Page 86 of Fun at Parties
I froze. It sounded like he was talking aboutus, but that was impossible. Wasn’t it?
He looked back at the road. “I think the exit’s coming up.”
My mind raced, and it felt like the trees were closing in on me. How could we be in a real relationship? Long-distance would be awful. He’s not moving back to L.A. So, what, I’m supposed to quit my once-in-a-lifetime job and move to Seapoint to be with him?
True, it would be the most obvious way to free myself from everything about work that’s giving me heartburn. And I’d get to live near Bailey, and see Michelle and her baby sometimes, and maybe teach classes in person somewhere but—no. It’s not an option.
My heart is still firing away in my chest. I grab a Diet Coke inside the convenience store and check Instagram. Breanne posted a photo of us at the club, and I gained another forty-six hundred followers. I also check my bank account, because my paycheck will hit tomorrow, and I like to see that dollar amount pending.
The fun thing about debt is that over the course of the last twenty-four hours, while Nate and I partied with Logan and had sex and drove, and while I yelled at Mom, approximately seven dollars in interest accrued on top of the principal. That interest compounds daily, which means if I don’t pay it off, in thirty years, today’s sevendollars will balloon into almost twelve hundred dollars. And so will yesterday’s seven dollars, and tomorrow’s, and every other day’s, stretching on and on forever, until I drown in it.
I don’t let that happen, of course. Right now, I pay off all the interest every month, plus a little bit of principal. But that would be harder to do if I, say, quit my well-paying job and moved across the country to spite my mother and follow a guy.
Nate has more sense than to ask that of me. He knows me too well. In fact, knowing him, he’s probably got an activity planned for us. Maybe a nature walk or an early dinner somewhere before we head north.
Whatever he’s planned will be a statement about what he thinks I need, and he’s good at knowing what I need. Right now, fresh air and physical activity. And him, making me laugh.
My hands aren’t shaking anymore. I punch the address into the GPS, but cell service is spotty, so it takes a minute for the map to appear. It guides me farther outside Asheville, to a road full of sweeping curves and views of the Blue Ridge Mountains. It’s dotted with breweries and barbecue joints. I hang a left at the third tree service business I pass, and then I’m in a residential area, with a mix of sprawling, grassy yards and dense woods.
This doesn’t seem like the way to a restaurant or trail. Maybe Nate found an obscure scenic overlook. A hidden gem, a statement that what he thinks I need most is a moment of tranquility. I turn onto a gravel road that leads into the trees and up a hill. The car moves along with a lot of juddering and the occasional jolt.
“Your destination is on the left,” says the phone, but I nearly miss the turn. The driveway—driveway?—is surrounded by trees and brush and set at a weird angle that requires me to do a U-turn to ascend it.
At the top is a compact cabin with a stone path leading to a tiny porch. I hop out and take in the view, only now realizing how high I’ve climbed. One side is all forest, nestled against the property; on the other side, the ground falls away in a steep slope covered in wild, gnarled foliage, and a wide expanse of sky and mountains stretches in front of it. Near and far, there’s endless rolling greenery.
This really is a statement. “Wow,” I say, my mouth dry.
Footsteps crunch on the gravel behind me. “It’s what this trip was supposed to be for you,” Nate explains. The gold in his hair glints in the autumn sunlight. My stomach swoops at the tenderness in his gaze. “I wanted to give you that.”
“This is for us?”
“No, it’s for you. I’m checking into a DoubleTree with a business center, and I’ll pick you up here in three days.” I stare at him until he laughs and sets his hands on my waist. “It’s for us. I thought we could stay here for a few days before heading home. Take a breather together.”
Not home,I correct him in my head. I thought being close to him would feel comforting after everything that just happened. But something about how special and beautiful this place is makes me uneasy.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “How did it go?”
There are metal bearproof trash containers next to the driveway and a boulder of emotion in my throat. “Can we go inside?”
He shifts from foot to foot. “Let’s wait a minute. I was hoping first we could…”
I make for the front door, drawing in short, shallow gulps of earthy air. Maybe this will be good once I settle down. A couple days here to squeeze out every drop from our fleeting time together and delay our return to the real world.
Nate keys in the code to open the door and cracks it open. “Quinn,” he says, reluctant, with his palm on the handle.
I push past him. The cabin has an open floor plan and was probably renovated within the last few years, with wood floors and a cream-and-oak kitchen that faces a living room with an airy high ceiling and a fireplace. The massive windows give the impression of being cocooned in the woods.
I toe off my sneakers and pad over to the shaggy rug in front of the fireplace, gazing at the trees through the glass. This entire trip was supposed to take place in spots like this one. If you’re going to get your head on straight, it would be easiest to do it somewhere like this, right? There’s room to breathe here. Maybe if everything had gone according to plan, I wouldn’t still be feelingoverwhelmedabout my situation, barely keeping myself together.
But Nate is here, looking at me in a way that feels like astatement, and it feels like everything is about to shatter.
He stops a few feet away from me and softly clears his throat. “What happened with your mom?”
“Bad,” I rasp. “In all the usual ways. But also some new ones. I’m afraid I’mlikeher.”
“What?” He steps closer. “You’re not like her at all.”
“Really? Is that why you make a face every time you catch me retaking a photo five times or writing something cheesy back to a stranger who messages me?”
