It’s like he’s hooked me on a line and I can’t move. I’m pulled into him. Pulled into whatever he wants. I know better. I know I should push and make him talk to me. Make him spill everything so we can get past all his guardedness and into something bigger. But I can’t say no.
So I sit on the edge of his bed and tell him stories of my first year of college and the stupid shit we did in the dorms. And I pretend that this giant pink elephant belongs in the room with us.
The next morning feels like I’m hung over. Like I’ve had too much emotional whiskey and I can’t get my head on straight. I have no idea when the game changed with Alex, but I’m certain it has.
I’m sitting in the amphitheater, changing strings on some of the bows when Alex walks up. He eyes my shirt and shakes his head.
“Go change.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“Go change your shirt.”
I look down. I’m wearing my scarlet A pro-choice T-shirt. I picked it up at the March for Women’s Lives rally in Washington D.C. earlier this spring.
“Fuck off, I’m not changing my shirt.”
Alex squats down on the ground next to me. His muscular thighs strain against his shorts and for a second I’m too distracted to be pissed. But then I shake off my overactive imagination and glare at him.
“Kay-Kay, does everything have to be a fight with you?”
I raise my chin. “Why should I have to squelch my beliefs because it makes people uncomfortable?”
He lets out a sigh. “Because we have a lot of Catholic campers here. You know that. Sometimes slamming your beliefs in the face of others isn’t the best way to get your point across. Especially with young girls.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks. I hate that he can make me feel shame. I hate that three sentences from him makes all my convictions seems ridiculous and immature.
My head drops and I don’t say anything. Alex lets the silence sit between us for a minute before he finally tilts my chin up with his fingers.
“I love that you feel so strongly about things. You’re young. You should. But everything doesn’t always have to be a big statement. You’ll make more of an impact in these girls’ lives by just modeling what it means to be a good person. Without all the political stuff. And Kay-Kay, you are a good person.”
His fingers trace along the side of my jaw for a second and I close my eyes. I love the roughness of his hands. I’ve always loved them from the very first time he took my small nine-year old hand and walked with me to the dining hall on the second day of camp.
The deep blush of shame hasn’t gone away. I rise and walk back to my cabin without saying anything else to Alex. I take off my shirt and tug on a basic blue one with a picture of Little Miss Sunshine on the front.
By the time I get back to the amphitheater, he’s already in the water with his first lesson. The girls are standing at the shoot line, waiting for me. Not one of them says anything about my shirt.
Chapter Seven
It’s been ten days since I’ve seen Alex. I mean seen him seen him. Yes, we see each other at classes or in the dining hall. But we don’t play chess anymore. We don’t spend any time together.
I’m being stubborn. I know it. He’s the one with the single cabin. I could stop by any time on one of my nights off. But I want him to ask me. This is ridiculous, of course. I’m cutting off my nose to spite my face. I don’t want him any less by being away from him. If anything, the hole in the bottom of my stomach seems to have gotten larger.
Jo and Sam watch me mope but have gotten used to my evasions. Mostly, they let me stew in a booth at the Little Minnow and go find other people to talk to.
I’m on my way back up to my cabin after dinner one night when Alex pulls up in a camp golf cart.
“I need you to help with the arrow net,” he says.
I look at my co-counselor and shrug. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”
She nods. “Okay. I’ll get the girls ready for evening activity.”
I hop into the golf cart, and Alex takes off so fast that I slide against him before I can get my bearings.
“In a hurry?” I ask and push off him toward the opposite edge of the golf cart.
“How come you haven’t stopped by?”
He doesn’t even bother to look at me, just takes us up a hill that is nowhere near the archery range. A hill that leads to a small clearing overlooking the lake. A clearing that no one can see. He stops the golf cart and stares in front of him.
I cross my arms. “How come you haven’t asked?”
He turns to me, and I see now that he’s seriously pissed. “Are we playing a game?”
Yes. “No.”
“Are you my friend?” he asks and searches my face.
I swallow down a lump of want and nod my head. “Of course.”
“Then stop by. You don’t need to be asked. Since when have you ever waited for an invitation from me?”
“Well, that’s the thing, isn’t it? I mean really, why is this always on me? Why do I have to push to be friends with you? When will you fucking claim me already?”
He blinks. “Is that what you think? Is that what you need from me?”
“Of course. I mean, seriously. I’ve been driving this train from the very start. At one point I’m gonna get tired of the pursuit and say fuck it all, he doesn’t really want me.”
I’ve said it. I’ve said it and both of us know now that I’m talking about something else. That I’ve changed the definition of friends in mid-babble, and we’re now at the place where everything is about subtext.
