“Yes, we hiked out here,” Naomi responds. “Meaning they got sweaty and dirty. I’d rather go commando.”
“By all means,” she says. “That’s pretty hot.”
Naomi faux rolls her eyes. “As if you haven’t seen me without before.”
She rolls her underwear down her legs and wrings them out. Dylan, watching her naked lover intently still, begins pulling on her clothes. If she could stay in this moment forever, there’s no doubt she would. Two of her favorite things in one spot: naked Naomi and the great outdoors.
“Oh shit,” Dylan exclaims suddenly, rushing to yank down her shirt. “People.”
“What?” Stark naked, Naomi turns in half circles. “Where?”
“Over there,” Dylan urges, pointing to a couple of people cresting over the hill towards them. “Hurry up.”
Naomi rushes to the rock with her clothes. Dylan shoves her wet feet into her shoes, completely forgoing her socks. Naomi can’t seem to work her shorts up her soaking wet legs, so Dylan acts like a human shield and steps in front of her. The couple, a man and woman, get closer with each second. They’ve surely already spotted the naked pair, but the last thing Dylan wants is for them to get a close-up view. Especially not when they’re not supposed to be naked out here in the first place.
Naomi finally situates herself. Granted, her shirt is on backwards and completely see-through now, but at least she made an attempt. “Okay, I’m good.”
“Thank god,” Dylan says. “Let’s go before they ask to join us.”
“You think they would?”
“I’ve experienced stranger things on the road.”
It’s a half-joke, half-truth. She doesn’t care to elaborate on it right now, so they start walking back to camp to finish what they started.
After a round of Dylan tasting Naomi and Naomi riding Dylan until they both collapsed into a post-coitus nap, they step outside to check on the stew. It’s been brewing for at least four hours now, and mouth-watering aromas rise heavily from the pot to surround their camp.
“That smells delicious,” Naomi says, sitting in the camping chair she’s seemingly claimed for herself. “What is it?”
“Hobo stew.” At Naomi’s look, Dylan elaborates. “Basically any chopped veggies and meat you have can be tossed in for a few hours. There’s no set recipe, so everyone just calls it hobo stew.”
“Mmm.” Naomi rubs her hands together exaggeratedly. “You are quite the chef.”
“I’ll keep letting you think that,” Dylan laughs. She opens the pot and the cloudy steam billows out. The water turned into a dark broth, leaving the stew looking thick and hearty. “I’d say it’s about ready.”
Naomi halfway stands from her seat, pointing to the van. “Want a beer?”
“Hey, that’s my job!”
“You cooked,” Naomi says, pecking Dylan on the cheek as she passes. She returns with two bottles, an ale for herself and a dark brew for Dylan. “I hope these are okay.”
“Perfect.” Dylan pops the top off with her keys and takes a sip. It’s heady and thick; just right to pair with stew. She dips her ladle in the pot. “How much do you want?”
Naomi holds out one of the camping bowls from their table. “Fill her up.”
“That a girl.” She doles out two heaping spoonfuls with equal broth. Thick and aromatic, Naomi takes a deep inhale as soon as it hits her bowl. Hopefully it’s a good batch and not one that leaves Naomi running for the city.
She makes sure to scoop extra tomatoes into her own bowl. There was a time where she wouldn’t touch them with a ten-foot pole, but now she’s contemplating how to grow them in her van. Practical, no. Delicious, yes. Maybe she could even convert the top of it into a makeshift garden. Coasting down the road at 65, plants blowing all over the place…that’d be a sight.
“Do you want to listen to some music? I have a pretty good system in the van. We should be able to hear it out here. ”
“Sure,” Naomi answers, spoon halfway to her mouth. She blows on it briefly before taking her first taste. “Yum. This is a hundred times better than I expected.”
“Didn’t think I could pull it off?” Dylan teases. “What kind of music do you like?”
“I’m not too picky,” Naomi answers. She takes another bite of her stew. “But I’m feeling some 90’s music right now actually.”
“Really? I didn’t peg you for a 90’s type of girl.”
“Why not? That’s what I grew up with.”
