Page 60 of Four Weekends and a Funeral

“Russell!” I turn, greeting him cheerily with an awkward one-armed hug that he turns into a long, full-body embrace.

“Why’re you giving me the runaround, girl? I’ve left you like three messages.” He clutches his heart, stepping back like I’ve shot him, but his wink and big toothy grin in Chelsea’s direction confirm my suspicion that he hardly thinks about me when I’m not directly in front of him.

“Sorry. I’ve had a lot going on.” I turn to Mara and Chelsea. “This is Russell. He saved us when Adam and I got a car impounded.”

Chelsea flits her eyelashes over her ravenous blue eyes. “Russell, I’m Chelsea.”

She extends her hand toward him, but with lightning-fast reflexes, he rejects it and pulls her into a hug. She mouths, Oh my god! to Mara and me over his shoulder.

Russell settles into a seat at our table. “Any friend of Sam’s girl is a friend of mine.”

All three of us recoil physically at the words Sam’s girl, but Russell doesn’t notice. He’s waiting for Mara to introduce herself.

She wrinkles her nose, unimpressed. “Mara. We met at the funeral. You hugged me.” From her, the word hugged sounds more like sneezed on.

Russell flashes a Cheshire cat smile, oblivious to Mara’s tone. She makes an excuse and heads toward the bathroom.

Chelsea presses Russell’s forearm flirtatiously, and suddenly, they’re enjoying a lively exchange of Hot People Pleasantries. I pull out my phone and tune them out. Minutes go by while I labor over how to respond to Adam’s text. Do I mention Judy’s message? How do I casually remind him of our forgotten kiss and find out if our friendship expires this weekend? Should I ask him his preferred flavor of “Goodbye Forever” cake? I feel like it’s marble. There’s no flavor more ambivalent than marble.

“You’re going too, Al?”

Chelsea’s wobbly voice pulls me out of my phone trance.

“Huh?”

Worry and frustration pinwheel across her face. “Russell says you’re going to Chile. The country. To climb a mountain.”

Russell and Chelsea stare at me expectantly. “Sam invited me…and—”

“Oh, babe, you have to come too,” Russell tells Chelsea, throwing his arm around the back of her chair before she subtly shimmies out of his embrace. He’s impervious to the nonverbal conversation playing out on our faces.

Mara reclaims her chair, surveying our varying expressions. “Sorry, there was a line. What’d I miss?”

“Alison’s going camping in the mountains of South America.” Chelsea downs her beer.

Mara straightens. “What?”

My eyes glue themselves to the table, unable to confront my friends’ angry faces. Or, not angry—worse—worried. “It’ll be good for me.”

“For sure,” Russell responds, bouncing in his seat. He really can’t read a room. “When can I grab that stuff from Sam’s place?”

I turn toward Russell, avoiding my friends’ stares. “Can you come by this weekend?”

“Perfect. We’ll hash out the details for Chile then. Chelsea, it was a pleasure meeting you. Can I DM you?”

She tips her head side to side in disappointed resignation. “Better not,” she says. Whatever fun she imagined with Russell, I’ve shot it in the ass with a tranq dart.

Russell shakes the rejection off. Once he’s sauntered away, Mara’s eyes tighten at the corners. “I thought Sam’s sister gave your ticket away. Why does Bachelor in Paradise think you’re going mountaineering with him?” she asks.

“I’m capable of buying my own ticket,” I snap, frustrated that I’m being forced to articulate actions I may not entirely understand.

Mara throws up her hands. “What’re you trying to prove?”

I fidget in my chair.

“When we all had collective heart attacks during Free Solo, did you see it as aspirational viewing? You’re a woman who loves lazy days on the couch with her friends. That’s who you are, and you’re the best.” Mara’s voice rises with each sentence, her volume swallowed up by the noisy bar. “But after your surgery, you woke up and decided that you weren’t good enough. You signed us up for an ultramarathon. I didn’t know they made races longer than a marathon, and now I’ll have to sell my firstborn child to get off that email list.”

“What’s wrong with wanting to be the best version of myself?”

---