Page 26 of Entwined Hearts

I wish we could take our breakfast on top of that boulder, watch the sunrise together while we eat, but I’d need a dumbwaiter to get the food up there. Besides, our friends are starting to stir. Soon, our quiet campground will be a hive of activity as climbers get ready to attack the day.

We sit at the picnic table just as Kabir and Jo step from their tent. Kabir stretches, then pulls Jo into a long hug, rocking her in a soft embrace. He kisses her, and I can hear their soft murmurs from across the campground. I turn away, my stomach feeling tight.

Moments later, I hear their footsteps approach. Kabir claps me on the back.

“How was the palace last night?” he asks.

“Comfy,” I reply. “Want me to make you a cup of coffee?” I nod at my tailgate. “I’m already set up.”

“Coffee is for the weak,” he says. “Real men drink tea.”

An hour later, we’re hiking from the dirt access road toward a broad ridge peppered with clusters of tan-colored granite globes. Behind me, I hear the excited chatter and swish of clothing coming from Anya, Kabir, and Jo. The rest of our group decided to climb at a nearby spot to spread our crew out.

We arrive at a lopsided boulder that’s dotted with white chalk. I scan the surface of little nubs and flakes that provide the holds we’ll use. For a boulder problem, it’s relatively long, more than fifteen feet.

The group collects at the base of the rock, arms crossed, studying.

“So you gotta switch fingers there,” Kabir says, eyeing a location about halfway up.

“And check that little bucket-shaped hold,” Jo adds, pointing. “You put your heel in that, right?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Then there’s the sloper,” I add, aiming a pebble at a rounded corner high on the route. It’s a tough hold because it has to be gripped like a thick book. “Your feet need to be solid because you’ve only got a second on it before you slide right off.”

“Momentum is key, then,” Anya says in a quiet voice, her eyes locked on the route.

“Let’s do it,” Kabir exclaims, unclipping the large crash pad he’s carried on his back and spreading it underneath the climb.

Jo and Anya unclip the pads they’re wearing. We cover the landing zone, making it safe. Bouldering doesn’t rely on any hardware or ropes, so when a climber falls, they fall to the ground. Fellow climbers act as spotters, like a gymnast on the bars, but all a bystander can do is slow the descent.

“Ladies first,” Kabir says, indicating Jo and Anya, who are still studying the route.

Anya’s wearing black climbing tights and a Marvik pullover the same soft blue of her eyes. I wouldn’t be surprised if the designers created that color on purpose just for her. She’s pulled her hair into a clip so I can see the side of her face.

“I’ll go,” she says to Kabir. She twists so our eyes lock. “Will you spot me?” she asks, her expression eager, confident. This is the Anya I remember.

“Sure,” I say as a burst of emotion upends my stomach.

Anya ties on her climbing shoes and removes her pullover, revealing a snug-fitting tank top that shows off her slender but sturdy shoulders. I had almost forgotten what those shoulders used to do to me.

She clips her chalk bag around her waist, then approaches the first hold.

The best part about bouldering is the lack of gear: no harness, no heavy rack of hardware, no rope, no partner to coordinate with. Just you and the rock and the open sky at the top.

Stepping close, I get ready to catch her if she falls. I almost wish she would so I can have a reason to touch her. I think about last night and how she reached for my hand.I missed you.I release a tight sigh.Why am I always leaving the people I care about?

She reaches for the first hold, a decent-sized ledge that’s white with the chalk of previous climbers’ fingers, then leverages off it to get her feet on two small nubs each no bigger than a lima bean. The muscles in her arms engage, defining them like razors as she reaches for the right-hand hold.

“Nice, Anya,” Jo says from behind me. Anya’s fingers crimp a tiny irregularity the shape of a bird’s beak.

Anya moves her feet, expertly flowing with what’s available for holds. Above me now, I extend my hands toward her and shift my position closer to the rock, which smells of minerals and chalk dust.

Anya exhales hard, her left arm shaking from fatigue.

“C’mon, Anya,” Jo says.

Balancing so precariously, Anya looks up at the hold that’s just out of reach.

“You got this,” I say.

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