She lied.
And yet, she’s still my mother.
It’s complicated.
Because I don’t think I ever want to see her again.
Britta clears her throat. “Well, here we are.”
I scratch the side of my face, surprised we’re already back at her place.
“I’ll text you,” I tell her. “Maybe tomorrow you can meet Ingrid and Wilder.”
Britta’s face lights up. “I’d love to meet them. They feel like… like book characters that I know about but haven’t seen in person, you know?”
“Yeah. I’ll let you know what campsite we’re at.”
“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow, Cash.”
I get into Ingrid’s car and take a sobering breath.
We drove hundreds of miles for me to figure out that what I really need isn’t a new relationship or to uproot my life for Baltimore.
I need to let go of the things that I can’t change.
The drive back to the campsite is slow. Traffic is jam-packed. But I roll the window down and let the Southern California breeze drift through like a new friend.
The campsite is full when I drive through it. Every space has occupants. It’s a miracle we were even able to get one.
Kids ride bikes. The smell of charcoal and smoke fills the air. The sound of people laughing echoes off the trees.
It’s peaceful.
Possibly even what I need.
I park beside the tent that Wilder and Ingrid have gotten upright. I know I shouldn’t have doubted that they could do it without me, but I did.
I really have to stop doing that.
Ingrid’s laughing when I approach the tent.
That’s a good sign.
I unzip it and push back the flap.
The second I do, my eyes are met with the worst possible sight.
They’re naked.
On a blow up mattress.
Ingrid’s on top of Wilder and they’re moaning and laughing and I can’t get the image of Wilder’s fingers digging into her backside out of my head.
Maybe I should stop looking.
“What the fuck, Cash?!” Wilder yells.
My eyes widen.
