Page 66 of Past Tents

Ally opened her mouth, but instead of taking a bite, she placed the beetle back on its log and smiled. “Maybe next time.”

Looking for a place to sit, she inspected the ground for evidence of bugs, critters, and rogue leaves.

“Hang on.” I grabbed her hand to prevent her from lowering herself to the ground. Then I took out a blanket from my backpack and spread it out. “Here. Much better.”

“Oh. So much better,” she agreed.

Settling down next to her, I unzipped the inner pocket of my pack, where I’d stashed a bottle of wine, plastic glasses, and the makings of a charcuterie board.

“I’m absolutely taking your wilderness survival training seriously,” I assured her, “and I plan to give you a full lesson while we sit here. But no eating bark beetles when wine and cheese is an option. Bugs are purely for an emergency situation.”

We unpacked the food and poured the wine, and then I gave Ally a lesson on wilderness survival, using a pad of paper to jot down notes for her and draw makeshift representations of some bugs that make good protein sources in a pinch.

“And whatever you do,” I cautioned, “no eating mushrooms on or off the trail. That’s where you get into trouble.”

“I think I knew that one.”

We spent most of the day in the meadow talking about hikes we could take and short backpacking trips that would test her wilderness skills. I respected her desire to take care of herself,but the more time I spent with Ally, the more I wanted to take care of her.

“You know, being self-sufficient doesn’t mean you have to go at it alone.”

I was lying on my back with Ally’s head resting on my stomach. She tilted her face to the side to look at me. “What do you mean?”

“Just that you can be strong and vulnerable at the same time.”

She swallowed and blinked up at me. I watched her process this information. Finally, she nodded. “That’s a good way of putting it. I guess I was taught that being vulnerable would lead to heartbreak.”

“It won’t with me,” I said, intending to live up to that promise.

She smiled. “Gonna hold you to that, greyhound.” She gave me a poke in the ribs, which left me no option but to tickle her until she cried uncle. Which led to me wrapping her in my arms and pulling her onto my lap.

“This is good. I like this,” she said.

“I like it too.” I loved it. And I fucking loved her. Which was why I briefly allowed myself to think about telling her everything about how despondent I felt sometimes and how messed up I felt on medication. Here I was, waxing poetic about Ally allowing herself to be vulnerable, but I needed to do the same. I could trust her—this I knew with certainty. Maybe I had to trust myself, trust that I would be enough for her, exactly like this. Exactly as I am.

Then, maybe . . . maybe it could work?

I was so lost in thought that I didn’t realize Ally was asking about my other weekend plans until she waved a hand in front of my face. “Earth to greyhound?”

“I have a family dinner on Sunday,” I replied, half distracted by the idea of seeing my parents, who required a whole different set of survival skills to be around. “Actually, would you like to come with me? It’ll make the dinner much more pleasant, though you might be done with me afterward.”

“I very much doubt that.”

“Yeah, maybe they’ll behave. There’s always a chance.”

It was crazy to invite her to a family dinner. My parents were half the reason I’d never felt comfortable with my depression diagnosis or the meds that kept me functional. Nothing good could come from her seeing the whole family dynamic in action.

And yet, a part of me wanted her to know that side of me. A large part. I’d never believed Alexandra Dalbotten and I had a future together, but every day I spent with her was making me want to believe.

“Will you come to dinner?” I asked.

She agreed readily, and for the first time, I found myself starting to believe.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SIX

ALLY

---