with forever. But losing a friend could feel the same way. The only difference is that a partner could be replaced as easily as swiping right on an app, but replacing a best friend, especially as a woman pushing thirty, feels like an impossibility.
A prickle of tears builds behind my eyes, the salt stinging against my cheeks and I know I’m on the verge of an emotional breakdown. The ugly-tears, don’t-care-if-snot-runs-down-your-nose kindof breakdown. So when I feel someone sit down beside me, I can’t help but look over and want it to be Hudson. To have his calming presence here, even now, after everything. But it’s not him. It’s Derrick. And I can’t hide the disappointment that washes over me.
“Why is there no fucking service out here?” he asks, holding his phone up in the air. “I could kill for some pizza right about now.”
“I doubt this place is in anyone’s delivery zone,” I reason, subtly wiping at my eyes.
“Who the hell can live out here like this?” he groans.
“Cowboys,” I reply, chuckling at the inside joke. The only thing I knew about Wyoming came from a casual viewing ofYellowstoneat Finn’s bar. The remote had been lost years ago, so the screen was always on mute with no subtitles, leaving Hudson and me to make up dialogue.
“Fancy seeing you here, partner,” he’d say with a thick drawl.
“Yes, well, I came to see some cattle.”
“You mean buy cattle?” he’d correct.
“No, see ’em. I got a thing for counting spots.”
I stifle a snicker as the memory fades.
“You know, I haven’t stopped thinking about you all day,” Derrick says, his voice low and rough as he lies down next to me in the grass.
“Embarrassing yourself in front of an entire wedding party does leave a lingering impression,” I reply, the sting of humiliation still raw on my skin.
“No. I mean, thinking about you and me.” He scoots closer, an arm propped up behind him to lean over me, staring at my lips. I know what he wants and a part of me considers giving in to him, to end the evening in his room just to have a place to sleep away from Hudson and my many mistakes. But before I can decide whatIwant, Derrick’s mouth is against mine, his tongue making its way inside my mouth, like an overeager puppy.
His technique is sloppy, and there’s a sour acidity under the sickly sweet Sloshie on his breath as his hands paw at me.
I hoped that this might make me feel better. That it might erase the memory of my last kiss, the one with Hudson that set my entire body alight. But there’s no passion here. No ache in my chest. Regret pools over me, the sensation akin to bile churning in my stomach. I’m certain that I’m on my way to another mistake, but then Derrick pulls away the second I hear someone scream “Fire!”
18 Hudson
The principles of “leave no trace” are ingrained in me the same way I know to look both ways before crossing the street, but watching Derrick kiss Mira, his big hands clumsily reaching for her, I forget everything I’ve ever learned about fire safety as I drop my flaming marshmallow onto the dry grass. Although I know a hundred different ways to stifle the flames beneath my feet, I allow them to consume the stalks beside me until a wave of glowing sparks shoots into the sky and I yell the word “Fire!” as loud as I can.
Derrick’s instincts kick in immediately as he pushes himself off the lawn to come sprinting towards me. My sigh of relief that he’s away from her is cut short as he rips off his shirt. He falls to the ground, pumping his arms back and forth to smother the flames in front of me until he’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and I worry that I might have just turned him into a fucking Harlequin romance hero.
I glance back to where Mira was sitting, in the hope that she too isn’t gazing at Derrick in awe, but she’s not there.
“You really need to be more careful,” Derrick scolds me, as I spot Mira stumbling down the gravel path.
I leave him to bask in his glory as everyone gives him congratulatory pats on the back, while I catch up to Mira.
“Wait up,” I call. “You’re going the wrong way.”
“I don’t need your help, Hudson,” she barks angrily, and stops to gain her bearings. She corrects her direction, changing course from the adventure guide camp to the Big Barn.