“True,” Dylan acquiesces. She walks into the van, plugs in her phone, and picks a shuffled playlist. Meet Virginia plays smoothly from the speakers. “I love this song.”
“Train did put out some good ones,” Naomi agrees, watching Dylan take her seat by the fire. “Who are some of your favorites?”
“Hmmm… that’s hard to say. Nirvana made me feel all kinds of ways growing up, but I had a huge crush on Destiny’s Child. And yes, I mean all of them,” Dylan says, wagging her eyebrows. “But now that I’m older, it all kind of blends together into a huge ball of nostalgia.”
“I can understand that.” Naomi closes her eyes for a moment to take in the lyrics flowing through the air. “It was all so…romantic in a way. The songs admit the hardships of growing up, but still manage to focus on the good things. Like a beautiful woman or the meaning of love or girl-power anthems. Maybe it’s the reason 90’s kids are the way they are.”
“Well I, for one, am an 80’s kid,” she responds, grinning. “But I get that. It was good stuff. Innocent in a way. Until you start focusing on the rise of Slim Shady or Vanilla Ice.”
Naomi laughs. The sound surrounds Dylan in a blanket of pure bliss. “I can’t argue with that. I still like them though.”
“Me too,” she agrees. “But back to this 90’s kid stuff. When were you born? I’d feel terrible if I’ve been robbing a cradle this whole time.”
“Oh hush,” Naomi brushes away. “I’m 26. Not exactly a baby.”
“A baby to me.”
“Alright, big shot. How old are you?”
Dylan scrapes up one of the last bites from her bowl. “28. Ancient by your standards.”
Naomi playfully rolls her eyes. “Oh, please.”
“Feel like I have a whole decade on you,” Dylan jokes. She places her empty bowl in the center of the table. Naomi places her bowl on top to be washed. “Do you mind if I ask something maybe a little insensitive?”
“Go for it.”
“Didn’t you graduate college last year? I feel like most people graduate a little earlier.” Dylan bites her lip. “I hope that wasn’t a rude thing to say.”
“Of course not,” Naomi answers. She smiles to prove it. “I took a couple of years off after high school to work and save up some money. Not all of us had a direct line into college.”
“You’re right,” she nods. “If my mom didn’t work at Berkeley, there’s no telling if I would’ve gotten in somewhere so easily.”
“Yeah right,” the shorter woman retorts. “You’re smarter than almost everyone I know.”
“You’re forgetting common sense isn’t the same thing as book smarts. I really struggled in school with testing.” Dylan shrugs, knowing that it doesn’t matter much now. “It’s not that I didn’t know it, I just couldn’t put it on paper. I barely eked out being in the top half of my graduating class in high school.”
“That must’ve been hard,” Naomi says. “Especially at Berkeley. That’s a top-notch school.”
“Yeah. Took a lot of patience and even more persistence. Luckily I had some pretty cute tutors to help me through it.” Dylan laughs at Naomi’s shaking head. “None as cute as you though.”
“Thank you I suppose,” Naomi replies. She winks, disregarding her slightly pinking cheeks. “I’m glad I met you, Dyl.”
The sentiment catches Dylan off-guard, though there’s no doubt she feels the same. This past week has been the most rewarding week she’s ever had on the road, and she’s had a lot of them. She’s seen t
he great Niagra falls, the beautiful stretch of American desert, the Milky Way shining through the pitch-black sky. Things that have made her insignificant and vastly important. But none of it—not a single thing—has made her feel the way this woman does.
Their eyes meet, blue and brown. Dylan holds the gaze while she speaks. “I’m really glad I met you too.”
Their night, filled with sex and cuddles and corny scary movies, passes quicker than Dylan would’ve liked. They wake up early enough to drink some coffee before hitting the road. She wanted to stay longer and show Naomi how to fly-fish and cook it over a fire, but Naomi got the call to be at work by noon. It’s a buzzkill, but not enough to kill the lingering bliss of their short trip.
Dylan drives them home, barely going the speed limit in order to spend as much time as possible with Naomi without making her late to work. Her fingers are laced with Naomi’s in her lap, the other woman outstretching her arm from the passenger seat.
