West Coast Love

by Tif Marcelo

  Instead, on that day, there was horror in his expression. Pure fear, because the pregnant host that greeted me when I bounced into that restaurant, ready to declare my love? She was his wife.

  “So, where do you want to go next?” he asks. I’m in the passenger seat of Luke’s rental car. He has a hand on the steering wheel, the other on the car’s stick shift. His profile is painfully handsome, a James Dean look-alike, straight from a DVD cover out of my mom’s classic movie collection. But the expression on his face right now is hard to decipher. It’s a familiar one, true, but I don’t trust him or trust myself to know what it means. This is what happens when someone breaks you. You realize that it doesn’t matter whose fault it was—you still have to do the work to bring yourself back.

  “I’m pretty tired. I want to go home.”

  “Okay.” He maneuvers the car down the historic downtown main street where we’d grabbed coffee earlier and attempted to talk over live bluegrass music. Frankly, the band was an excellent excuse not to speak. Now, I’m yearning to scream to fill the silence.

  “If you go down this main road, the campground is about a mile on the left.”

  “How’s it feel to be back glamping?”

  That’s right, I had told him all about my childhood glamping vacations. It’s another stab in the ribs, and I suck in a breath. God, I told him my fears. I told him my fantasies. I choke out an answer. “Good.”

  I root my gaze outside my window, to pedestrians milling about, to lovers holding hands, seemingly in bliss. I see groups of friends huddle over ice cream cones. Laughter filters through the traffic, along with the occasional loud rumble of a motorcycle.

  Usually, this kind of people watching would inspire me to write, would conjure sentences in my brain that I had to spew out onto the page. But right now, it’s salt in the wound of what could have been with the man driving next to me.

  I’m counting the seconds until I get back home.

  And by home, I mean the campground, where everything is easier, the atmosphere bucolic. Where my focus is on making the next meal, starting the next fire.

  Where Joel is.

  I tear my eyes away from people watching and look down at my own hands. Red pill or blue pill? Earlier, I made a choice to go with Luke, and was it worth it? Being with him for the afternoon didn’t enlighten me. He has yet to explain himself. I am not any closer to the peace I thought this day would bring me.

  Luke parks the car in the campground office lot. We’re alone in the lot. He keeps the engine on but pulls up on the emergency break. He lays both hands on his lap.

  My pain is superseded by anger. Admittedly, his appearance took me aback, pleased me. While I knew it was over between us, and the afternoon was uncomfortable, this grand gesture earned him points. But I’m still waiting for his explanation. He was supposed to prove me wrong—prove that I’d truly misinterpreted what had happened. That this was all one big mistake.

  His car’s running engine tells me he’s staying just long enough to give me some half-assed explanation.

  “Why are you here, Luke?” My voice shakes, and it takes everything in me to keep it from cracking. The hurt I’d gotten good at hiding was starting to surface, and like acid, the pain sears.

  He sits up in his seat, the leather squeaking under him. “I couldn’t not come. You wouldn’t answer my calls, my emails, my texts. And when I saw that commercial . . .” A pause. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “You drove from Phoenix to make sure I was okay? That’s it?” I blow out an incredulous noise. “You’ve got to do better than that. I mean, I guess I did come to see you unannounced, but I was under the impression that I was finally going to meet the person who claimed to be the love of my life.” I scratch my chin and half laugh at the rant spewing from me. “Only to find that he’s married, expecting a kid. Hell, I thought you were a sous chef! You are a fucking waiter. Which wouldn’t have been bad if you had told me the truth, but you didn’t. Not one truth.”

  “Vic—”

  “Don’t.” I don’t want his protracted explanation now. I realize that there’s nothing he can say to fix this, because it’s done. “I’m not falling for it. Not this time, not ever. What did you tell your wife? Where did you say you were going? Surely by now she’s noticed that you’ve been gone for days.”

  “That’s not important.”

