“Sure, Mom,” I smile flatly. “I’ll be right there to make everyone else look good.”
She nods, ignoring my sarcasm before approaching a shelf and straightening more trophies that I’ve never seen before.
I tilt my head to the side. “Where are those from?”
“They’re Kuroki’s.”
“Kuroki hastrophies?” I ask incredulously.
“Of course. She won best in show at the Pacific Bonsai Expo.” She smiles, lifting one of two gold cups. She fogs it up with her breath and polishes it over her chest.
The miniature drama queen in a pot has more trophies than I do.
“See you out there?”
“Yeah, sure.”
She lines up the shiny little ego boosters, a wide smile on her lips when she turns to open the door. But before she leaves, she peeks her head back in, her forehead creased. “Did you notice a weird smell coming from Aunt Sheri?”
“Nope. It’s probably just her body lotion that’s gone bad. You know how that happens. Old people, right?”
Mom gasps. “But Sheri’s younger than I am!”
“It’s okay. Juliet and I will take care of you,” I reassure her with a grin.
“Get your sassy butt outside,” she demands, a hint of a smirk on her face as she rolls her eyes and shuts the door behind her.
I open the laptop and log out ofPinterestbefore scooping Giorgio into my arms and heading toward the backyard.
I’ll suffer through one round of ridiculous lawn games, I tell myself,then I’ll go home and finish my online shopping.
After that,I’m going to prove to the rest of those adrenaline junkies that I’m not a quitter. And I’ll do it with style.
CHAPTER FOUR
I am an idiot.
What kind of moron willingly signs up to lug a minifridge on her back while walking through a furnace? What was I thinking?
A slightly preachy blog advised newbie hikers to practice carrying around the full weight of their backpacks to avoid first-day fatigue. It also threw out absurd advice like walking up and down multiple flights of stairs with all my supplies, as if the years of emotional trauma I’ll be toting around aren’t enough.
“Show me the person who does that,” I demand aloud. “You can’t, because you don’t know them. Because they have no friends!”
I inhale a sharp breath as I park outside the Backcountry Office at the Grand Canyon Village, my clammy hands clinging to the steering wheel.
I pull out my phone and hit call on my friend Hayley’s number, needing a pep talk and also to say my last words before possibly dying out here.
“You there?” she says in greeting.
“Yeah,” I grimace, a touch of vulnerability in my voice.
“You’ve got this, babe. Just don’t get lost down there. Ooh, but if you do, maybe a hot ranger will rescue you!”
“I won’t need rescuing, and hot rangers don’t exist,” I reply with a chuckle before applying a coat of tinted lip balm. “Besides, I’m not interested in or looking for a distraction in the form of romance. My only goal is to make it to the other side of the canyon…alive.”
“Hey, anything’s possible. My cousin met her husband in traffic. They became car buddies over, like, three hours of a bumper-to-bumper LA traffic jam, then agreed to pull over at the closest gas station, and it was kismet.”
“So happy for them. Not happening for me.”
