I push those thoughts aside, try to focus on what he’s actually said and not just the things I sense simmering underneath.
“You’ve got friends outside of work, though, right?” I ask, meaning it to be encouraging.
As soon as I say it, I can see I’ve struck a nerve: Matteowashis friend outside of work.
“Matteo was my best friend,” he says after a long pause. “Like a brother.” He swallows, picks at his thumbnail.
“I take it he hasn’t apologized yet, then?” I ask. “For…Peru?”
Thorn laughs—a genuine, huge, unexpected thing that probably puts a few owls on high alert.
“Yeah, no,” he says. “If anything, he did the opposite. Told me it was partly my fault, said we were never that close in the first place, said I spent all my time out here and neglected both him and Blair. That if I’d just ‘paid better attention,’ maybe I would have seen it coming.”
No wonder things are still so intense between them—and no wonder he’s having a hard time shaking things off. Matteo’s words have clearly gotten under his skin.
“To be fair,” Thorn goes on, “he’s kind of reeling. He found out a few days ago that Blair’s dumping him in the same way she dumped me.”
“Thelayers!” I say, eyes wide. “You guys have more drama thanThe Real Housewives.”
“The real who?” he asks—and he’s serious.
He really must spend all his time out here, looking at the world with his own eyes and not through various screens.
“Never mind,” I tell him. “But wow, yeah, Matteo sounds messy.” And like not a very good friendora helpful coleader.
Thorn sighs. “It’s a lot of pressure, making sure everyone gets the experience they signed up for—making sure they don’t get injured or lost, making sure they feelsafe. It’s all on me right now.”
“You’re used to it, though, right?” I say. “You’regoodat it. You must enjoy it on some level…?”
“It isn’t that I don’t enjoy it,” he says. “I love it out here. It feels more like home than my actual apartment—and it reminds me of my dad. He’d give anything to be out on these trails again, camping under the stars. And I love seeing people push themselves, discover they’re so much more capable than they thought.”
For the first time since we started talking, his gaze meets mine.
People like you, he doesn’t say, but I hear it anyway.
“Well,” I say. “If there’s anything I can do, let me know—I know I’m new at this, but maybe there’s something I can help with?”
My words hang in the air between us, like a trail of bubbles drifting into the sky.
He turns away now, and the silence is overwhelming.
For the first time since we met, I feel completely self-conscious,like maybe I said something offensive or wrong. All I offered was help, though.
Is it laughable that I offered?
Maybe it is. What could I—an amateur who couldn’t be bothered to bring the right shoes—possibly bring to the table?
“What?” I say a moment later, when he still hasn’t answered.
“I really appreciate the offer,” he finally says. “I do.”
He still won’t look at me.
“But?”
“But the most helpful thing right now would probably be for us to stop spending so much time together,” he says. “The group’s depending on my focus, and I can’t afford to be distracted.”
It hits like a cascade of embers: just a little sting, at first…and then itburns.