  “Not important?” I shake my head, laughing, because another fact strikes down like lightning over land, and in the discharge of energy the extent of this travesty unfolds in front of me. By seeking closure, he’s with me, rather than with them. I am a homewrecker. “That statement alone tells me everything. Go home, Luke. You have nothing I want. You can’t give me a straight answer for anything.” I open the car door. With a heaviness filling my chest, like I’m being suffocated, I get out.

  I’m met with a wall of crickets and the smell of a campfire, and while it’s reassuring that my friends, people who are my present and future, are just beyond the path, tears threaten to burst from me.

  I step onto the path. I need to get the hell out of here. There’s no way I’m going to let Luke see me cry.

  Behind me, a car door creaks open. Luke is following me; leaves and rocks crack under his feet. “I didn’t lie about everything.”

  A guffaw bursts from me, though I slow.

  “What I mean is that yes, I lied about all the details of my life. But I didn’t lie about how I feel about you. Because you’re amazing. I knew it from the moment I reached out to you. You’re different from the rest of the world . . . you’ve got this light that no one else has.”

  “A light, sure.” Sarcasm bleeds through my words. “A light that did me no good; it wasn’t bright enough to reveal what a liar you were. Are.” The path splits into three and I take the rightmost toward our RV site. I halt then.

  This would be the end of the line, because my home, as temporary as it might be, is off-limits. He would no longer tarnish any more memories. I turn. “All I hear are empty words. Can you even tell me why you did it?”

  Luke is an arm’s length away. “I wanted a different life, and that’s why I lied. It’s no excuse. I’ve got no excuses. My wife and I are together because we have something else that bonds us—this baby. I can’t leave them; I won’t be the person that causes them trauma.”

  “And yet you’re here.”

  “Look, I want us to have our weekend together.”

  Stunned at the switch in his tone, from apologetic to giddy, I ask, “What?”

  “Alone. I want us to get it out of our system. Let’s do this.”

  “You’re propositioning me? That is . . . ridiculous.” The idea is so off the wall my lips curl in disbelief.

  “I’m not being ridiculous. Hear me out. You came all the way to Phoenix to be with me, and now, I’m here to be with you. You can’t deny that what you felt for me was real, down to the core. Don’t you see? Nothing else matters. No one else matters but us. Don’t you think we have a right to see where this can go?”

  “No . . . no. You’re wrong. Everything matters. Your family matters. My self-respect matters. Truth matters. Love shouldn’t be about two people against the world. It should be about two people helping each other to navigate through it, to do right, to do good. And I can’t believe I didn’t see the truth about you. Despite all the talks we had, the emails and texts, how did I not see that you and I look at the world in a totally different way? It makes this deception worse, because we truly are based on a lie. Love might not be a choice, but how we act on it is all on us.”

  “Vic.” His voice is a plea. And dammit, does it scratch that one area of my heart that still hurts.

  “Vic?” a deep voice responds from behind me. I turn at the sound of footsteps. Joel comes through the line of trees. He has a bag in one hand, though the other is clenched into a fist. The sight of him calms me, and I can’t help it. I smile from the inside out. But his posture is anything but friendly, and his gaze is squarely
on Luke. “Everything okay?”

  I look between Joel and Luke, then briefly up to the sky. Perhaps the answer of how to crack this awkward situation will be written up above. Then I succumb to the inevitable. I have to introduce the man I’m with to the man I thought I loved.

  “Joel Silva. Luke Graham.”

  “Hey, dude.” Luke approaches Joel with a hand outstretched. Joel’s handshake is, I can tell, half-hearted. “You did a great job today.”

  “Thanks.” Joel’s eyes cut to me, assessing. He lifts the bag in his hand. “I was getting rid of this garbage.”

  “Cool, cool,” Luke says.

  Silence settles over us, we’re caught in an awkward limbo, and suddenly I feel like this has become a love triangle, which makes the situation entirely unacceptable. I have to separate these two and deal with them one at a time. “Luke, I’ll meet you at the car.”

  His lips lift into a grin. It causes my insides to wince; he thinks his proposition has a chance. “Catch you later, Joel.”

