Page 58 of Meet Me Back Here

We take turns looking through the telescope and trying to capture the beauty around us with pictures. Slowly, things return back to normal as the tension ebbs away. We spend the entire car ride back to the hotel recounting our favorite parts of the day even though we were both there for all of it.

I breathe a sigh of relief. We’re still ok.

Forrest lets me shower first, and when I emerge from the bathroom in my pajamas, he’s shaking out his blanket over his bed. When he lifts it up, I get a quick glimpse of the mattress with just the sheet on it, and I see what looks like a literal crater in the middle.

“Forrest,” I gasp, pointing to the bed. “What the hell is that?”

“What’s what?” Forrest answers, spinning around and bending to look under the bed for some mysterious item.

I cannot comprehend why he’s completely overlooking the disaster that is the horrible bed he’s been sleeping on.

“The hole in the middle of that rectangle you’ve been letting me believe is a mattress,” I say, approaching it and pressing a palm into the cavern. It’s so flimsy at the center I can probably count the bolts on the crossbar even through the bed. “When we saw the Grand Canyon, you didn’t mention you’ve been sleeping in it this whole trip!”

“It’s not so bad,” Forrest says, shrugging.

At least this explains why he’s insisted on folding the bed up every day. He didn’t want me to see he’s been sleeping in the mouth of a volcano. I can’t believe he’s been suffering on this thing for so long. I can’t believe his spine can still function after sleeping like this.

“It’s not so bad,” I mimic like a child. “You cannot continue to sleep on this thing. Why didn’t you say anything?”

Forrest opens his mouth to keep arguing, but I hold up a hand.

“No. We’re switching,” I insist, dropping onto the edge of the pullout and claiming it as my own.

“We absolutely are not,” Forrest says, crossing his arms. “I’m fine here.”

“I found you sleeping like a cooked shrimp this morning. You will not be sleeping here again.” I cross my arms to match him.

“I can’t let you stay on that bed.” Forrest holds his ground.

“So you admit it’s garbage.” I grin, feeling myself gaining ground.

Forrest opens and closes his mouth a few times while he seemingly tries to formulate an argument.

Even just sitting here for a few minutes, I can feel the frame beneath me trying to grind a permanent groove in my thighs. Nobody can sleep here. The folded-up couch isn’t so bad but being just as long as a full-size mattress is wide, it’s short, even for me. There’s an obvious answer, at least for tonight.

“Forrest, let’s just share the bed,” I say before I can think of all the reasons this could be a terrible idea. It’s sleeping, and circumstances are dire. “This bed is not an option for either of us, and the couch is way too short. We have two blankets, and the bed in there is enormous.”

Forrest furrows his brow.

“Are you sure?” he asks, looking around the room. Maybe he forgot that we already searched for a second bed when we checked in two weeks ago. He’s been sleeping on that thing for two weeks.

“Positive.” It’s just sleeping. And I’m so damn tired.

“Ok.” Forrest nods too. I think he might be blushing. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” I say, hoping it’s true. “Go shower. I’ll get us set up.”

When Forrest retreats to the bathroom, I fold up the pullout and carry the extra top sheet and blanket to the bedroom, pushing mine to one side. I turn off all the lights except the little one on the nightstand on Forrest’s side of the bed and lie down as close to the opposite edge of the bed. There’s enough room for three more fully-grown adults on this bed.

But when Forrest slips under his blankets, keeping a healthy distance between us, and whispers good night, I can still feel him everywhere.

And when I wake up in the morning after the best night’s rest I’ve had in a while, Forrest is fast asleep beside me. Our arms stretched across the middle of the bed, and the tips of our fingers linked together.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

always?

CHRISTMAS, 18 YEARS OLD