Page 96 of Four Weekends and a Funeral

My heart clenches. I accept his hand, my wellie-covered feet stepping down. Our faces meet inches apart, and for a moment, I wonder if we’ll kiss, but of course we don’t. Instead, Adam lets go of my hand and points at my hip.

“Someone’s calling,” he says to my buzzing pocket. I didn’t notice it. I’m basically a zombie.

“It’s my mom. Give me one…don’t go anywhere. Please.” He nods, and I take two steps away from him to answer.

“Alison, honey!” my mom yells cheerily through the receiver. “Did you book your flight for Christmas? I’ve been thinking about your oophorectomy.” My mom starts in with the ever-present BRCA talk, picking it right back up from the last conversation.

Bitterness builds in the back of my throat. “Mom, I can’t discuss my ovaries right now, this isn’t a good time.”

She tuts. “It’ll only take a second, Alison. It’ll be tight, but my doctor said she can squeeze you in for the first week in January—”

“Mom!” I explode like an overinflated balloon. I shouldn’t have to make major fertility decisions on my ex’s front lawn with the source of my cracking heart just feet away from me. I should be able to have one conversation with her about anything else besides my genetic inability to suppress tumors. “I don’t care if Dr.Logan’s making time for me. You didn’t even ask or consider what I wanted. I can make a plan with my doctor, and it won’t involve an oophorectomy in January, because I’ll be in Patagonia—”

“Alison!”

“Love you. Bye.” I punch the end call button, nostalgic for the cathartic release of my high school flip phone.

I lean back against the porch railing. Adam’s staring down at the ground next to me.

“So you’re really going to go to Chile,” he says, his voice wrung out. I hate how my body responds with frayed sparks of electricity. “This isn’t you.”

“But I want it to be.” My tone is just as defeated.

“I like you, Alison. Sometimes I think I—” He stops himself. “I can’t do whatever this is with you.” Adam sighs. I turn to meet his gaze, and I’m struck by how beaten down he looks.

“So this is it? You don’t even want to try?” I grab for his hand, then think better of it.

He looks so wounded. I can’t imagine what he’s seeing looking back at him. He rubs his beard, his eyes focusing on a slush-covered garden gnome. “It shouldn’t be so complicated.”

“I want this. Us.” I wipe away the building tears with my glove. “There. I uncomplicated it for you.”

“I can’t be with you when you’re so determined to be someone else.”

This simple statement guts me.

“I’m always me when I’m with you.” It’s the closest I get to breaking through to him, but I watch his walls go up at the last second.

“I need some time to think.”

“How much time to think?” I ask, my voice pitiful.

“I honestly don’t know. But I’ll tell you as soon as I figure that out.”

25

Going Full Into the Wild

“I probably need a tent, right? A waterproof one?” I muse aloud.

I stayed at Chelsea’s after the party. I couldn’t bear to go back to my apartment and see Adam everywhere. Then I spilled the tragic story of the Lewis Cookie Party and promptly fell asleep.

Now I’ve lured Chelsea to the Mall of America.

One part theme park, one part capitalist nightmare, the Mall of America may be the worst place to find yourself on a Sunday in the middle of December. My foot slides on a Yeti bumper sticker as I yank Chelsea by the arm past the picked-over cooler display at the entrance of L.L.Bean.

My eyes dart around the store until they find a pop-up tent display in the distance. I charge toward the orange vinyl, chewing my bottom lip while I compare features of the tents. I have no idea what I’m looking for, so I grab the one in the smallest box. Compact is best, right?

“Do you need to shop for camping supplies right now?” Chelsea asks, worry laced in her voice. I barely register her concern.

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