Meet Me at the Summit

by Mandi Lynn

  “Now I’m the one traveling,” I say, not sure what that changes.

  “Right, but the thing is, I want to go with you.”

  I shake my head. “I won’t always be traveling. A month from now, I’ll be back home, searching for a job, and you’ll be back in Colorado.”

  “You don’t know that,” he says, his voice pleading. He sees a different future for us. One where we travel together, living this dream and this love story that’s definitely too good to be true.

  “I don’t see any other future,” I say. I stare at my hands, because if I look at him I know I won’t be able to finish. “I think you’re here because you want that life of travel again, not necessarily me. I can’t… do those things.”

  Dylan is silent, and I let the moment sit, wondering how this day will end. I’ll have to drop him off at the airport, or maybe find a motel room for him until he can get on a plane. We’ll be those people who never talk to each other again, and then in a few months, we’ll barely think of one another. Yet as inevitable as that outcome feels, I can’t get myself to peel away from him.

  I force myself to look up at him, and when I do, he’s staring at me, his eyes pleading.

  “I’m here because of you,” he says when I look at him. “I don’t care about this trip. I don’t care if you go home and never leave New Hampshire again.”

  “When I go home, it will all be the same,” I say, frustrated at the reality waiting for me in New Hampshire and terrified at the thought of driving aimlessly just to travel. I wanted the trip when I was in Colorado because, for once in my life, I got to forget how much my own grief was weighing me down. I got to remember what it was like to live again, even if it was only for a few days, and I’m not sure I did that myself or if it was because of Dylan. And if it was because of Dylan, that terrifies me, because I know how easily he could be ripped away.

  Dylan cocks his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

  “After our hike, you’re going to go home. Maybe we’ll keep talking; maybe we won’t. Either way, I’m going to stay in New Hampshire. I’m going to move back in with Lori, and she’ll want me to go back to college, and maybe get a job too. But I’ll still be the same girl whose parents died in a tragic accident that wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t insisted on having them come visit me. This trip doesn’t change anything.”

  “It changed you,” Dylan says, his words sure. I glance up, and his gaze is steady on me. “I’m not here because I want to travel with you across the country. I’m here because I care about you. The girl I met was faking confidence. She was a girl that was living one day at a time and was afraid to talk about the thing that hurt her most. Losing her parents.”

  “I still don’t talk about it,” I say, quickly dismissing him.

  “Then let’s talk about it,” he says, sitting up straighter.

  My lips tremble when I think back to that first week they were gone. I remember how quickly my dad’s side of the family began planning the funeral. How my mom’s side of the family flew in, and suddenly my childhood home was full of people I hadn’t seen in months or years. Everyone was crying and talking and making plans for the funeral. It all happened so fast, and I didn’t want to feel the same pain everyone else around me was feeling. So I stopped. I walked away from my family and lived with Lori until, one by one, all of our extended family was gone. It wasn’t until everyone left that reality sunk and it was impossible to ignore the fact that my parents were gone too.

  “Fine,” I say. “I wake up to a nightmare every day, and instead of living through it, I just ignore it. I had a job so I would have something else to think about. If I keep moving, I can at least pretend that my parents aren’t dead. I can pretend that I’m being a shitty teenager who’s choosing not to see her parents, rather than someone who never had that option in the first place.”

  I’m watching Dylan, begging him to let the subject drop, but I can tell he just wants to push it further. He’s thinking as he watches me, trying to figure out the next question to ask, and I wonder how this conversation turned against me.

  “What do you miss about your mom?” he says.

  “She was my best friend,” I say, crying as the words come. “I could tell her everything, but I yelled at her all the time. We would fight, and I thought it was okay because that’s what teenagers do. You fight, and then when you get older, you figure out that your mom was right all along. But I don’t get to make amends with her anymore.” My lips tremble. “I begged her to come visit me, and she finally caved. Meanwhile, I can’t help but think if she didn’t let me get my way, they’d both still be here.”

