Page 31 of The Road Sometimes Taken

“Come on, let’s go,” Manny says, grabbing the two bags from the cafe and his backpack before stepping out of the van.

I follow him toward the structure with a sign that reads “Big Muskie Bucket.” I think I remember reading about it but I didn’t mention it before, so I’m not sure why we’re here.

“Care to explain?” I ask.

“Come on, Carita. Be spontaneous with me,” he adds, putting the bags down and pulling a picnic blanket from his backpack. He lays out the blanket on the grassy area near the exhibit.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“A little picnic, just sit and enjoy the moment,” Manny insists and I don’t know who this guy is right now—backward hat and so carefree, taking the day by the reins and enjoying it as it goes—but I’m thankful it’s me who gets to experience him.

“Picnic lunch? We already checked it off the list.”

“But we didn’t really eat. We fell asleep so we need a redo, and I read online about this area and it sounded cool,” he says.

“Didyousearch online or did you have—what’s her nameagain? Ah yes, Lucia—look it up for you?” I ask, trying to get the bag of food but he pulls it away from me.

“Matter of fact, Lucia did find suggestions, but I picked the cafe where these came from, happy? Now be nice or I won’t show you what’s in here,” Manny teases, shaking the bag in his hand.

“Gimme, gimme, pretty please,” I plead, clapping my hands and sitting on my knees.

He unzips the bag and pulls out neatly wrapped sandwiches, golden scones, and two bottles of water. The smell of fresh bread mingles with a hint of citrus from the scones and I can bet my left kidney those are lemon. He hands me a bottle, cool and refreshing in my palm, and grins. “You pick first,” he insists, his eyes sparkling. “I like all of these, so I’ll happily take whatever you leave behind.”

“Eeek, thank you!” I shout, grabbing the chicken salad sandwich and the lemon scone with tiny purple dots.Lemon blueberry, my favorite.I take a bite of the sandwich and kick my feet because this is fucking delicious. Salty but perfectly balanced with a hint of sweetness. Definitely not what I was expecting. I open the top portion and see that there’s mozzarella cheese and some balsamic glaze too.

“What in the fancy chicken salad is this?” I ask and Manny laughs.

“It’s a Caprese Chicken Salad. It looked good, so I grabbed it. I’m glad you like it.” He goes to take a bite of his sandwich but before he can his phone rings. He lowers his gaze to it and, shaking his head, he gets up and says, “I have to answer this, I’m sorry. Excuse me.” He walks away, while answering the call, and I feel the emptiness as soon as he’s gone.

In these past five days, I’ve gotten used to his company. He’s easy to be around. Easy to talk to. More than easy, he’s interesting to talk to. His views on the world and life areso different from most people I hang out with. Actually, it's different from his sister’s, too. It’s like he’s a free soul trapped in the body of a business guy or whatever it is that he does. Even more than that, he’s interested in what I have to say. And it makes me realize I didn’t see how little attention Cole ever paid to me. True attention.

The guys I’ve dated over the years paid some attention; not like Manny, but definitely enough to seem interested. I don’t know if it’s because I was keeping Cole in the back of my mind, but I was never in the present moment with them either. It’s not that I’m dating Manny or anything like that, but by being around him, I find myself not thinking about much other than the next stop on our list.

I’ve never felt more like myself or less judged than I do when I’m around Manny. It’s refreshing but also kind of scary because I don’t want to get too close to him. Not when I know he will go back to his corporate world. I don’t want to grieve whatever friendship is forming on top of Cole and the move.

I pull out my phone from my shorts and snap pictures of the picnic and the view, before opening my social media and posting a photo dump of the day so far. Pictures of feeding the giraffes, smiling with rhinos behind me, of my feet hanging from the window, and the picnic right now. I add a picture of Manny in the distance, his joggers and T-shirt making him look like any regular guy. But once you see his posture against the tree, with his backward hat and the phone on his ear, you can tell that there’s more to him. Every part of his body is hard under his clothes, muscles galore. And his damn jaw is even tighter now that he seems to be arguing on his call. He looks both mysterious and like the guy next door. It’s mesmerizing. I caption itOhio’s been wild,post it, and continue with my food, wondering what he’s talking about that has him all worked up. Actually, I’m wonderingwhohe’s talking to.

14

BOONDOCKING

LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO, HOZIER

Manny

“I understandyou’re upset but I told you we’re handling this,” I argue, not actually knowing if anyone is handling anything. The contrast of the peace and quiet around me with the loud voices on Virgil’s side of the line is astounding. I can hear the sharp tone of everyone around him and the grunt of his words could make the earth shake. But I’m not going to turn into an ass like him. I’ve got to control the situation.

“What are you handling? Are you still on vacation? Are you back in New York?” he asks, like I need to be physically somewhere to do my job.

“The market conditions have been extreme lately. You wanted to take an aggressive approach and not preserve cash flow. Sometimes it backfires and sometimes it works. It looks like it’s backfiring, but we’re watching the market to make sure we do what’s best for you. The setbacks are hard to predict but we are working on it,” I add. It’s like talking to a little kid who’snot getting his way. This is the worst part about this business—when people don’t understand that they won’t always win.

A loud clap of thunder echoes through the trees, and when I look up, the sky is rapidly turning ten shades of gray. The weather in this area is so volatile, way more than I expected.

“Extreme conditions or not, this is a disaster and not a solid investment. And now I’m looking at significant losses.” Virgil’s anger is clear, echoing through the phone line. I could go on and on about how we diversify and employ risk management strategies and how the market has affected even the most stable investments, but that won’t help.

“Virgil, we’re actively working on a revised strategy to mitigate these losses. Would you like me to call you in forty-eight hours with some options?”

His voice is a mix of skepticism and exhaustion as he replies, “I need concrete steps and a timeline for recovery. If things don’t improve, I’ll have to reconsider my options.” This man has been with me since we opened the company. He’s just trying to act all tough.

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