An easy silence surrounds them, with only the air rushing through the open windows making noise. Dylan traces her thumb against Naomi’s.
“Thank you for coming with me,” she finally says. “It was fun showing someone new how I live.”
“I loved it,” Naomi admits. Her smile proves it. “Maybe I can show you how I live some time.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Naomi says. “I’m free Thursday night if you want to come over?”
Dylan thinks through the mental calendar in her head. It’s not like she has anywhere to be since she moves on her own schedule, but she wants to make sure she can make it back from her impromptu Boise trip in less than three days. If she cuts out one or two of the trails she wants to do…it should be more than enough time to make it back by Thursday.
She smiles widely. “Count me in.”
They make it back to Naomi’s apartment with thirty minutes to spare. She lingers with the van door open, apparently not wanting to leave Dylan just yet.
“I had a great time,” she reiterates. “Thank you for taking me.”
“Anytime.” Dylan grins. “Want me to walk you to the door?”
“No no,” Noami shakes her head. “Then it’ll be even harder to let you leave.”
Dylan’s heart quickens again. This woman gets her going to the very core. “Alright, then can I at least have a kiss before you go?”
“Better yet, you can have a few.” Smiling, Naomi leans across the small space between them and peppers lingering kisses on her cheeks, her chin, and finally against her lips. It’s all she can do to not hold Naomi there for an impromptu make-out sesh.
They finally part, with Naomi still cupping Dylan’s cheek. “See you Thursday?”
Dylan nods, awestruck. “I’ll be here.”
Chapter 6
Dylan shuffles self-consciously as Naomi opens her apartment door Thursday night. She can’t hold off a grin when the shorter woman finally opens it. "Hey."
"Hey back," Naomi answers from her doorway.
Dylan thought they agreed on a comfy night in, but apparently Naomi didn't know that applied to clothes as well. Where Dylan wears her favorite track pants and worn t-shirt from Berkeley, Naomi dons some crochet-looking shorts and a scoop-neck low enough to show ample cleavage. It's sexy, and Dylan can't help but stare.
"Well? Are you coming in?"
"Oh right," Dylan says, taking the cue to step inside. "Sorry."
They have spent days and days together, but all within the confines of Dylan’s van or the great outdoors. This is the first time she’s ever seen Naomi’s own space—where she lives and works and feels the most comfortable. The step across the threshold feels much larger than the few inches it actually is.
Once inside, she takes her time absorbing the details of Naomi's apartment. Well, studio really. The entire place is comprised of one, wide-open room separated into themed nooks. Small, but immaculate. Like a place straight out of an IKEA magazine.
A low gray futon pushed against a wall doubles as a couch and bed. Perfectly white, fluffy pillows and a light pink quilt decorate the top of it. A small coffee table dots the center of the room—perfect for dining on or storing extras underneath. The kitchen area stands furthest from the door, complete with a three-quarters fridge and tiny stove against a brick wall. She isn't sure, but a slim door beside the fridge looks to be the entrance to a bathroom.
Artistically chosen photos decorate the walls at spaced intervals. She's unsure if they're Naomi's own pictures, but they have the telltale angles she's come to love. Naomi's floors are classically dark hardwood with only one rug under the coffee table, but not a speck of dirt can be seen.
"Wow," she finally says. "I've never been anywhere this clean.”
“It's only this clean because I've been spending all of my time with you.”
“Touché,” Dylan responds. She points at the prints on the wall. “Are those yours?”
“Most of them, yes.” Naomi laughs lightly. “Is that horribly narcissistic or what?”
“There's nothing wrong with being confident,” Dylan answers.
“I'd hardly venture that far,” Naomi brushes off. “I just don't want to pay for other people's prints when I have my own.”
“That works too.” Dylan smiles. “Wanna give me the tour?”
“As if you can’t see it all from here,” Naomi teases. “But sure. If you follow me two steps this way, you will see the kitchen. Complete with all the standard appliances, though they are fairly smaller…obviously.” She opens the small door just to the left of her fridge. “I hate how close it is to the kitchen, but here’s the bathroom. All normal sized, luckily.” She shuts the door and looks to Dylan. “And that about sums it up. What do you think about my humblest of abodes?”
