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“Absolutely. There’s the patch for my hysteria and my anti-psychotic meds, my pills for mood, twitching and night terrors, oh and the cream I have to use twice a day for this weird rash thing all over my …”
“Ha, ha, ha.” He uses that little smile he saves for when he’s amused by me, and I pray I see it every day on this trip. I cannot believe I’m actually doing this. It is by far and away the most insane thing I’ve ever done. And, oddly, I couldn’t be more excited.
Connor and I agreed five weeks was going to be our limit. I’ve missed a vacation for the past five years, which equates to ten weeks of time off I haven’t taken. But there is no way I can be gone that long. So, after much debate yesterday, we compromised on one week per year for a total of five weeks. Although I have absolutely no idea where we’re spending these five weeks. He promised me we aren’t leaving the United States, and I’m glad to know that. But packing for a trip that could be anywhere from Alaska to Key West is tough. I only hope wherever we go, I can buy what I didn’t pack — which is practically every piece of non-business attire I own.
When my steak is finished and his paperwork is complete, we pile into his Mercedes sedan and head out. He informs me he’s rented a vehicle for our trip, and I am immediately intrigued. Connor has like four cars. He has the gorgeous little vintage sporty number he drove me home in, a nice big Audi SUV, the Mercedes sedan we’re in now and a pickup truck. And that doesn’t include his collection of motorcycles. What other type of vehicle could we possibly need?
My answer is found at the Cumming RV Sales and Rental Center off of Highway 19 on the far north side of town. It’s called a Korak — a tiny camper we can sleep in and drive. Painted a sharp gray with dark black accents, it fits Connor to a tee. I want to laugh at the name — more irony, or perhaps it’s the universe’s way of letting me know that I’m doing the right thing. I have never been in one before. Are we driving cross-country and roughing it in this thing for the next five weeks?
“What the heck is this?” I ask, scrunching my nose. I walk around and give the tires a cursory little kick with the toe of my tennis shoe.
“What, you don’t like it?” Connor signs a form on a clipboard.
“This is our mode of transportation for our trip?”
“Just wait, Raven, it’s like a spaceship inside.” His face lights up like the kid who got the Red Ryder BB gun for Christmas with no clue he’s almost gonna shoot his eye out. I can tell he’s excited to show me everything.
“A spaceship? You mean like theEnterprise? Or like a Star Destroyer?”
“Oh, Lainey Bird, I think I just fell in love with you and your cute nerd references.”
“It looks more like the S.S. Minnow to me,” I tease. It’s actually quite nice, and I know he can see that on my face. But I am enjoying this playful banter we have going on, and I’m not quite ready for it to end yet.
“The S.S. Minnow? You mean like fromGilligan’s Island?” His brows knit together and he tips his head, appearing more thoughtful than stunned.
“Well, actually now that I think about it, it’s more like the minnow bucket.”
At this, he lets out a long, loud laugh I’ve never heard before. I can’t help but think about what Ox told me last night about Connor never laughing. I smile. I make him laugh. That means I make him happy. I don’t make anyone in my life happy, not even myself. But he is happy because of me. My heart soars.
“Perfect. The Minnow Bucket she is.”
“Well, let’s check out the inside.” I pop open the door and climb into to what is quite possibly the sweetest-looking little hotel room on wheels I’ve ever laid eyes on. Two huge comfortable-looking captain’s chairs up front swivel to face the center of the RV. The cockpit behind them does look like a spaceship with glass-paneled controls and hardly a knob or button to be seen.
To my left is a small kitchenette with a dishwasher, microwave, lots of storage and a large refrigerator and freezer. It’s not as big as the full-sized one I have at home, but considering the size of the space we’re in, it’s huge. In front of me is a cozy little banquet table with a bench seat that looks like a place to eat or play cards. A large screen TV hangs opposite it.
“There’s a bunk above the cab,” Connor points to a small loft space above where we’d be driving. “But I am really hoping we can keep our no-sex sleepover arrangement.”
“AndifI do?” I tease, placing plenty of emphasis on the word “if.”
“There’s a queen-sized bed in the back along with a toilet, sink and shower. Of course, we won’t be spending every night in here. But I think it will be comfortable when we do.”
I spend a few minutes looking around while Connor signs the rental paperwork and gets the keys. He’s thought of everything. The fridge is fully stocked. There are clean sheets and towels, dishes, silverware and plastic cups. There are even board games and cards if we get bored. It’s utterly adorable how much thought he’s put into this trip. If only he’d tell me where we are going!
“OK, all set?” he calls to me. I watch him stretch the seatbelt over his thick chest and wonder if it has the tensile strength to keep Tarzan in his chair if we were to actually become involved in an accident. I nod and we back up and head out.
It’s nearly midnight before we pull into our first destination, which I’m pleased to discover is a spa in North Georgia. We are ushered to a beautiful hotel suite that overlooks lush vineyards attached to a small winery a couple of miles away. It’s too dark to see them now, but the bell captain who brings in our luggage assures us they’re gorgeous.
Connor hands him a generous tip and we’re left alone in the room … with each other … and one bed.
Connor rifles through his one bag and pulls out a pair of cotton sleeping shorts and a white T-shirt and disappears into the bathroom. It’s his only bag. Yeah, that’s right. One. Single. Bag. I roll my eyes. Well, he does have the benefit of knowing where we’re going.
When he comes out, I move in to brush my teeth and pull on my pajamas. When I come out, he’s stretched on the bed, a pile of pillows behind him and one of my favorite home decorating shows glows from the TV.
“I love this show,” I say, crawling between the covers beside him in my pink cotton shorts and pajama top.
“Me, too. Have you seen this one?” He pats the bed beside him, beckoning me closer. I float up to him like a moth to a flame.
“Yeah, they end up …” I begin.
He cuts me off with a loud bark. “Ah! Spoiler alert. I haven’t. Don’t tell me!”
I giggle at him. “Sorry. Hey, you have all the pillows,” I pout.
“I’ll be your pillow, Lainey Bird.” He gives me that happy little smile and pats his shoulder in invitation.
The lost little girl inside me squeals with joy and finds herself a place curled up beside her lion. And that’s how we fall asleep on the first night of our vacation. Snuggled in one another’s embrace, blissfully unaware of whether or not the dream house makeover was a hit or a flop.