  “So you’re mad at her,” Dylan says.

  I shake my head no, but in my head, I’m screaming. Why couldn’t she be the adult and tell me no? Why didn’t she say she’d visit another day, that I could give them a tour of the college campus on a day when they weren’t working? Why couldn’t she tell me no?

  “I don’t want to be mad at her,” I finally say, still sobbing.

  Dylan pulls me against him. I pull myself forward until I’m leaning against his chest, my face buried in his neck.

  I breathe heavily into his skin, my tears soaking his shirt, and all I can think about is how it feels like he’s the only thing holding me together in one piece.

  “I wish I didn’t call them that day,” I say when I finally calm down enough to speak.

  “It’s good that you did,” Dylan says. I shake my head, still leaning against him, and he puts his hand up to hold my head to his chest. “Because even though your parents died, they died knowing that they had a daughter that loved them so much that she wanted them to drop everything to come visit. They died looking forward to seeing your face light up as you walked them around your dorm, giving a tour of every corner. They died knowing you were happily waiting for them to visit.”

  I try to think back to that day, before I realized they were late. Before I got a call from my aunt, sobbing on the phone, saying that I needed to go to the hospital before it was too late. Before I ran through the double doors of the hospital only to find my aunt in the waiting room, crying. They were already gone. Before I walked into the room to see their bodies, because that’s all they were. They were just bruised and empty bodies.

  Before all that, I was happy.

  I take in a deep, shaky breath. “I want to be that happy again.”

  “You will be,” Dylan whispers.

  Chapter 22

  “I want to make this work,” Dylan says on the ride back to the motel.

  The conversation of our relationship had gone awry, and we’d let it drop since then, but Dylan glances over at me now as I drive.

  I sigh, loosening my grip on the wheel. “I know you want to.” But I don’t think it will last.

  “Then why won’t you let me prove it?”

  I frown, realizing I at least owe him that. I can’t promise I’ll move to Colorado or travel the world, just like Dylan can’t promise he’ll move to New Hampshire. But maybe in time, we can decide on one of those things together.

  “Okay,” I say. “Let’s see what happens.”

  When I glance over at Dylan, he reaches for my hand and smiles.

  We check out of the motel early and decide to stay at a campground for the night to come up with a plan. Our campsite is in the back, close to the tent sites, but we’re in the area with water and electrical hookups. He sets it all up when we park, and once everything’s set, I open the pop-up so we can both stand while we’re in the bus.

  “Lasagna for dinner?” he asks, pulling out one of the freeze-dried meals I have packed away in the cabinet. I join Dylan in the back, sitting on the bench with the table pulled out in place. There’s not much room in the bus when the table is out, but Dylan doesn’t seem fazed by it.

  I keep the bus door open to make it feel bigger, and Dylan fills a caniste
r with water at the sink. Once it’s full, he brings it to the table, turning the gas grill on. Once the fire is going, he puts the canister on top, waiting for the water to boil.

  “I’m going to set my tent up after dinner,” he says, pointing to his backpack that’s stashed behind the couch.

  “I thought you wanted me to sleep in the bus tonight,” I say.

  “I do, but I want you to sleep in it alone.”

  I raise an eyebrow, waiting to see if he’s joking, but he stays serious until he sees my face and lets out a little laugh.

  “Marly, are you trying to get in bed with me?” he says, his face aghast.

  I roll my eyes. “I was just offering a nicer bed to sleep on than the ground.”

  “I’ll let the lady live in the lap of luxury,” he says. He glances back at me and sees my face, which is still waiting for him to stop joking around. “I thought it’d help you get over your fear of sleeping in the bus. Can’t do that if I am in the bus with you. I’d be too much of a distraction anyway,” he says, turning his best smile on me.

  “Oh, please,” I say, shaking my head.

