Page 45 of The Apparent Trap

Our foursome is like the news production version of the Avengers—everyone comically different, but somehow when put together we work exceptionally well. Amir is a burly strong, silent type, prone to looking serious while actually making the most devastating quips if you’re listening close enough. Simon is his beanpole, high-energy opposite. Carmen looks like a Narnia princess, with all the snow-ready outfits she’s brought. And I’m a whirlwind, getting organized, gaining energy from seeing all the people in real life I’ve spent months talking to.

The long journey from New York to Stockholm to Luleå to our hotel even farther north hasn’t slowed any of us down. Everyone wants this trip to go well—and I think we’re all hoping to come back for the Olympics—so Sweden’s coffee-obsessed culture has provided the most potent excuse to power us through jet lag.

Not that we haven’t taken moments to appreciate the setting. Driving along the roads here, you get a sense of otherworldliness—snow touches the sky. Thin pine trees stretch to the clouds, their branches only starting halfway up, giving them a white-blanketed regal air. It makes sense why the famous Scandinavian architecture and design has muted colors and yet still looks so warm and elegant. It’s carved into the landscape.

We’re staying at a place called, fittingly, Treehotel, nestled into a dense forest. There’s a cozy main lodge that Amir and Simon are sleeping in, but otherwise the rest of the rooms at the hotel are literal tree houses, each one designed by a different architect with its own theme.

Carmen is in the Mirrorcube, a floating mirrored square that blends perfectly into the surroundings by reflecting the rest of the forest around it. Then there’s a room designed to look like a UFO landing amid the trees; another resembles a massive bird’s nest.

But I think mine might be the coolest. It’s called the Biosphere, and it’s a giant orb surrounded by 350 wooden bird feeders, perched as an oasis in the trees. The minute I stepped inside, I felt like I might finally get some peace after tossing and turning every night for weeks. A glass floor and circular surrounding windows reflect the forest outside. And a small ladder took me up to the lofted bedroom with a glass ceiling. All the interior walls that aren’t glass are black, so when I’ve turned off the lights the last two nights, I’ve lain in bed and stared up at a burst of stars through the branches of the trees that surround me. I’ve hoped for northern lights, but so far they haven’t shown themselves.

But we can’t get too fixated on the hotel—although we did film a segment about subarctic insect pollination and bird migration and how that intersects with eco-friendly Swedish architecture, including this property. But there’s so much more to focus on, and Carmen, Amir, Simon, and I have been on a roll. While on a hunting expedition, I learned more about moose than I ever thought I could know. And we filmed at a floating spa to dive deep into the famous sauna culture here.

It’s been a jam-packed two days where I’ve finally felt like I can breathe for the first time in months. I don’t think it’s only because of air so pristine you can almost taste it.

But now my dad and Lee are arriving late tonight. All the progress I’ve made zoning into work is about to be upended by being around a man who makes me want to jump out of my skin while also functionally serving as a chaperone for my dad and my coworker’s romantic vacation.

I’m in the Biosphere, sitting in a delightful hanging chair that makes me feel like a bird on a swing in my own little birdhouse. I’m going through footage, trying to organize everything we’ve already shot, when there’s a knock at my door.

I open it up to Carmen, chewing on her bottom lip and looking more concerned than I’ve ever seen her.

“What’s up?” I ask, thrown off by this nervous version of Carmen. She doesn’t move. I beckon for her to come in, and she paces into my room.

“Okay, I messed something up,” she says, jumpy. But she doesn’t continue.

“Whatever it is, I’m sure we can fix it,” I reply, the thing any producer says to their talent before having to go and clean up whatever maybe-unfixable mess they’ve made. “Just tell me and I’ll solve it.”

I can see the way my assurance has already steadied her, and a little piece of me is gratified that maybe I’m earning more of her professional trust. See, this is what I should be focusing on. Making sure Carmen is on her game so the segments turn out well. Whatever this is, I can deal with it. Unlike the impending other arrivals.

“When you said Mark was coming, it seemed stupid for there to be an extra room for him,” she says, in a non sequitur that could burst a blood vessel in my brain if I thought about it too hard. “And I didn’t want to bother you or the travel team by pointing that out, or making anything feel weird.” Right, because that’s what makes this weird. But she’s paused, waiting for approval, and I indicate she should keep going. “So I called the hotel myself, because I thought that would be helpful, and I told them we needed one less room.”

“Okay . . .” I say, starting to get nervous about wherever this is going.

“But I guess they misheard me because they canceled two rooms. So everything else is full.”

I try to focus hard enough that I don’t yell at Carmen for messing with travel coordination when that is definitely not her job or business. This is so her. She always thinks she can barrel through without help from anyone, and now look where we are.

“So you need my dad to stay with me?” I ask.

By the horrified look on her face, I realize that that was absolutely not the direction she was aiming for. “I think, um . . . more like, Lee doesn’t have a room now.”

I take a deep breath. “What about in the lodge where Amir and Simon are?”

“Well, those rooms are all booked up too. There’s only thirteen rooms in the whole hotel.”

I know this, of course, because of the eco-friendly architecture segment, since they also gave us a tour of the layout of the grounds.

“So you want him to stay where?” I ask, dreading the answer I know is coming.

“He’s going to have to share a room with someone . . .” She pauses, seeming unsure of how to articulate what comes next.

I cannot let this conversation go further. I have to say something—anything—to get me out of sharing a room with a person I one thousand percent cannot be in a closed space alone with. Maybe there’s another hotel? Surely this desolate wilderness has some other popular locations? Or maybe I can sleep outside in a tent? I bet the subzero evening temperatures can be fixed with a good sleeping bag and some long johns—there’s an ice hotel a few hours away, so a tent can’t be the worst option?

Except before I can peddle a terrible idea, she’s already talking again. “Amir and Simon’s lodge rooms don’t have extra space—they even share a bathroom—and yours and mine are way bigger. And I would say he should stay with us, but . . . I don’t know, after Thanksgiving . . . everything felt nice, you know? Like maybe he and I could actually be okay. And I know he’s probably not thrilled I’m dating someone older than he is, but he’s trying hard to be supportive. The three of us staying together in a room would be like throwing a nuclear bomb into the mix.” I cringe, knowing she’s not wrong on that point. Holy awkward.

Amid this bizarre moment, I do have to admit there’s something nice about Carmen actually telling me a personal detail for once. But as soon as that thought arises, the guilt of lying creeps its way in too. I’m a Gumby pulled in every direction right now.

“I know it’s not ideal,” she continues, “but the facts being what they are, I just think the option that makes the most sense is for him to stay with you. They said they could easily bring a cot in here, and there’s a loft, so you could each have space when you need it. It’s not a ‘one bed’ situation . . . And you guys are friends, right? After Thanksgiving? I just think . . . I think otherwise it’ll be weirder for both him and me, and that’s not going to be the best setup for this trip to succeed.”