People have given me a hard time, on occasion, for getting all dressed up even when I’m not planning to go anywhere. To which I’ve always replied: never underestimate the power of feeling cute.Everythingis easier when you feel put together, I don’t care if it’s the dishes or the laundry or being in survival mode out in the middle of the wilderness.
I’m testing my own theory today—fake it till you make it, as theysay—hoping that everything underneath my skin will start to feel as fresh as I look on the surface.
As soon as I unzip my tent door, I freeze: it’s like I’ve seen a ghost—and the ghost in question is all of my coffee stuff, complete with my beautiful ceramic mug.
I know who it’s from before I even notice the note tucked beneath it all. Only one person even knew I left it behind, and only one person would rescue it, and carry it in his pack, and then leave it for me when I need it most.
Unfortunately, that person is one and the same as the guy who essentially told me to go away last night. So rather than being purely thrilled to see it all again…I’m feeling mostly confused.
It doesn’t get better when I read the note.
Sadie, it reads,Heard the guys ran out of coffee. Saved this for you—you’ve come a long way out here, and I thought now might be a good time for you to have it back. I did not, unfortunately, rescue your copies of WILD and EAT PRAY LOVE. ;) xo, Thorn
The more I read it, the angrier I get.
He says I’m a distraction, and he expects me to keep my distance—but he leaves the most thoughtful gift ever, all while calling back to one of our first conversations and making a joke?
And what is with the winky face?
And the “xo, Thorn”—???
It is the most jumbled of mixed signals. Does he want me to leave him alone, or does he want me to fall head over heels in love with him? Because this note—this gift!—does not communicatego away. Not at all.
If he’d wanted to talk to me, though, he would have justgivenit to me. He would’ve wanted to see the look on my face and reap the rewards; I can think of a number of ways I would’ve liked to say thank you.
I have no idea what to make of this.
Silver linings, I coach myself.
I won’t have to have the caffeine headache from hell today. Neither will Hunter and Silas and Trey—after all the coffee they’ve shared with me, I’m happy to return the favor.
I rip out a page from my journal and scrawl out a little note. Before I left home, Abby helped me portion my coffee grounds into their own little Ziploc bags so it would be easy to know how much I needed without having my coffee scale with me; I pull out six of them, enough for the coffee bros to have two servings each. There’s plenty left over for me.
The guys aren’t around when I finally emerge to go drop off their surprise, but I arrange everything in a neat pile outside of Hunter’s tent like Thorn did at mine.
At least I can feel good about that one thing today.
Twenty minutes later, I’ve successfully brewed my own cup.
Thorn was right, I admit, despite myself: today really is a good day to have this small luxury back. The guys’ coffee was delicious, but mine feels likehome. So does my beautiful mug, the weight of it just right in my hand—and the artwork, its cheery little sun-and-rainbow scene, feels like a pep talk from Past Sadie, who paid an eyebrow-raising amount of money for this little ceramic vessel simply because it sparked joy.
I meander down by the brook, looking for a good place to set up for a while. Some of the others had a similar idea—Parker is reading in the meadow, and Trey’s made his way to a little hill full of wildflowers. Zoe’s much farther down, set up with a good view of the waterfall, sunbathing in her stylish one-shouldered swimsuit.
For the first time today, I spot Thorn: he’s about halfway down the brook, a central location between here and the waterfall where he cankeep an eye on as many of us as possible. Probably best to keep my distance.
I climb up onto a boulder and get as comfortable as I can; it’s rough against my bare legs. I only brought a few things with me: My coffee, of course. My journal. Trail mix. The only physical book I have left in my possession—A Hiker Girl’s Guide to Bugs & Berries, from Abby. And my disposable camera, just in case I encounter something I need to remember forever.
Okay, so in typical Sadie fashion, that’s more than a few things. But it’s not my entire tent, so I consider it a win.
I pull out my journal.
The blank page feels more overwhelming than ever—there’s too much swirling in my mind, and I don’t even know where to start. Thorn said the purpose of our solitude day was for us to reflect on our own personal adventures, so maybe I should start with that?
Every memory I have out here eventually leads back to him, though. Even the memories before we ever officially left: how he was the first person I met; how I caught him changing his shirt in that hollow tree display; how I left so many of my comfort items behind in his mop closet of an office.
Thinking back to that, I’msoglad I took his advice—I had no idea just how hard it would be to carry everything, how painful.
And have I missed that stuff at all?