  “You’re right. I must be losing my charm or something. I haven’t even gotten you to kiss me yet since I’ve come to save you. I thought for sure you’d pounce on me or something when I got here, but all you did was stare at me, confused.” He gives me his best teasing grin and a twinge of nervousness forms in my stomach.

  “Because I didn’t know you’d be here!” I say, a smile spreading across my face.

  He chuckles as he reaches forward to check the water, which now has a steady boil. He turns off the gas and pours the water into the freeze-dried bag, zipping it closed before he shakes the contents inside.

  “What’s your excuse now?” he says, keeping the bag moving, his gaze staying on my face.

  “Well, now you’re expecting it,” I say.

  He smiles, as if appreciating that answer. “I can wait,” he says, placing the bag of food on the table. He stands up and leans forward, skimming his lips across my forehead. “Can I get out?”

  I scoot aside, letting him step out of the bus. He walks over to the firepit and starts to build a campfire while I stand slightly dazed, leaning against the bus.

  By the time Dylan has the fire going, the water has soaked into our food enough to be ready to eat. People underestimate freeze-dried food. It’s never going to be as good as the real thing, but if you let it absorb long enough, it gets pretty close. It tastes especially good when you’ve spent the day hiking.

  I pull utensils and bowls out of a cabinet in the bus and bring them to the picnic table next to the fire, splitting the bag between the two bowls. We eat in silence for the most part, listening to the chatter of the other campers around us. When we both finish eating, Dylan gets up, takes our bowls, and brings them back to the bus.

  After a minute or two Dylan comes back out, this time with his tent, which must have been stored somewhere in his backpack. He sets it up quickly, putting a tarp down, then the tent, and then finally the rain fly. By the time his sleeping pad and sleeping bag are set up, the sun is already down. I walk over and poke my head inside.

  “Is this the part where I go to bed?” I ask.

  He turns to look at me. “I can tuck you in for the night if you’d like,” he says.

  I roll my eyes and sigh, taking a step back. “See you in the morning,” I say. I can feel Dylan’s eyes on me as I back away and walk toward the bus. Our campfire is dying down, with nothing left but embers that will darken more and more into the night. I catch myself staring at it, my hand still reaching out toward the door of the bus.

  “You’ll be okay,” Dylan says, drawing my attention away from the fire. I turn to look at him. The tent door is wide open, but he’s already lying down in his sleeping bag, settled.

  “I know,” I say, stepping into the bus and closing the door behind me.

  I don’t sleep. For a long time, I just focus on the pop and sizzle of the campfires around us. I had hoped it was going to lull me to sleep, but try as I might, I’m unable to make my mind relax. Thoughts run in circles, and each time I hear a noise outside, my heart stops as I listen. There are many moments where I have to convince myself it’s Dylan rolling over in his sleeping bag.

  I open the window next to my bed so I can hear better and identify the sounds, but it makes me more alert than ever. No matter how normal the sound is, it sets me on high alert.

  Some people like to walk through the campground at night. A prime example is people who tent camp but have the need to pee in the middle of the night. Instead of walking a few feet away from their tent to pee by a bush, they walk across the campground to use a toilet.

  Those are the people that keep me up. Because even though I know they’re just walking to the bathroom, which I’m unlucky enough to be parked right next to, the anxious part of my brain is trying to figure out how close they are to the bus and if maybe they want to break in.

  At some point, when the forest seems too quiet, I lean forward and check my phone. It’s 3:19 a.m., and I still haven’t gotten any sleep.

  I pull a sweatshirt over my head and slip on flip-flops, pulling the bus door open. It’s dark except for a light next to the bathroom. I take a step out of the bus, my hand still on the door, when I hear the tent zipper open.

  “Marly?” Dylan says, his voice hushed. “What are you doing?”

  I turn toward the tent, just barely able to see him in the dim light. His eyes are only half-open.

  “Going for a walk,” I say.

  He blinks a few times, confused. “What?”