  The air thickens as Joel and I watch Luke disappear back toward the vehicle. Once he’s out of sight, relief courses through me, until I spin around and see Joel’s stern expression.

  “What’s going on, Vic? You’re going back?”

  The trace of accusation in his voice takes me so aback that my initial thought to hug him dissipates. “I’m going to say goodbye.”

  “What more do you have to say? Come back with me.”

  I frown. “But I . . . I’m not done talking to him.”

  He passes me without speaking and tosses the garbage in the campground trash. When he turns around, his face is screwed into a hurt expression. “I can’t do this, Vic. I respect what we have.”

  “You don’t think I respect what we have? Didn’t you hear what I told him?”

  “I did. You’ve already said goodbye. What more do you want?”

  “Nothing.” Confused, I shake my head.

  “Are you sure?”

  My hand flies up, my index finger taking the lead to deflect his insinuation. “Oh no, you don’t. I don’t owe you an explanation, nor do I need your permission to speak to other people.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “It was implied in your tone. I don’t belong to you, nor do I belong to anyone else. And we’re nothing, remember? You told me so every step of the way. And now suddenly you want claim over this non-relationship? I might not be as old or as experienced as you, but even I know that’s not how it works.”

  “That’s not what I—” Joel steps back. “Fine. Goodnight. See you in the morning.” He takes another step backward, then disappears into our campsite, into the darkness.

  I throw my hands up. What the hell just happened?

  Fifth Destination:

  Alford

  FORREST GUMP: My mama always said you’ve got to put the past behind you before you can move on.

  —Forrest Gump

  September 6

  From: Eleanor Heinz of Trail Food Incorporated

  To: Victoria Aquino

  Subject: Advertising

  * * *

  Hi Victoria,

  We wanted to check in because we’ve noticed that there hasn’t been any new content up on your website in at least a month. Now that you’re traveling with West Coast Eats, will you be updating your blog in the near future? If you remember, we purchased a sizable advertising package from you, and we fear that maybe this partnership has turned. Please give me a call at your earliest convenience so we can discuss.

  Thank you for your time.

  Sincerely,

  Eleanor

  30

  JOEL

  September 6

  I woke up with a stiff neck and a splitting headache, from tossing and turning throughout the night, from cursing myself for the way I handled the situation with Luke and Victoria. My sleep consisted of a two-hour power nap that felt like ten minutes before the first of the breakfast morning noises from campers and the arrival of Adrian, my daily tent-shaking alarm.

  I’m pouring coffee from the percolator when the rig door pops open. The floral smell of Victoria’s bodywash wafts toward me, and I’m all the more aware of my bed head and my nasty morning breath. But I don’t pay her any mind—or pretend not to, anyway—as I pour two sugar packets into the cup of coffee.

  I was sure Victoria was going to come to my tent last night to talk, if nothing else, through the obvious miscommunication between us. She was right—we’re not in a committed romantic relationship, but how about a friendship? How about respect? Temporary—sure. Fun—even better. When I told her I was unequivocally hers during this trip, I meant it, and I’d expected the same. Do I want to lord over her, to ever tell her what to do? No. But as usual, this woman pushed me to my limit. I couldn’t fathom her going back to Luke, even to tie up loose ends. History told me it’s never that simple.

  But my words didn’t come out right. Probably because this competition has twisted everything we are into one fucked up mess in my head.

  Victoria glides past me with a plate wrapped in plastic wrap. She was in the RV finishing up breakfast, and she puts the plate down on our picnic table. She heads toward me and makes her own coffee, though she doesn’t acknowledge my presence. She looks rested, hair perfect, makeup on.

  A fleeting thought passes through me: Why does she look so damn good when I feel like shit? Was our fight so inconsequential that she slept like a baby? Wasn’t she up all night like I was, thinking about us?

  I mentally scratch out the word us. There is no us.

  “Morning, sunshines,” Tara announces, sounding like she already has three cups of coffee in her system. She plops down on our picnic bench with the map for our morning drive plan. “Gather around, my children.” Her eyes widen. “Oooo, Victoria, what’s for breakfast?”

