This morning, Tye didn’t assume his usual mountain pose.
While I held his iPhone and hit live on the app as commanded, Tye flashed me his most dazzling grin as he got down on one knee.
Honestly, at first, I thought he was mixing up his routine with a crescent lunge.
Until he pulled out a red box.
The kind from Cartier.
My hand shook. I casually noticed the number of people watching had hit ten thousand and was quickly growing. White text flowed up the screen with each new comment. Hearts popped across the image like colorful bubbles when Tye began speaking.
Rushing blood roared in my ears. I must’ve been in shock because I couldn’t process his words. Eyes trained on the red box like it was a venomous snake, I actually jumped when he extended his arm toward me.
Out of range of a possible deadly attack, I blinked at the sparkling stone centered in the white silk of the box. Threatening images of the open jaws of a viper came to mind, causing me to recoil.
“Olive?” His voice cut through the din of my rapid heartbeat and a new unsteady, asthmatic wheezing in my lungs. My body was in full fight-or-flight response and it took everything I had not to run away or punch something. Given Tye was the only thing close enough to make contact with, it’s a miracle I didn’t hit him.
“O love,” he said gently, calling by his favorite pet name. “You haven’t said anything.”
“Sorry.” I shook my head, trying to make sense of the moment. “Can you repeat what you said?”
He laughed and shifted his eyes from mine to the phone I was still holding. “Isn’t she the cutest? Can you understand why I want her to be my wife? She’s absolute perfection.”
Something clicked in that moment—or snapped might be the better word. He’d used those exact words the night we met…when he didn’t know me. Over the last year, he had also used the same words to describe a hideous painting he bought at a Chelsea gallery, a yacht in Sag Harbor, and a bowl of cacio e pepe at Luce.
“Are you proposing?” I whispered as quietly as possible, knowing all seventy-five thousand—wait, eighty thousand people watching this on live stream could hear me.
“Was it the five-carat, flawless, radiant cut diamond in a platinum setting that gave it away?” He lifted the ring closer to the camera.
Two sensations occurred simultaneously.
My stomach bottomed out near my knees at the same time bile rose in my throat. I thought I might pass out or vomit. It was possible I might do both.
“Is this a paid sponsorship?” My throat constricted around the words. What was he thinking?
A brief flash of confusion clouded Tye’s eyes and his perfect smile (#thankslaserwhitening #drkrausisthebestdentist) faltered for a second before he recovered. “Olive, darling, you haven’t said yes.”
Had he actually asked me to marry him and I’d missed it?
In my silence, he stood and closed the distance between us. His touch on my wrist made me realize I’d dropped my hand. The camera was now recording my bug-bite-covered-legs, filthy socks, mud-caked boots, and the granite boulder beneath them.
This was not how I’d imagined Tye—or anyone—proposing. I was a dirty, smelly mess. There was nothing romantic about this moment. In fact, I could’ve listed five other more romantic proposals than this one, ones I’d personally experienced.
“I think she’s in shock.” Gently slipping the phone from my fingers, he laughed into the camera, speaking to the tens of thousands of random people witnessing our big moment. “Guess we blew her mind.”
We?
He held up the camera, practically in my face. “O, everyone is waiting for your answer. Don’t leave us hanging.”
With my mouth hanging open and brows scrunched together, I processed the moment. This had to be a joke, a weird, not-funny prank with me as the punchline. Knowing my reputation as the girl who always says yes, Tye had to be punking me.
“Are you serious?” My voice broke with laughter, which quickly escalated into full-blown cackling. I was certain I sounded as crazy as I looked, a former socialite turned deranged mountain woman. I could imagine the gossip mongers circling like hyenas. Inside my head, I heard my mother’s disapproving sigh.
“She has the best laugh, doesn’t she?” Tye asked. His kiss came out of nowhere.
Now? He’s kissing me now?
