Page 49 of Fun at Parties
Did I think we’d sit at the table and reflect on what happened over bowls of Raisin Bran this morning?It was great, so glad we got the chance to dry-hump once in our lives. Anyway, should we check out the farmer’s market?
Obviously not. And that’s okay. Last night was incredible, but it can’t go anywhere. If Nate leaves, I’ll head north to Wyoming. I won’t have to worry about making sure his arm doesn’t appear in any of the photos I post, and when I stop, I’ll have time to respond to DMs. Nate bowing out would be a good thing.
Bullshit. Even my mother would have a hard time selling that one.
I’m so tired of trying to convince myself to want things I don’t. Even if it’s dangerous, even if it pulls my focus, I don’t want Nate to leave. I’m not ready for this to end. Weirdly, admitting this makes the panic subside.
I take a breath and grab my phone. My notifications are blowing up. Jeez, I havefifty-seven thousandfollowers now, more than double what I started with. I tap my profile picture to look at what I shared last night, the photo Kyla posted of the two of us, but I do a double take. There’s a long dotted line across the top of the screen, indicating that I’ve posted more than just one photo. What the fuck? I tap through.
Someone picked out a bunch of posts I’ve been tagged in recently and shared them, adding motivational comments underneath.Summer.I thought she was only supposed to be logging in to collect data for Tracy, but I guess that was naïve.
First, she told a newly divorced woman contemplating how to move forward,You have to love yourself first! You’ve got this!Ugh. All her comments are like this: cheery, superficial responses to sincere expressions of vulnerability and struggle. I’ve used some of these lines on myself, in my own head—Focus on what you do have! You can handle anything! Things always work out!—but in this context, they sound tepid and insensitive.
The worst is a post from a longtime CycleLove rider talking about her recent cervical cancer treatment. Summer—no,I,apparently—told her,Everything happens for a reason! Stay positive and there are brighter days ahead!She added some twinkly stars, for additional motivation, I guess.
What the fuck? I told this poor woman hercancerhappened for a reason? I quickly delete it and change my password.Got hacked, I explain to Tracy, not caring whethershe believes me. With shaky fingers, I type out a private message to the woman, sending her strength and wishing her the best.
Between what happened last night and this, there’s only one thing that’s going to settle me. I send Nate a text:Going to find a place to work out! I’ll be back in a couple hours.He might be getting ready to go, but I don’t think he’d leave without saying goodbye.
I seek refuge in a no-frills gym a few blocks away and buy a day pass. Earbuds in, pop-punk playlist on. My body craves strength work, so I squat and deadlift and shoulder press until my muscles are fatigued. With blood pumping through my veins and sweat pouring out of me, the tension lifts. By the time I step onto the treadmill, I feel light, and I fly for a few miles before deciding I’ve pushed myself enough. Between the altitude and the time off from my usual routine, I’m breathing harder than I normally would, but it feels good.
The cool air is heaven on my skin when I step outside, and I don’t bother to pull on my sweatshirt. God, I love endorphins.
While I walk, I text Livvie. After thanking her again for letting us crash the party, I ask,Any idea what Logan’s plans are?
She responds immediately.I’m so glad we got to meet! We’re all headed to Sunflower Sound and you’re welcome to join us. Kyla and I have a VIP RV and they gave us passes for plus-ones. They’re yours if you want them. Logan is camping with some of the guys instead of doing the RV thing but he’ll be there too!
It’s more than I’d hoped for, as far as leads go.According to Google, Sunflower Sound is a festival in Kansas that promises to be “country music’s rowdiest party.” Yee-haw. That’ll put us east of most of the places I wanted to see, but it’ll be teeming with possibilities for content that will hopefully make Tracy forget to ask for my new password.
I need to see this through. Settle things with Nate so our time together doesn’t end on this weird note. Find Logan so Nate can get what he wants. Hole up in the woods somewhere in, I don’t know, the Ozarks or Gatlinburg, to continue figuring out my new CycleLove persona. Unwind, make sure Bailey has a great birthday, feel good about how I leave her and Seapoint, and return to work motivated.
When I walk up the driveway, Nate is sitting on the bench outside. “Great news,” I announce. “Logan is going to a music festival in Kansas tomorrow. It’s an eight-hour drive.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t. I’m going to get a flight to New Jersey. You should stay here tonight, figure out what you want to do next.”
My stomach plummets. “What? Why?”
He rubs the back of his head. “This whole thing is ridiculous, and we’re wasting our time.”
“But we know exactly where he’s going,” I argue. “It’s a straight shot from here.”
“You already looked it up?” I’m not sure why he looks so surprised.
“Of course I did!” I say. “Because I’m not a quitter. So which is it? You’re too embarrassed by your own ambition to keep trying? Or you don’t want to spend more time with me because we hooked up?”
He drops his face into his hands. “I can’t—okay, first of all, Logan doesn’t want to see me. He’s already decided it’s a bad idea, and he’s probably right.”
“You quit your job. You’re moving home for this.” I pace in front of the bench. “You’ve thought it through. You know it’s a good idea! Don’t let one person showing the slightest resistance make you give up.”
“I don’t know why I thought this would work. I got carried away.”
“Well, then, you see it through. Don’t bail now just to save yourself a little pride.”
He doesn’t have a counterargument for that, so he says, “The music festival is eight hours away. I’m sure it’s nowhere near anything you wanted to see.”
“Yeah. Good point. Eight hours in a car with the person who humped your leg last night. Is that what you’re worried about?” I stop pacing and jam my hands against my hips.
He massages the bridge of his nose. “Jesus. Yes, I am worried about that, okay?”