  Vic unwraps the plate. “Spam musubi. Fried spam, seasoned rice, wrapped in nori.” She picks one up with her fingers and takes a bite.

  “How the hell did you make rice?”

  “Using a rice cooker, silly.” She moans at her own creation. “Go ahead, don’t be scared.”

  Both Tara and I dig in, and I inspect the food. It’s basically Spam sushi, except larger. When I bite into it, I’m hit with the savory meat, the sweet rice, and the salty seaweed.

  Victoria might not be speaking to me, but I compliment her anyway. “This is hella good.”

  “Why, thank you.”

  “You guys are way too cheery this morning,” Adrian grumbles, stepping out of the RV, hair out of its bun. “And, hey, I get first dibs on that musubi. I’m the one who fried up the Spam.” He plops down next to Tara, grabbing one from the center.

  “Where’s Lowell?” I ask.

  “Lowell is present.” The guy appears from behind the RV. He’s got mud up his legs, and he’s wearing running gear. “Kind of veered off the trail a bit.”

  “First breakfast rule with our crew? You snooze, you lose. And I was hoping you’d be late so I could take your share,” Adrian says.

  Lowell drops down to sit next to Adrian, which leaves Victoria and me to sit together.

  I know, I should be more mature than this. I’m fucking thirty-one years old, and I should be able to sit next to someone whether or not things are awkward between us. But I can’t do it. Because of my deep attraction to Victoria, I can’t chance that I’ll graze my arm against hers or accidentally rub shoulders with the woman. I refuse to imagine her beautiful body next to that asshole. I know nothing happened last night between the two of them, but I bristle at the thought of it.

  So I park myself at the head of the picnic bench and remain standing. I swig my coffee and swallow it along with my wayward thoughts. The liquid goes down like a shot of tequila, burning every taste bud along the way.

  “Does that sound like a good plan, Joel?”

  “Oh . . . uh . . .” My mind crashes down to the present as all four faces stare at me. “I’m
sorry, could we go over that again?”

  “Here, plug this into GPS.” Tara scribbles the address on a Post-it and hands it to me. “It’s about six hours down to Alford. As usual, let’s keep in touch, and we’ll stop accordingly. We should get there in time to do dinner by the fire. You up to cooking tonight, Victoria?”

  Poised and collected, Victoria answers, “Always. I’ll write up a quick list and make sure we stop by a grocery store before we get to the town.”

  “I won’t be joining you all for dinner tonight, remember? I’m due at my sister’s,” I say.

  “Right, thanks for reminding me.” Tara winks at Victoria. “One less for your menu tonight.”

  “Sounds perfectly fine.”

  Though her flippant reaction is like a jab in the kidney, I choose to ignore it. It isn’t worth the effort to rile myself up more.

  Time away from this place is what I need to screw my head on straight.

  “Okay, let’s put our hands in the middle,” Tara commands with a smile.

  We all groan but reluctantly shove our hands together so they’re like spokes on a wheel.

  “Because we’re all in such chipper moods this morning, when I count to three, let’s yell, ‘Team Barbecue.’ ” Tara’s eyes light up. “Oh c’mon, don’t roll your eyes. There’s no whispering a pregame cheer, even if it is quiet hours. Besides, if I don’t hear each and every one of you, we’re going to do it again.”

  “I swear, you’re like one of my drill sergeants, Tara,” I quip.

  “Uh-uh. Head camp counselor,” Lowell says.

  “No, I’m not.” Tara gasps as if shocked.

  “You can’t handle the truth!” Victoria shakes her fist in the air, then raises her eyes to me.

  I get the reference to A Few Good Men immediately and I smile. “Classic.”

  “You will not deter me.” Tara says, “One . . . two . . . three . . .”

  We all join in the chorus. “Team Barbecue!”

  And yeah, it works a little. That one big yell loosened some of the tension in my chest, woke up parts of me my coffee hasn’t yet been able to touch. Conversations begin as we pick up our garbage, wash our dishes, uproot our flag, sweep, and roll up the rug—all without having to remind each other of what to do.