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CHAPTER 6
Adam
So, it’s dark now. We’re sitting in the tent on our air mattresses, drinking beers like this is our only chance. We started outside, but neither of us wanted to try to get a fire going after the day we’d already had, and the bugs were so bad that they chased us indoors.
I don’t usually drink much at all, but my head is throbbing away from the nasty cut. It turned out to be pretty small, but damn, it hurts with the intensity of an angry fire. Like as if someone opened up my skin and stuffed leftover fire bits in there that were still glowing red hot. Right, coals. That’s what they’re called. My brain is, thankfully, still somewhat functioning.
In the last couple of hours, I’ve actually come up with a new sock design. It’ll have a mountain edge, a forest background, and a flying snake. I’m sure they’ll be a bestselling pattern.
The beers help. I’m not sure how many I’ve had, but enough to take the edge off and enough to hardly feel the pain at all. Steph, being so much smaller, is surprisingly able to hold her own. Maybe her feet hurt, or perhaps she’s thirsty. I’m guessing she’d like to get drunk and forget all about this stupid camping trip. If I had to pick, I’d go with the latter.
“Do you want another bologna, cheese, and pickle delicacy?” she asks as she sets her beer down on the ground beside the air mattress. She’s still wearing the same shorts, but she put a fresh tank on after she showered and got back to the tent.
“I’m actually not hungry. Too many barley sandwiches.”
“What? Oh, the beers.” Steph giggles. “I’ve never heard it called that before.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Okay, well, I was just asking because I thought you might be hungry. Have to take care of you now that you’re an invalid.”
“I drove us to get these beers. I’m not an invalid.”
“You probably shouldn’t go to sleep. You might have a concussion. Should I call for a cab to come to get you? An ambulance? Maybe I should ride along with you in case they have questions, and you pass out.”
“I’m fine.”
“Ugh,” she huffs. “Fine.”
The tent falls into silence. Outside, I can hear the whine of furious mosquitoes trying to get in—I think we killed all the ones that managed to get in here when we opened the tent flap to dive in—and the noises of people talking and laughing at the campsites around us.
“I really wish you would have just rented a cabin.” Steph faces the tent flap. She’s not even looking at me.
“You know, I’m over her. I know I’ve never told you that before, but this isn’t about getting her back. It isn’t about making her jealous.”
“What?” Steph’s head cranks around like a curious owl. God, that’s some pretty crazy shit right there. “Are you drunk right now, or did you hit your head super hard? Or both?”
Maybe I’m drunker than I thought. I didn’t mean to blurt that out. I believe in being honest, but being transparent is another thing entirely. Unlike Steph, I do have a filter, and I make good use of it. I’m not great at expressing my feelings. I don’t just talk about the shit I keep stored deep down, mostly because I’d like it to stay down there, buried far away, never to see the light of day again.
“It wasn’t that I didn’t move on. Two years is a long time. I just didn’t want to date.”
Steph picks up her beer and drinks a sip. She keeps the can in her hand and studies it with intense concentration. “You never said you were over her. I just thought, uh, that you…that you weren’t. So, what do you mean that’s not what this is about? This is really just about you proving to her that you’ve got game then?”
“Man skills. Not game. I don’t even know what that means. I’m not cool like you.”
“You never talked about it. Being over, I mean. Not specifically like that.”
“That’s because I didn’t want to.”
“So why now?”
“Because I don’t want you to think that’s what this is about. I wanted you to be a fake girlfriend because…because I wanted to prove I was doing fine. That I could take care of myself and someone else, that I could do manly shit like camping, and that someone wanted me even when she didn’t.”
“Adam…I keep telling you—”
“I know.” I finish off the last of my beer and decide I don’t need another. I just grip the can because it’s nice to have something to hold onto when you’re talking about humiliating shit.
“So, how do you know you’re over her?”