Finally recovering myself enough to act, I slapped the phone out of my face, harder than I intended. It went flying, landing with a sickening crunch of glass meeting stone a few feet away, dangerously close to the edge of the cliff.
“Why would you propose to me live on social media?” I stared at the phone and then him.
“You were supposed to say yes!” he shouted. “Who asks so many stupid questions when the man they love gets down on his knee with a ridiculously expensive ring in his hand?”
“You surprised me!” My voice rose to match his. Internally, I asked why the cost of the diamond mattered if the love was true.
“That was the point.” Grumbling, he shoved the box into my hand and walked over to his phone. Holding up the shattered, black screen, he cursed. “Just great. It’s fucked. Just like this relationship.”
Reeling and still trying to understand the events of the past ten minutes, I stood quietly, slack-jawed and bewildered.
Maybe I was still asleep in the tent and this was a weird dream, a nightmare. We’d eaten weird, packet food the previous for dinner. Probably some preservative caused me to hallucinate this scene. Must be it. My wild imagination was infamous in my family.
“Shit.” He pulled on his messy-yet-still-stylish blond hair. “Shitfuckshitfuck. Fuck.”
I slipped into people-pleasing mode to quell his frustration. “We can get you a new phone. I’ll call Mina as soon as we have service. She’s the best assistant you’ve ever had. We’re not far from Williamstown and they probably have an Apple store. She’ll have a new phone ready to go by our meet-up this afternoon.”
He shook his phone at me. “You don’t get it. My. Phone. Is. Broken.”
I stared at him. “Obviously. That’s why we’ll have Mina buy you a new one.”
Ignoring my attempted problem-solving, he continued, “Which means I can’t delete the train wreck of a live video.”
“Oh shit,” I whispered. My stomach clenched and I was certain my heart stopped. “I forgot we were live.”
“You were the one filming, Olive—how could you forget? How many people watched me be humiliated?” He fumed as he shoved his phone into his back pocket.
“I wasn’t really paying attention. Maybe a hundred thousand?” When he didn’t respond, I continued, “Was that a rhetorical question?”
“Give me your phone so I can log in to my account.” Palm up, he flexed and curled his fingers, demanding.
My phone hadn’t been charged since New Jersey, two states ago. Cringing, I admitted, “It’s still dead.”
Casting his eyes to the beautiful sunrise lit sky, he sighed deeply. Without answering, he snapped the box closed and then tossed it at me.
Instinctively, I ducked. I’d always hated balls and other objects hurtling toward my head.
Much to my family’s disappointment, I was a complete failure at tennis and badminton. Even more embarrassing, I giggled every time someone said shuttlecock.
The box landed behind me, bounced once, skittered off the boulder, and disappeared.
His scoffed, the sound cold and brittle. “Great. I literally just threw away fifty k.”
“It can’t have gone far.” I tiptoed close to the edge and spotted a dot of red. “There it is, only a few feet down.”
Without a word, he lowered himself to collect the box. Once he scrambled back to the top, he shoved it into my hand.
I wanted to tell him I hadn’t said yes and he should keep the ring, but he didn’t give me the chance. Silently, I watched as he stomped off in the direction of our tent. I allowed him a head start, figuring he would need the ex
tra space to calm down, maybe lick his wounds. I knew I did.
I scratched one of the bites in the middle of my forehead before realizing what I was doing. Damn itch was driving me crazy.
Curious, I peeked at the ring again. It was lovely. No one had ever given me a radiant cut diamond before. Tye, or whoever picked out the ring for him, had good taste.
Shame I couldn’t keep it. I never did—bad luck. No amount of smudging or crystals could erase the bad vibes of a rejected proposal. Although, technically, I hadn’t said no. Or yes. Nor would I. I didn’t want to marry a man who proposed to me as part of a social media stunt.
It was a pretty ring, though. Damn.
By the time I returned to the tent, Tye and his backpack were gone.
Grumbling to myself about his stupid stunt and childish pouting, I gathered the rest of my things, collapsed the tent, and cleared our campsite.
