Page 21 of Delayed Intention
“Well, girl,” I say gently, returning my gaze to my face-down phone, “I’m feeling about the same.”
Lily Arrives
Lily, Estes Park, November 2024
Clinging to the cushion beneath my ass in the back of a shuttle from Denver International to Estes Park, the fifth wave of nausea starts in. A tension headache woke me up from my nap on the plane and has now progressed into migraine territory. Tightness started pulling on the left side of my scalp from muscles that run deep between my shoulder blades, which is my migraine prodrome. I know it well, unfortunately. Just what I needed. I am already nervous enough, seeing Josh in person for the first time in nineteen years, and now… Well, maybe I will be better by then. I am still about 35 minutes away. I attempt to look out the window and then promptly squeeze my eyes shut to keep out the light as it triggers a searing pain in my left eye.
When the headache started, I followed my most recent combat regimen: I carry a kit of meds with me at all times just for this purpose. I already took the pills for the migraine and nausea, as well as a muscle relaxant, which is phase one. Now, I guess I need to take a second dose of anti-nausea pills: deep into phase two. Because I’m feeling queasy already, my fears are taking advantage of my weakened state to invade my carefully sculpted attempt at serenity. I try to think about something else as I give myself a second dose of headache meds—which is phase three—this time an injection, while I wait for the anti-nausea medicine to melt in my mouth.
My mortal enemy, my brain, started racing as soon as I let my guard down.The rocks can fall, they can crush the vehicle, or fall in front of the van, and the driver will lose control, and we will drive off an edge or into a rock wall or another car. Or we could drive into the river, and the water would fill the car, and…would the hypothermia or drowning kill us first? What about the family in the car? Could I push the children out to safety while the water rushes in?
Lily, I try talking to myself in Nona’s voice—my newest attempt at self-soothing.Lily dear.What would she say?I hear your fears. Remember, right now, you are okay.I take a deep breath and feel it expanding my rib cage, filling my lungs. The meds are kicking in, and the pain is subsiding, along with the nausea. Then I find something to focus on as I continue to slow my heart rate. My focus is on my love for Nona—how she listens without correcting my feelings or scolding me. I feel a tear glide down my left cheek, and I let it flow. I think of the flow of the river through Estes and how wild and calming it is at the same time. How much I love it there. How it’s worth the drive. How brave I can be, to face my fears. I smile to myself, wiping the tears away. The family in the shuttle is contentedly looking out the windows, oblivious to the drama unfolding in the back of the van.
The last time I was on this drive, I was fourteen. By that time, I had learned to keep my mouth shut, pretend I was asleep, and pray while silent tears would run down my face. I love the mountains so much, but not driving into them—the steep walls of rock alongside the car—it’s best not to go there again.The issue is not the mountains themselves. It’s where men carved into the mountains for the sake of a road. Historically, these roads were made by blasting the mountains, and my mind cannot envision how these areas can be stable, even after nearly one hundred years.
When I was younger, a constant running dialogue of anxieties played in my mind. I would catastrophize and want to ask a thousand questions: would the plane fall out of the sky? How did they know it wouldn’t? Had it ever happened before? What if someone accidentally opened the exit? If we crashed, what would kill us first, fire or smoke? Did the elk in Colorado attack anyone this year? If I see one, should I freeze, run, or back up slowly? Do I keep eye contact or look down? How many mountain lions were seen in town that year? Were there ghosts at the Grady Hotel? On and on and on.
I was much more of a talker before I learned that no one in my family wanted to hear what I had to say. Ros and my father didn’t want me to voice my fears because it would set my mother off. My mother and my other siblings were annoyed by me to no end. My brother Joe loved to work me up by confirming all my worst fears until I would have a panic attack. I understand now he was just trying to get all my mother’s focus away from him, to give him a break from being criticized for a change. It still hurt, though. If I’m being honest, I don’t know if that hurt will ever go away.
Some things do pass, in their own time. I watch the trees drift by the vehicle's windows and realize the headache is gone. The light is no longer burning my eyes; my vision is less blurry. My shoulders are starting to relax.Thank God. We are driving along the river now, and despite everything, I’m pleased to be here. I don’t push my luck and look out the other side of the van, where I know there is a steep rock wall. I have grown up, but I’m not normal.
I have a psychiatrist for medication to help with the anxiety, but she doesn’t help much. Mostly, she chats with me about work and then fills my prescriptions. Monica, though, she’s probably saved my life, and I’ve told her that. I’ve never actually met her in person. Our appointments are virtual, so on my screen, I see the top half of her only: she has aqua-colored braids, dark brown skin, light hazel eyes, and a genuine smile. She wears dozens of gold bangles on her left wrist, which clink together when she gesticulates. She sits in front of one of those fake white walls, with a virtual image of a sunflower in a pot next to her. She was enthusiastic about the letters, this trip, and about reconnecting with Josh.
