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My phone pings and I look at the newest text from David.
David: There’s no pressure, I’m sorry if you feel like there is.
I text back right away.
Ana: I’d love to go. But I don’t want to hear a single complaint when I whine the whole time.
His response comes immediately.
David: I would never, I’ll carry you on my back the whole way if you want.
I laugh and we text a bit more to coordinate times. He’s going to pick me up at 10 a.m. I jump in the shower, knowing it’s silly since I’ll be getting sweaty anyway. I dress in leggings and a long sleeve shirt, putting a fleece sweater over it. We’d begun to have some warmer days lately, but today is a little chillier. I don’t have hiking boots, so my running shoes will have to do. I gather my wild mane into a high bun, spraying it a bit with hairspray to reign in the tendrils that love to break free.
I have just a few minutes before David said he’d be here, so I grab a little backpack—a small gray Kate Spade one—appropriate for hiking? No. But this isn’t something that I am normally readily prepared for. I fill a few water bottles to squeeze in there and throw a couple protein bars in too.
There’s a knock on my door then and I find myself excited to answer it. I put my bag on my shoulder and walk over to open the door.
David is standing there smiling—always smiling—wearing some kind of cargo looking pants and hiking boots, a gray Henley and a light jacket unzipped.
“Hey,” I say, biting down on my smile, keeping our eye contact.
“Hey,” he says back, still smiling. He looks at my bag. “What is that?”
I look at it. “My backpack,” I answer as if it is obvious, because it is.
He lets out a breathy laugh. “Okay. You ready?”
“I guess so,” I mumble, turning off my lights and stepping out of the apartment to join him in the hallway. I lock my door behind me.
“Where are we hiking?” I ask as we walk down the stairs and towards his car.
“About thirty minutes from here, it’s one of my favorite trails.” He opens my door for me, and I slide inside and put my seatbelt on. The seats are black leather and it smells clean—like cedarwood, very earthy and ‘manly’. Like him. He gets in his seat and places his phone in the holder to the right of the steering wheel. When he turns the car on, music starts playing and without thinking I reactively reach over and turn the system off as fast as I can.
He looks at me, a bit taken back. We sit there in silence for several seconds. He is quiet and seems unsure what to say. I stare at the power button for a few moments, my hand still hovering over it, before I lower my hand and look anywhere but at David. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he says, his words slow and gentle. "Are you okay?”
I nod my head. “I don’t—music is, I mean—I don’t listen to music anymore,” I explain poorly.
“Okay. No problem,” he assures me kindly. He’s always so kind, even in my moments of insanity; he has to think I’m a nutcase. He puts the car into reverse and backs out of the parking space, and then pulls out onto the street. “You don’t ever have to share anything with me that you don’t want to or you’re not ready for. But you can. You can talk to me about anything. Everything. If you want, when you’re ready,” he says, watching the road.
I take a deep breath as quietly as I can. In for four seconds and out for four seconds. “Thank you.” I turn my head a bit to look at him. As if he senses my gaze, he looks at me with a genuine smile. Not forced, not faked, not pitied. But a genuine one.
“I’m so glad you came,” he says, which makes me smile a little bit.
“Me too.”
“I’m never doing this again,” I cry as we near the top of the giant mountain we’ve been hiking for three hours. Okay, it’s not giant. It’s average. But I’m exhausted. Pausing my steps, I say, “I’m going to murder you and leave you up here.” My hands are on my knees as I try to breathe normally again.
“If you murder me up here, how will you find your way back down?” David asks amused.
“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” I manage to say, still hunched over and trying to breathe evenly. My formerly nice light gray running shoes are now damp, brown and caked in dirt. I took my jacket off around the halfway point and tied it around my waist. My hair is starting to frizz from sweat and the traitorously unruly curls are falling from the hair tie and hanging around my face. I straighten back up, putting my hands on my hips. “You do this for fun?” I breathe out.
When I look at him, I find him already smiling at me. A subtle smile, like he is enamored and fascinated by my outburst. He says, “Yes.”
“Is your brain okay? Have you tried therapy? It works wonders, trust me.”
He laughs a deep laugh that echoes slightly off of the trees surrounding us. I can’t help but smile at the sound, so unrestrained and carefree.