Naïvely, I reminded myself he often walked ahead of me. Hiking at different paces, we’d meet up for lunch or at the designated stop for the day.
Sure, I ruined his proposal, broke his phone, and we fought, but he wasn’t the kind of guy to abandon me in the literal middle of nowhere. Chivalry ran strong in his blood.
I wasn’t devastated because I was in shock.
If he loved me like he said he did, there was no way he would dump me in the woods like an old tire or discarded mattress.
Day 26
Berkshire Mountains, Massachusetts
Mile 285
There was no sign of Tye at midday. Carrying the tent and the rest of the extra gear slowed my pace, but I felt legit when I encountered other thru-hikers. They would chat with me as we walked or give a friendly greeting as they passed.
For the first time, I felt like I was a real hiker. Not a phony.
When darkness fell, I set up the tent by myself, and after giving myself a high five and then having a dance party of one, I ate a smooshed protein bar for dinner. Besides my chewing, the only sounds were a distant owl and the treetops swaying and creaking in the wind. I didn’t allow myself to cry or be afraid.
Definitely still in shock, maybe moving into the denial stage.
The next morning, I asked any southbound hikers if they’d seen him. An older man in his sixties remembered Tye, said he’d spotted a guy matching his description tossing his pack into the backseat of a black SUV with tinted windows, the kind celebrities and assholes ride around in. His words, not mine.
Sounded like my boyfriend.
Ex-boyfriend?
I was pretty sure I’d been dumped.
Welcome to the angry stage.
Another one bites the dust.
A horrible mistake.
An unfortunate incident.
My mother’s descriptions of my last three failed relationships. I wondered what she’d call this one. Misguided? Doomed from the beginning? A matter of miscommunication? My own fault?
No, she’d used those descriptions already.
A blip. A bad year.
I could hear my mother’s voice in my head. A mere blip. Nothing to settle in and worry about. No one will remember it once the social season is in full swing again in the fall.
When I arrived in Williamstown, I found a coffee shop where I charged my phone. No messages from Tye. I tried calling him. Went straight to voicemail with a full inbox.
Next, I called my best friend, Campbell. Designating herself as my emergency contact, she’d made me promise to check in with her as often as possible. Our daily texting and the occasional FaceTime annoyed Tye, but I didn’t care. I’d known Campbell since we were in preschool, long before he or any other boy was on my radar.
She didn’t answer either. I sent a quick text with a selfie as proof of life.
Curious, I peeked at my other texts. Even if Tye hadn’t managed to take it down, the app wouldn’t show the video after twenty-four hours. Apparently, that had still been long enough for it to have gone viral.
From the previews, I could tell way too many people knew about the proposal. I opened my email, skimming the names and subject lines, which gave more evidence that his little stunt had been seen by more than a few random strangers. My stomach sank when I saw Buzzfeed and PopSugar asking for interviews.
If a tree falls in the woods and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?
If a scandal happens but you’re not online to follow it, does it exist?
If I didn’t read the texts and emails, if I avoided all social media, I could pretend none of it mattered.
I couldn’t face my family’s disapproval yet again.
Turning off my phone, I shoved it and my charging cord deep into the bowels of my pack and set off to find real food.
Over a bowl of pad Thai, I realized I could stop hiking. A phone call or a long Uber ride back to the city could end this whole farce. No more sore feet and aching legs. No more bug bites. No more trying to figure out if the strange sounds in the woods were a warning of imminent death by animal, snake, or insect.
And yet, as I sat there, among summer students from local colleges, tourists, and regulars, I felt like an outsider. None of them gave me a high five or asked me about my time on the trail.
In fact, most of my fellow patrons avoided eye contact with me. A table of young moms scooted their table farther away from me. Couldn’t blame them. It’d been a few days since I’d showered or washed my face with more than water. I probably scared their babies.
