Cliff climb with Thorn: I should never have looked at my phone today (VERY BAD) *but* the way Thorn gave me space while I was crying…he’s an incredible guy (good, obviously). Total and complete closure re: Caden (a long time coming!!). I definitely still miss air conditioning (ugh).
16SADIE
Had I known how difficult it would be to paint my nails inside my tent—dim lighting, bottles threatening to tip over every time I shift even slightly, thefumes—I would have saved my manicure session for tomorrow morning down by the lake.
If I were back home, I would be treating myself to a spa day to finish off the emotional cleanse I had back on the cliffside. Instead, I’m doing what I can to pamper myself here—especially since tomorrow’s another hiking day.
I started with journaling, then moved on to dry shampoo. The entire tent smells like a mix of Flowerbomb perfume and lavender pillow spray (and the aforementioned fumes), and I’m feeling fresh in my last pair of clean pajamas.
I brought a five-pack of sheet masks with me (Abby did not get a chance to veto those, as I snuck them in when she was in the other room) and decided on a “nourishing honey” one, which is currently working its magic on my face. And then, an even harder decision: it took forever to choose a shade of polish—Strawberry Scone, Lava, or Lavender Stems—but the fiery orange-red of Lava paired perfectly with my mood, so I started with that one.
My left hand is shakily painting my right fingernails when I hear yelling so loud it makes me jump, knocking into the bottle of nail polish that was balanced precariously on top of my journal.
Lava polish spillseverywhere.
I rush to contain the damage, but it’s too late: my sleeping bag now has a fiery orange splash right where my face will be later tonight, leaving only a little left in the bottle.
The yelling gets louder.
I poke my head outside my tent, looking around frantically for Thorn.
Only when we find each other, and he looks like he’s seen a ghost, do I realize I’m still wearing the sheet mask.
“Sounds like Joshua, doesn’t it?” he asks as I rip my mask off.
We listen together, trying to make out the words.
As soon as the second voice enters the picture, we have our answer.
“Definitely Joshua and Zoe,” I say.
He scowls. Something about it feels intimate: like a peek behind the curtain of his trail guide persona, a flash of how he really feels about the other hikers and their drama.
I follow him over to their clearing, partly because I don’t want to be alone back at ours, but mostly because I’m nosy.
Zoe disappears into their tent before she sees us, and half a second later starts heaving things out of it.
A sleeping bag.
A pillow.
A pair of boxer briefs.
A mass-market paperback ofJurassic Parkthat nearly hits Joshua in the head.
“Find somewhere else to sleep tonight,” she says tartly, then zips herself in without another word.
Joshua stands there, stunned.
I’d be stunned, too, ifJurassic Parkhad just nailed me in the temple in the process of getting unceremoniously kicked out by the person I was engaged to.
“Hi, hello,” Thorn ventures. “How can I help?”
Joshua squints, trying to make out where Thorn’s voice came from. We’re in relative darkness—Joshua and Zoe have an LED lantern illuminating their corner of the clearing, but we’re just outside its glow.
We step forward so he can see us.
“I needspace,” Zoe says with an exasperated exhale as she emerges from the tent. “I’m suffocating.”