“It’s pretty huge compared to what I’m used to honestly,” Dylan answers. “But you did a really great job decorating. Might even need you to help me with my next van.”
“You’re getting another van?” Naomi leads them back into the kitchen. She stands on her toes to reach various types of liquor bottles and begins making two cocktails. Dylan never considered Naomi may prefer liquor to beer. “What kind are you thinking about?”
“I love the look of my VW, but the parts get harder and harder to find every year. And it gets older and older every year—meaning more parts that I can’t find,” Dylan explains, leaning against the kitchen counter. She watches Naomi begin chopping up some minty herbs. “So I’ve been researching other types. I’m leaning towards a sprinter.”
“Sorry,” Naomi offers. “But I have no idea what that means.”
“Basically it’s just a tall van. Plenty of room to stand up and move around. Maybe even add a bigger bed or something,” she says. “I’m not tall by any means, but it would be nice to stand on my toes and stretch every now and then.”
“The bed is pretty small,” Naomi flirts, sultrily dropping her voice. “But I loved being close to you.”
Dylan grins. This woman, meticulously combining liquors and herbs, turns her on like no other. Of course, she hasn’t been with many women, but that doesn’t make it any less amazing.
Dylan points to a picture on the fridge. Naomi is pressed cheek-to-cheek against a curly, red haired woman. They’re smiling together against ocean scenery in the background. She points to it. "Ex?"
"Sister," Naomi corrects. "One of the many."
"Oh, yeah. I forgot about them,” she says. “You don’t look anything alike. Do you still talk?"
"Depends on the sister. Julie and I have a standing Friday gossip session. She tells me about what's going on at home and I tell her what to expect in college and the real world." Naomi laughs at her own joke. "Crystal and I text every now and then. She's super busy with med school, so I get it."
"That’s awesome. Wait—don't you have three sisters?"
"I told you Amelia stays in trouble all the time," Naomi answers. "We see each other at holidays if she's out. If not, Mom guilts us all into a visitation at the pr
ison or rehab every few months so she ‘still feels wanted’ or something like that."
"That's kind of you." She takes the outstretched cocktail. It’s cloudy, with ice, mint, and blueberries scattered throughout. It looks like a mojito. “This looks great.”
"Thank you,” the shorter woman answers. “But yeah, I don't think she cares if we're there or not."
"Why do you think that?"
“So many questions,” Naomi teases. “Hmm...For one, she never seems interested. We get there, she asks for commissary money, and then we all sit there in silence for a good fifteen minutes after my dad says no."
“He doesn’t give her money?”
“Not anymore,” Naomi answers. “He doesn't want her to have a reason to stay in there.”
“Maybe life is better for her in prison,” Dylan offers.
Naomi furrows her brow, slightly taken aback. “What?”
“This is pure speculation,” Dylan explains. “But maybe she likes it in there more than out here.”
Naomi scoffs. “I don't see why.”
Dylan weighs what to say next. She doesn’t have any close family members who have gone to prison; all she knows comes from the hours and hours of documentaries she watches on the road. “Does she have friends in there? A routine? A job?”
“Yes to all of the above.” Naomi sighs. Her head drops slightly. “I guess I just never thought of it that way. I mean—I know it doesn't bother her being there or she'd care more about going back. But I didn't think about her actually having a life in there...I'll have to ask the next time I see her.”
Dylan places her hand atop Naomi’s arm, stroking lightly. “Sorry if I brought up something sensitive.”
“It's okay. I need to think about it sometimes or else I'd never grow,” Naomi says. She extends her mojito out for a toast. “Ready?”
“I’m always ready.” Their glasses clink before taking their first sips. “That's really good. I can barely taste the alcohol.”
Naomi winks. “That's the point.”
She takes a few more sips, relishing the way it lightly burns her throat. “If you weren't an amazing photographer, I'd say you would be a kickass bartender.”
Finding Home Page 6