As I silently enjoyed my late lunch, I eavesdropped on conversations between the waitstaff and watched people stare at their phones instead of engaging with the humans at the same table.
I hadn’t missed this life. Sitting there, I knew I wouldn’t be going back to the city any time soon.
Waving over a waitress a few years younger than me, I asked where the nearest outdoor store was.
“Are you a thru-hiker?” she asked, glancing at the pack on the chair opposite me. “Wait, are you hiking it solo?”
Instead of telling her my woeful tale, I simply nodded. “Heading north to Katahdin.”
“Wow. So cool. You’re way more brave than I am.” Awe filled her voice. “I could never do it.”
I understood. “I never thought I could either. Turns out, if we think we can’t, we’re right.”
Reaching for my wallet, I pulled out my credit card to pay.
She waved me off. “It’s on the house. The owner hiked the whole thing back in the nineties and hikers eat for free. The outdoor store is three blocks down on Main. Take your first right. You can’t miss the orange awnings.”
I thanked her and left a twenty on the table.
Fake it till you make it, I told myself.
I could do this.
Chapter Four
Jay
Mid-October
Great Smoky Mountains National Park
North Carolina
Several hours later, I cross the border into North Carolina and there’s still no sign of the solo female. The half-dozen thru-hikers I encounter promise to ride out the storm in the campground or in town. Low miles or a zero day are better than being dead.
I radio over to the visitor’s center at Clingmans Dome to see if she showed up there. Maybe my mystery woman heard about the storm and decided to catch a ride back to Gatlinburg to wait it out in a place with a roof and heat.
No one has seen the mysterious Snowbird, not since she was at the hut a few nights ago. Given I don’t have much of a physical description other than brown hair and average height, there isn’t much more they can do. They haven’t had any long-distance hikers check in today. The famous tower outlook is a short detour from the AT, but this time of year, people aren’t taking the scenic side trips. They’re so close to the finish line in Georgia, they can practically smell it.
As I gain altitude, the wind picks up, howling through the red spruce and Fraser firs. As I climb higher, the colorful leaves of the deciduous trees give way to the deep evergreens. Riding out a storm on one of the
balds would be a bad decision and one I hope I don’t have to make. Staying above the tree line with nothing to provide shelter or a windbreak is asking for trouble.
Kind of like hiking solo without a cell phone.
I don’t know anything about Snowbird, and I’m already not a fan.
Giving up on the trail north to Clingmans Dome, I turn south. It’s likely Snowbird has found her way off the mountain and into town. Possibly she even detoured into North Carolina after splitting ways with the college guys and the cougher. In the case that his cough was viral, she could be nursing herself back to health at a hostel.
Never into the pack mentality, for me, the entire point of hiking in the back-country is the solitude. Hell, my end goal for most days is to be left alone. Teams, squads, and groups have never been my thing. Growing up, I preferred solo competitions like karate to team sports, mostly to avoid the locker room conversations that drifted toward sexist and racist statements under the guise of humor.
In high school, I kept my mouth shut and avoided calling attention to myself—that is until sophomore year when Kevin Mane said he wanted Jenni to give him a massage with a happy ending. When I punched him in the face and broke his nose, he said he didn’t know I liked eating Chinese.
I got suspended for fighting. Fifteen years later, I’m still ashamed. Not for the fighting or for resorting to physical violence; if anyone deserved to get punched for something, it was Kevin Mane. No, the guilt is all mine. I should’ve explicitly said that no one should talk about my sister or mother like that. Or any woman, for that matter. I never admitted Jenni was my sister or corrected him to say we’re Japanese. Didn’t matter. To him and a lot of other people, Asians are all the same.
Not saying the stereotypes about mountain folk are true, but around here, if you’re not white, you stand out. Easier to play off of people’s assumptions than go into too much personal history about my parents. I’m not hiding my true identity. More like not advertising it. And, yes, in my mind, there is a difference.
Happy Trail (Park Ranger Book 1) Page 3