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She laughs, the sound warming me more than the fire. For the first time in so long, I don’t feel like I’m on the outside looking in at all the love in the world. “No, you don’t have to do that. I don’t play dirty, and she’ll self-destruct on her own, sooner or later. She’s one of those people who’s never happy with what she has, you know? She keeps setting bigger goals, thinking once she reaches the next level, she’ll finally find the peace and sense of accomplishment she’s been looking for. But that feeling never comes.”
“Because it doesn’t come from the outside,” I say, understanding completely. I have friends like that, people who think the next promotion or a fancy house or the “perfect” girlfriend is all they need to banish the empty feeling inside.
But as far as I can tell, the only way to banish the ache is by loving yourself and your people with everything you’ve got. Love is the opposite of emptiness, not money or fame or your status symbol of choice.
Still…
“But you didn’t deserve to be treated that way,” I add.
Her lips hook up on one side. “Well, thank goodness we don’t always get what we deserve. I also didn’t die in the woods after I forgot to have a backup plan to my backup plan, broke my ankle, and my satellite phone wouldn’t connect.”
My stomach drops. “Fuck.”
“Yeah, it was terrifying.” She glances over her shoulder with a smile. “But Pippa Jane came to the rescue. Because she’s the smartest, bravest pig ever.”
Pippa oinks in agreement before turning back to her supper, making us both laugh.
“So, what do you want food-wise?” Macy asks. “I have pasta sauce, a few apples, and peanut butter I managed to rescue from downstairs, but nothing to put the peanut butter on except the apples, and Pippa will have a fit if we eat her apples. All apples are her apples.”
Pippa Jane grunts again before trotting over to flop down onto her bed nearby with a heavy sigh, clearly exhausted by the day’s adventures.
“I have trail mix bars, canned chili, and a handful of canned soups, but everything else was probably ruined by the water.”
“Let’s take a look,” she says, shifting to grab the orange backpack from where it’s leaned against the wall closer to the fire. “I grabbed the medical kit from the top but didn’t want to go through the rest of your bag without you.”
“You can go through my bag anytime,” I assure her, summoning a teasing smile to her lips.
“Oh yeah? Any time?” she murmurs, her brows lifting. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Are you flirting with me, Ms. Mallard?” I ask as she begins to pull items out of the still soggy pack.
She nods. “Absolutely. It’s been a long time since I’ve flirted, though, so feel free to ask if you have doubts or need confirmation.” Her smile widens as she pulls out the small bunch of bananas, I’d forgotten I threw in on my way out the door. “I’m not flirting when I say peanut butter smeared all over these bananas sounds amazing, though. I’m just hungry.”
I laugh. “That does sound amazing. Peanut butter and bananas for the main course and slightly soggy trail mix bars for dessert?”
“Slightly soggy trail mix barsalsowith peanut butter on them for dessert,” she counters. “I really can’t get enough peanut butter. Sometimes, when I’m feeling sad, I eat it straight out of the jar with a spoon.”
“Why do you feel sad?” I ask, as we set aside the items for our dinner and unpack the rest of the bag’s contents onto the tile by the fire to dry.
She shrugs. “I don’t know. Sometimes, even with Pippa and the friends I run into at campsites and festivals and things…I get lonely.”
“I can see that,” I say softly.
“Yeah,” she says. “Pig snuggles are great, but they aren’t human snuggles. And it’s been a long time since there was a guy in the picture for me.”
“But there was one?” I ask, more curious than jealous. I know how lonely I’ve been at times during our long separation, and I never wanted that for her. When I let myself imagine things about Macy, I would imagine her loved and supported by a devoted man who cheered her on behind the scenes on all her adventures.
She nods. “Yeah. For a while. But it didn’t work out.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“He wasn’t you,” she says, making my chest ache as she turns to face me in front of the fire and offers me a banana.
But this isn’t an empty ache. It’s the kind of ache I used to get on the first day of summer as a kid or boarding a plane for a long-awaited vacation as an adult. It’s the ache of anticipation, of knowing that things are about to change for the better and that for at least the next few weeks, life is going to be the sweetest possible version of itself.
And if my hunch is right, this transition isn’t going to be a temporary reprieve.
This sweetness could last the rest of my life.
