Page 8 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
Brody: Nah, I’ll be all right. Perry won’t admit it, but he’s glad I’m coming along. He needs me more than he likes to admit.
Kate: Some things never change.
Kate: I can’t wait to see you.
Brody: Me too.
Me freaking too.
Chapter Three
Kate
Fine.Yes. When I first hatched the plan to hike in and surprise Brody in the middle of his two-week trek with Perry, I vastly underestimated the logistical nightmare I was taking on. It isn’t like the trail runs from town to town, complete with paved walkways and cell phone charging stations. The Appalachian Trail iswilderness.
The section Brody is hiking crosses through a few different towns close to the Georgia/North Carolina border, but pinpointing which one and when? It feels like one of those word problems you find on elementary school math tests. If train A enters a tunnel at three p.m. traveling fifty miles an hour, and train B enters a tunnel at six p.m. traveling forty-two miles an hour...
I could have used Brody and his math brain with all the calculating I’ve had to do.
How far do people usually hike in one day? How many days will it take me to get to one of those trail-crossing towns? Is it even possible to time it so that Brody and I are in the same town at the same time?
Possible? Yes.
Easy? Absolutely not.
Risky because Brody doesn’t have any idea I’m here and might not want to see me?So much yes.
Worst-case scenario, I spend a gorgeous weekend hiking and hanging out in a quirky mountain town with my cousin Kristyn who flew down from Chicago to help me get started on Grandma Nora’s house. Kristyn was unexpectedly enthusiastic when I suggested we change our plans and spend half our time tracking Brody through the woods instead. But it might feel like less of a wild adventure, as she called it, if we never even find him.
“Are you sure this is the right place?” Kristyn asks.
I drop my bag at my feet and stretch my back. “There’s a plaque right here that says Siler Bald. It’s the right place.” The metal plaque, bronzed and weather-worn, sparkles in the afternoon sunlight, marking the latitude and longitude of the mountain’s peak.
Kristyn steps up beside me, her hands on her hips, her gaze on the horizon. “You were not lying about these mountains.”
“I think I forgot how beautiful they are.” I’ve seen a lot of amazing views over the past few years, and I’ve hiked to the top of a lot of mountains. But this is different. These mountains feel like home. My gut tightens, an unexpected pulse of emotion radiating out to my fingertips.
I focus on a distant lake nestled in between the rolling hills that stretch out in front of us.Lake. Trees. Sky. Breathe in. Breathe out.
I’m going to get through this summer if it’s the last thing I do.
The Siler Bald trail is about two and a half miles one way. It only took us an hour or so to hike in, but the last quarter mile, a steep climb through knee-high grasses to get to the top of the knoll was more of a quad workout than I expected. The view from the top is worth it though. Three hundred and sixty degreesof rolling blues and greens, mountains as far as the eye can see in every direction. The Blue Ridge Mountains are the only mountains I’ve ever seen that melt into the horizon. On a clear day, when the sky is a brilliant blue overhead, it’s hard to tell where mountains stop and sky begins.
Kristyn nudges me with her shoulder. “It’s been a while, right? How does it feel to be home?”
I’m not home, exactly. But I’m closer than I’ve been in a long time.
I tamp down the discomfort still pulsing in my midsection. I did not hike all this way to have a meltdown on the top of a mountain. I have donehardthings over the past eight years. Traveled to every continent. Survived on a shoestring budget and a healthy side of gumption. I have met people whose lives make my own complicated history seem like a children’s book. I can handle this. I can master my emotions.
“Good, I think? Maybe a little weird.”
“Are you nervous about seeing Brody again?”
Ishouldbe nervous. Brody was my north star growing up. When the rest of my life felt impossible, he was the one who was steady and constant. When I missed my dad, who divorced my mom and moved away when I was little, when my mom resented me for reasons I couldn’t pinpoint, Brody was reliable like only a best friend could be. But we haven’t seen each other in a long time, and I was the one who stopped responding to his messages.
He says I don’t owe him an apology, but Ireallydo.
“A little,” I finally answer. “But I’m more anxious than anything else.” Even if Brody isn’t interested in rekindling our friendship, I at least know him well enough to trust he will still be kind.
