Page 89 of Every Step She Takes
“You’ve worked twelve-hour days your whole life, and all of a sudden, you can’t juggle a few fluffy Instagram posts with a leisurely walk?”
We walked nineteen miles yesterday, and we’ll walk sixteen today, but I don’t tell her this.
“You’re being cagey,” Vi presses, and I almost tell her everything else instead: everything about Mal and my sexual identity crisis and the queer adolescence. I almost tell her about the kiss on the beach, and I almost tell her what it felt like to be touched last night.
Vi is bisexual, and I know she’d understand, that she’d be supportive. But for some reason, the idea of saying any of it to her feels as impossible as being honest about the trek. “I-I’ve just been… spending time with people on the tour, and, um, you know… socializing and stuff.”
“Holy shit!” Vi gasps. “Was Mom right? Did you actually meet a guy?”
And here she is, handing me the perfect opportunity. All I have to do is tell her the truth. “Uh, yes, actually… sort of…” I sputter. “I… I met a… a guy.”
I drop my head into my free hand as Vi squeals on the other end. “Fuck yes you did! Is he Spanish?”
“Portuguese,” I say hollowly. At leastthatis true.
“Hot damn! Tell meeverything! What’s his name? How did you meet him?”
“His name is Mal… colm. Malcolm,” I lie, and the horrible thing is, I’menjoyingthis. After years of my sister grilling me about my love life, I finally have something to share. Something that will earn her approval. “And he’s on the tour.”
“Wait, he’s on thequeertour?”
“Yep. He’s… he’s bisexual.”
“Hot,” my sister says, and it sounds like the verbal equivalent of a fist bump. “But isn’t the tour only for queer women?”
My mouth keeps moving separately from my brain’s will. “There was a mistake with his registration, and Inez let him stay. It was a whole thing. It’s not important.”
Vi whistles. “You’re all flustered!”
“It’s… it’s a casual thing.”
“Don’t bullshit me,” Vi snaps. “I can hear it in your voice. You’re, like, in love with him.”
“It’s been nine days, Vi. I’m not in love. That would be ridiculous.”
“The heart wants what it wants,” my sister trills, and I feel even worse for lying about what Ireallywant. “And you want this guybad. I can just tell.”
“It’s just sex, okay?” I blurt. “It isn’t serious. It has to end when we get to Santiago.”
Vi tuts into the phone. “I can’t picture you having a casual sex arrangement with someone.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t know everything about me,” I tell her. And then, for the first time in my life, I hang up on my sister.
Around the third mile of our journey to Vigo, I realize how desperately I need a rest day. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep since Esposende, and that was eighty miles ago. Even though I haven’t touched alcohol since our night out in Vila Praia de Âncora, I still feel hungover.
It’s a bone-deep exhaustion that makes every step forward a struggle, and I get the impression I’m not alone in feeling this way. Vera falls farther behind than usual, and she’s not even taking photos of the Spanish coast. Ari lingers behind with her, sitting down on every bench we pass. Rebecca asks for a bathroom after every mile, and I suspect it’s just so she can have a break. By the halfway point, Ro’s crankiness reaches new heights as they beg Inez to let them take a taxi to our lodgings in Vigo. Even Mal has lost some of the spring in her step. She stays by my side all morning, content to go slower with me.
We haven’t talked about last night, but it doesn’t feel weird like it did the morning after our first kiss. Instead, the quiet feels charged with our shared secret. I catch her staring at me, and we both smile. When Inez has her back to us, Mal briefly holds my hand. When no one else is watching we kiss in a bathroom stall, in the line for coffee, in front of a sculpture of a rainbow whale made from recycled plastics.
I don’t know what we’re practicing with these secret kisses, but with each one, I learn a little bit more about what it feels like when I want someone. The way my heart strains in my chest, the way her scent fills my lungs, the way her touch makes me feel at home in my body in a way I’ve never experienced before. And those goddamnbutterflies.
So, I take whatever secret kisses I can get, and the rest of the time, I enjoy her unwavering presence by my side.
Only Stefano seems unaffected by the relentless pace, and by lunchtime, three people have taken him up on his offer to carry their bags. He’s got a pack affixed to each side of him, and he looks like a bellhop in backpacker hell.
“Rest is critical,” Inez tells us at lunch. “We are pushing ourselves physically, mentally, and spiritually on the Camino, and we all must nourish our bodies with rest.”
No one says anything, but at least half the table groans.
