Page 18 of The Boyfriend Boycott
“You got me a helmet?” I ask, and Grady climbs on the bike. He flicks his head, motioning for me to climb on behind him.I pull the helmet on over my wild hair and climb on as he steadies the bike with his feet.
“I realized I should probably have a spare anyway,” he says over his shoulder. I nod, but I don’t say anything. One, because the engine starting would drown out my voice anyway, and two, because I don’t want to point out the fact that it’s the samecolour as the camisole I was wearing the other night. I sure as hell don’t want to mention that this particular shade is my favourite. It means he thought about me when he was buying it, and I won’t entertain the idea of Grady thinking about me when I’m not around.
Grady rounds the corner and speeds up as we turn onto the main road, heading away from town. The end of the road past the campground that I have yet to explore. I allow my body to lean in sync with his, and I realize there’s a level of comfort sitting behind him on the bike now that I didn’t have the first time. It’s a sense of ease … and trust.
As we make our way down the winding road, houses become fewer and farther between until there is nothing at all except the never-ending expanse of trees. The bike’s engine roars underneath me as Grady shifts gears to start climbing up a hill that curves around the side of the mountain, looking as if it will just disappear from beneath us. As we reach the corner, the road continues on in gentle switchbacks hugging the side of the rock.
Eventually, we round a corner and the road becomes wider, creating a space off to the side of the cliff’s edge to stop and enjoy the view. My breath catches as I take in the mountains sprawling out before us as Grady pulls the bike over to the side of the road and comes to a stop. I hop off the bike with more ease this time, and before Grady has said anything about why we’re here, I’ve wandered over to the lookout, the view of the sprawling grey mountains pulling me towards it like a magnet.
We’re high enough now that Heartwood looks like a tiny model in a museum display. The Rockies rise up all around it, leaving the sleepy little town nestled right down in the bottom of the valley.
I close my eyes and take a deep inhale of the crisp, fresh air that’s laced with the sweet smell of wildflowers, blanketing the hillsides as the warmth of spring draws out every sign of life inthe cold, grey mountains. I’ve seen many incredible places, big bustling cities in international locales, but one thing I’ve come to know since making my way across Canada—there is nothing quite like this.
“It’s beautiful, right?” Grady asks, wandering over to meet me. He sits on a low fence that provides a barricade to the jagged hill below, and I take the spot next to him, just close enough that my arm brushes up against his.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I admit.
“Never? Not in all your travels to all the wonders of the world?”
“Nope. I’ve seen some stunning places, sure. There’s something about the grandeur of these mountains. It just makes me feel small and insignificant, in a good way. They’re kind of comforting. They’ve been here for eons, and they will continue to be here for eons, long after we’re gone. It makes me feel like my problems don’t seem as scary, as all-consuming.” Like no matter how tumultuous my life is, it’s still just a blip in time compared to these mountains.
“I get that.” Grady follows my gaze out to the mountain range beyond the valley. Something in the sincerity of his voice makes me believe him, although I get the sense that we have very different sets of worries. “This is my favourite view of Heartwood. When people ask me what’s important to me, this is what I think about. This town. The natural beauty that we are so lucky to have around us. This is the version of Heartwood that my parents fell in love with when they came here. This viewpoint is where my father proposed to my mom, with this as the backdrop.”
“You’re afraid that if this motion passes, this will change,” I say, finally realizing the gravity of what’s at stake, why Grady is so passionate about fighting this.
“I know that this will change. See, look.” Grady leans in closer so he’s almost touching me, my shoulder grazing his chest. He points down into the valley. “There’s Thistle + Thorne. Poppy took that building over from her aunt and, since then, has worked so hard to make that café the place where people meet on a Saturday morning, or where they go on their way to work. It’s a part of our everyday routine now. Or there.” Grady leans in a little closer still, and I can smell the warm vanilla and tobacco scent on him. “The grocery store that Mack has owned since it was passed down to them from generations before. It’s not just me that has history here, everyone in this town does.”
The emotion in Grady’s voice is palpable, especially at this proximity, and it’s causing a flurry of butterflies low in my belly.
“All of this, the café, the town square, will all be blotted out by big box stores if they open the door for them even just a crack. Jodi doesn’t see that this is wealth, too. This is what makes Heartwood rich.”
I peer up at Grady’s face, just inches from mine, his eyes lined with silver. It hits me at this moment how connected he is to this place. How badly I wish I could have had something like this myself. Somewhere to call home. A family with real roots.
I reach around in the bag slung across my chest for my phone, wanting to capture this moment, this flawless place, to remind me when I need it that this is here. Wherever I go next, wherever this job takes me, I never want to forget.
My camera clicks as I snap a few, and I look back through them, letting out a sigh.
“Why is it that a phone camera never seems to capture the mountains the same as they look in real life?” I mumble, half to myself as I start to put my phone away. It rings before I drop it back in my purse, my mother’s name lighting up the screen
I hit the green button, lift the phone to my ear and mouth,One sec, to Grady. She starts speaking before I can evenget a word out. I wander away from where we were sitting, leaving him to admire the view without me so I can have this conversation in private. I know that whenever my mother calls, there’s going to be some sort of drama I’d rather not discuss in front of anyone else.
“Spencer. Have you heard from your father?” she starts, her voice is crackly on the other end, the altitude of where we are interfering with the connection.
“Hi, Mom. Nice to hear from you, too,” I say, although I sometimes wish there was more time in between our conversations. “No, I haven’t heard from Dad. I haven’t heard from Dad for like, five years.”That might be a bit of an exaggeration, but that’s how it feels. He still calls once a year on my birthday, but I don’t count it since we only exchange surface-level pleasantries.
“I thought he might have told you. You remember that woman he was seeing,” she continues, and though the reception is breaking up her words, I can tell that she’s slurring her words just slightly.
“Yeah, was it Sherry?” I ask. “Which one was she again? The flight attendant? She seemed nice.” She did seem nice, based on photos that I saw of her online.
“Yes. Well now he’s engaged to thetart.” My heart drops, but not at the fact that he’s engaged. My father and I have been so far removed from each other for so long, partly my doing, that I try not to even think about him. But for some reason this news has caused my mother to spiral once again, and I’ll be left to pick up the pieces. “She posted it on Instagram this morning.”
“What does Roy think of all this?” I phrase the question delicately. I’m not asking it because I want to know, I want to remind her of the fact that she has moved on—twice now—and remarried since my dad. She, on the other hand, doesn’t see it that way. She allows how men treat her to dictate how she feelsabout herself, and I am bound and determined not to repeat the same pattern. It’s part of the reason why I just don’t get into relationships.
“Oh, you know Roy,” she answers without answering my question at all, and it’s clear she isn’t going to say anything more.
“I can’t really talk about this right now, Mom. I’m sorry, I’m just … out,” I say, glancing back at Grady seated on the fence. The line on the other end is quiet. “I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Okay,” she says. Then adding, “Oh, Spencer darling. Do remember to call my injector and book yourself in for the next time you visit. Your crow’s feet were looking quite … severe in the last photo you posted. If you want to keep getting these influencer contracts, you can’t let people think you’re gettingold.Just looking out for you, sweetheart.” I reach up and brush my fingertips along the outer corner of my eye and scrunch my face. I certainly have more wrinkles than I did before, but I wouldn’t call them severe.