  Sometimes walking helps when I can’t fall asleep, but when I look out into the dark forest around us, that doesn’t seem like such a good idea anymore.

  Dylan sighs, still half-asleep. “Grab your pillow,” he says.

  I reach into the bus, taking my pillow and pulling my blanket out as well. I walk toward the tent, and Dylan shifts to the side, giving me room to lie down beside him. I settle in quickly, zipping the door shut behind me and letting the warmth of Dylan next to me lull me into a comfortable sleep.

  §

  I forgot how good it feels to let the sun wake you up. In the bus, I tend to close to the curtains to prevent the light from getting in, but it’s a different story in a tent.

  The air is cool and crisp when the sun begins to rise, so when I first wake up, I pull my blanket closer around me and bury my face into my pillow. The ground is another story because I’m sleeping on the gravel. I was too exhausted to notice in the night, but now I feel how unhappy my back is about the situation.

  “Come here,” Dylan’s voice says in a low whisper. He pulls me to his chest until I can feel the sleeping pad under me. He leaves his arm wrapped around me, and even though the sun is up, I keep my eyes closed with my back pinned to his chest; the only thing separating us is his sleeping bag.

  I must have fallen back asleep because the next time I open my eyes, it’s much brighter and more humid. I kick the blanket off, forgetting that Dylan is there until I kick his legs.

  “Good morning to you too,” he says, pulling back a little to give me space.

  I roll forward until I’m kneeling on the ground. Dylan is still in his sleeping bag, starting to unzip it and sit up.

  “You were supposed to sleep in the bus, you know,” he says, smiling at me.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, a little embarrassed. “What time is it?”

  Dylan shifts and reaches up to a pocket in the ceiling of the tent where his phone is stored. “Almost ten. I thought of waking you up but seeing as you wanted to go for a midnight stroll, I figured that meant you didn’t really sleep much until you snuck into my tent.”

  “It’s not sneaking if you invited me,” I say.

  He smiles as he sits up and pushes his sleeping bag away. “I was getting a little
cold, and you looked like a perfectly good space heater for the middle of the night.” He unzips the tent to let in some airflow. “Unfortunately, you continue to work as a space heater well into the morning,” he says with a low chuckle.

  “You could have woken me up,” I say, stepping out of the tent and trying to find wherever I kicked off my flip-flops last night.

  He shrugs and starts to roll up his sleeping bag, fitting it back into the little storage bag. “I enjoyed myself,” he says. He rolls up the sleeping pad as well, pushing the air out until it’s folded again.

  “Why are you packing up?” I ask, watching him take the rain fly off the tent, folding it into a perfect square and placing it on the ground.

  “Because we slept in until ten, and checkout is in an hour.”

  “You only booked the site for one night?” I ask.

  Dylan takes the stakes out of the ground, putting them next to the folded rain fly.

  “Yeah, I figured we could start heading toward the coast. Mix things up a bit.” He takes the tent down, folding the poles.

  “But I was just going to go straight home,” I say.

  “We are,” he says. The tent is fully disassembled now. All that’s left is to fold everything until it fits into the bag again. “I figured there’s no harm in stops along the way.”

  He folds the tent into the bag, rolled up smaller than his sleeping bag. All that’s left is to make sure the bus is ready to drive.

  “I don’t know,” I say, following him back to the bus. A part of me wants to continue the trip. The part of me that was there long before my parents died is begging for me to take this leap of faith, to fall in love with this life of travel and adventure that I could only ever dream of. Yet that part of me feels like an entirely different person, separate from who I am now. I feel broken in the way that can only be repaired by going home to lick my wounds. But even scarier is the thought that that won’t fix me.

  Dylan steps inside the bus, putting the tent back under the seat. My bed is still made, though mostly unslept in, and Dylan pushes my sheets back so he can lift the foot of the bed back into being a bench seat. He reaches up to the pop-up and pulls it down until it locks back in place, ready to drive.