Page 77 of Every Step She Takes
“You have said on numerous occasions that the one twin’s beard freaks you out.”
“Why does it look like those nineties Ken Dolls with facial hair that disappeared with water?”
Michelle chuckles, and for a moment I think I’ve managed to distract her from my much-deserved lecture. But then she heaves another giant sigh. “You’ve got to stop running at some point, Mal.”
I choke on my next flippant comment. I want to keep evading her questions, dodging her concerns by turning them into jokes. But the truth is, I called Michelle because she is the only person in this world who truly knows me, and I want her to remind me why kissing Sadie again last night was an epic mistake.
I need her to stop me from doing it again.
I’ve been drifting aimlessly through life, fluttering from one thing to the next, one trip to the next, always searching for a new beginning and running again when I get bored. Or when things get hard. “I don’t want to hurt her,” I confess.
“I don’t wantyouto get hurt,” Michelle counters, and then I’m thinking about Ruth again. I fell out of love with her long before she ended things, but that didn’t stop her words from fracturing the corners of my self-confidence.
“Mal?” Michelle probes gently in my ear, and I clear my throat. Something wet dislodges there, as if I’m about to start crying in this laundromat.
The timer on the dryer dings as my clothes finally stop tumbling, and I’m grateful to have a sense of purpose for my body again. I snatch one of the hampers, take my clothes out of the dryer, and wheel them over to the folding table.
“I don’t want to get hurt again either,” I say to Michelle as I hold the hot clothes in my hands.
Michelle is quiet on the other end for a while, and I methodically fold my clothes to the sound of her clacking keys and her thoughtful breaths. In the background, there’s a mechanical sound, like something sucking and compressing in a steady pattern.
“Why does it sound like you’re in the Tardis right now? Are you pumping?”
“Of course I’m pumping!” Michelle snaps. “All I ever do is pump, so I can build up a freezer supply of milk, so that I’m able to go back into work on a regular basis at some point! I feedCedar, then I pump, then I store my breast milk in these flimsy freezer bags, and I’ll be doing that every three hours for the rest of my life!”
“Surely you’ll be able to wean him at some point before he goes off to college.”
“It’s not funny, Mal. There’s nothing funny about constantly milking yourself like a cow.”
I’m on the brink of tears again as she shouts about her boobs. “I miss you, M.”
“Then come home,” she says. Like it’s so damn simple.
Like I have a home to return to.
I’m avoiding Sadie.
That’s my new plan.
We leave A Guarda promptly at eight, and after prioritizing laundry, I miss the chance to eat breakfast with everyone else. For the first hour of the Camino, I walk alongside Ari in silence, sharing her AirPods as we listen to a podcast together, even though I want to walk with Sadie and hear about her childhood in her Nan’s store, about her meddlesome family, about all the boys she didn’t love before.
We stop in a tiny town for midmorning coffee, and even though I want to help Sadie order, I join Stefano in running (literallyrunning) down to the beach to briefly soak our feet in salt water instead.
When we rejoin the group at the café, Sadie is sitting next to Inez, her face conquered by a ferocious blush. Because Sadie is kissing me for science, but she has a genuine crush on Inez.
For the next hour, Sadie walks up ahead with her, nodding along to a story Inez is enthusiastically telling with her hands. My gaze is fixed on the staggering coastline. I flutter around the group, landing anywhere except at Sadie’s side. I exchange travelstories with Stefano; I listen to suburban stories from Rebecca; I even listen to a lengthy story about one of Ro’s corgis who is so old, they have to feed him puree pouches meant for toddlers.
In A Riña, we stop at a small shop for drinks and snacks. I wander aimlessly up the aisles and end up buying nothing. We take our provisions another mile up the Camino, to Jardín Meditativo del Caminante, a park along the path. The group spreads out on a natural bench made of rock for our sharing circle.
As everyone takes out their water bottles and snacks, Ro shoves an orange into my empty hands. “Eat,” they demand, and I don’t argue. I dig my thumb into the rind and citrus squeezes out all the way down my wrist.
“We are almost halfway into our journey,” Inez says, “and I want us to reflect on how far we’ve come.”
Chunks of orange peel fall into my lap as I watch Inez’s animated gestures. “What is something you’ve done in the last six days that has surprised you?”
“Tattoos!” Vera shouts, and everyone laughs. I stare down at the Saniderm wrinkled over that silly tattoo on my biceps.
“Absolutely everything,” Rebecca blurts. “I never thought I could do something like this. We’ve walked eighty miles already, and I’m just surprised I’m still here!”