Monica had said, ‘Look at you go. Lily, this is what we’ve talked about. Trying out a new way to do things. And you’re doing it.’
I am startled as I feel the van slow down in front of the lodge, where I have a reservation.
“Here we are, Ms. Mendes,” the driver announces as I assess my surroundings. Grabbing my suitcase, I handed him a tip while stepping down into the lot. Walking to the office to check into my mini cabin, I pause, taking a deep breath of the mountain air. God, I love it here. Closing my eyes, I say a brief prayer, a blessing to say when the mountains are visible. I could see them from the plane, but arriving in this little town feels like the right time.
After checking in and getting my door code, I drag my suitcase up to the door of my place. The place is adorable—it is made to look like a log cabin, which is on-brand for Estes. It is right on the water with a little porch overlooking the river, complete with a pair of rocking chairs. I smile and sigh at the sight and sounds of the river, leaving my bag just inside the front door before heading out to the little porch to text Josh. I had texted him when I landed, and he messaged back asking me to let him know when I settled in so we could grab some food and plan the week.
After listening to the rush of the river for a few minutes, I decide to change into something clean, wash my face and slather myself in sunscreen—no matter the time of year, the sun here will burn the crap out of me if I’m not careful. I look at my giant hair; it is practically a full lion’s mane at this point. I put in a generous helping of smoothing cream and attempt to tame it into a low ponytail.
After negotiating a truce with my hair, I start feeling nervous. It occurs to me that the kindness Josh has shown me so far could be some sort of trap to get me here and tell me off. My mind starts listing all the ways this is the most likely scenario, so I throw myself down on the bed, exacerbated. I pull out my phone and select my ‘chill playlist.’ I have two main playlists; an angry one and a calming one. What I need now is to relax, unless I want to tempt another migraine. I groan at the thought. The choices on my playlists would not make sense to most people, but basically, it is anything that can help me relax and be distracted. It’s a moving target. One song may only work for a week, while I may find another song that relaxes me for years. Right now, Weezer is blaring out of my portable speaker.
I think about checking out Josh’s social media accounts. He’d sent me a friend request, and I accepted and friended him, but I’d been afraid to set eyes on him.Better now than when he’s in my doorway.I open his profile, and most of the pictures were of a caramel and white dog. After scrolling down, there he is, laughing as the dog—Ginger, I think he’d said—is licking the side of his face. His eyes are closed, but I know them as well as I know my own.
Damn. How is he even better looking than he was before? Tousled brown wavy hair, in some pictures a full beard; in others, he’s clean-shaven. I can see broad shoulders and a defined, muscular forearm that is raised in motion, trying to get the dog to fetch something. I hope he only has the best of intentions for me because I don’t think I could muster a defense against all of that.
A knock sounds at the entrance of my cabin, and I spring up from the bed as if I were shot from a rubber band. I feel caught out, as if I’d been watching porn rather than just checking out his socials. I checked my hair on the way to the door and decided that no amount of smoothing cream in the world could fix my version of airplane hair. Sighing, I move to answer the resumed knocking. I open the door, and my heart seems to skip a beat before racing again. There he is, standing on the threshold, smiling down at me and looking so stunning. I actually forget that there should be words exchanged, not music blaring in the background.
“Weezer, huh? Old school,” Josh says above the music.
Oh my God.I start fumbling with my phone like I had just dropped in from a previous century and had never seen a mobile device before.Where the hell is my music app?
“Oh my God, I’m sorry. It’s been a day already, and I was just trying to bring it down a notch.”
“Rough drive?” He looks concerned, dispelling my idea that he just invited me for a meal to mess with me. Finally, after what feels like 150 years, I remember how to use my phone and stop the auditory trip down memory lane. Maybe Josh doesn’t remember what album we were listening to the last time we hung out. But I certainly do.
Josh clears his throat. “So, I realized, I didn’t ask you if you keep kosher, but I was going to take us to Libby’s. Does pizza sound okay?” Libby’s is the vegetarian pizza place in town that also happens to be certified kosher.
“Pizza sounds great!”Ew, why am I talking so loudly?I take a breath and force myself to turn my volume down. “I don’t eat meat or shellfish, and I’m okay eating at non-kosher places too, but Libby’s is perfect. Let me just grab my purse.”
Turning around in a circle, I look down too late and realize the purse is already on my arm. I don’t know what else to do, so I just shrug and attempt to smile. “Ready, I guess.” I watch as the corner of his lips twitch. I guess I’ll have to settle for being amusing rather than pulled together and sophisticated.
“So first things first, and I need to formally introduce you to my best girl, Ginger, since she’ll be joining us for dinner.”
Waiting patiently in the back of his truck is the medium-sized, brown and white, pit bull-looking dog from his social media profile. Ginger jumps down and sits at my feet, politely.