He grabs my hand and sandwiches it between his. “There’s a very big difference between can and want. Do not ever think there’s not want in me. Jesus, you know there is. I can’t take my eyes off of you. But I can’t have you. For so many reasons, I can’t.”
The ache is eating me alive. I want to crawl into his lap and cling to him until he finally gives in. He releases my hands and grips the steering wheel. The pulse point at his neck is pounding. I want to put my mouth on it. I want to taste his saltyness. I want to fall into him and never come out. Instead, I shift to the edge of the golf cart.
“I don’t think I can stop by and see you.”
It’s a brutal truth. My insides clench in protest, but my head knows it’s the right thing. He’s become the worse kind of bad habit, and we’re at an impasse.
“That’s it? All or nothing? God, that’s such a childish response. I expected more from you.”
Fury hits me like a tsunami. I jump out of the golf cart and kick it. “Shut up. Stop expecting so much. I’m nineteen and anyways, what is it that you want from me? You want me to sit in your little cabin and tell you stories and pretend that it’s okay that you don’t give me anything of yourself? You want me to suffer through the pain of wanting you, and then just walk away like it’s fine that my brain can’t think of anything but kissing you and licking you and making you moan. Well, fuck that. You might be a masochist, but I’m not. I can’t be your friend. I don’t have it in me.”
I’m stomping down the hill, waiting for him to come after me, waiting for him to start the golf cart and say he’s in. But of course, he doesn’t come. I laid myself bare and he’s got nothing to say about it.
By the time I get back to the cabin, I’m so mad I can’t even speak to the girls. Angry tears spill from the corners of my eyes, but I just brush them away. I’ve had enough. We’re five weeks into the summer, and I can’t stand myself at this point.
I tell my co-counselor to do the evening activity without me, and I go down to the archery range. I throw on my arm guard and measure myself fifty feet from the target. Then I start shooting arrows. I go through at least one hundred of them before my arm is quivering so badly I can barely hold the bow up. It’s too dark to be shooting, but I don’t know what else to do with myself. In the distance, I hear the sound of the golf cart and the anger hits me all over again.
I gather all my equipment and put it
in the archery shed. Then I head back to my cabin and crawl into my bunk. My pillow is damp within minutes, but I’m hoping the girls don’t notice. I’ve become the worst kind of a bad example cliché. I’m crying over a man. And the hardest part is, half of me is still hoping he’ll change his mind.
The next morning Sam is with Jo at the two-mile walk starting point. I raise an eyebrow, but she rolls her eyes. As soon as the campers start huddling together in groups, the two of them race up to meet me.
“So this is what we call an intervention,” Sam starts. “I saw you at the archery range last night, and I think this has gone far enough.”
“He doesn’t want me,” I choke out.
“He’s forty. Of course he wants you. You’re nineteen and hot. Plus, you’re smart and totally his kind of girl.”
A bubble is forming at the back of my throat. The doubt bubble. The one I've been suffocating on for the last twenty-four hours. “How do you know?”
Jo huffs. “Kay-Kay, you’ve always been his kind of girl. From the time you were fifteen. Didn’t you notice? You’d be the one helping him start the campfire with two sticks. You’d be the one agreeing with him about the impact of fossil fuels on the climate. You’d be the one taking all the campers with him on a five-mile nature scavenger hunt.”
I pause. “You guys would’ve done that too.”
Sam scoffs. “Hell no, I wouldn’t. It’s hard enough for me to teach these girls some basic dance moves. I hate nature. I just come to camp to get away from my life.”
“Yeah. And even though I kinda like that stuff, I don’t live it. Not the way you and Alex do. God, how could you have possibly missed how incredibly proud he’s always been of you?”
I bite my lip. “Doesn’t really matter, though. He still doesn’t want me.”
Sam stops and takes a deep breath. “Hush up with all that. He wants you, he just knows he’s too old for you. Trust me, I’ve watched him this summer. He’s looking at you with way more than pride.”
“So? He’s not going to do anything about it.”
“Of course he’s not,” Sam says. “He already feels like a perv. He’s known you since you were nine. If he makes a move, he’ll feel even worse about himself. It’s hard enough that the poor guy has a permanent woody when you’re around.”
Jo grumbles. “Sam’s right. I mean I wouldn’t exactly put it that way, but if you really want him, this needs to be on you. He’s not going to do anything about how he feels.”
“But I put it all at there. I told him I wanted him. What else can I do?”
Sam laughs. “Go to his cabin and jump on him. If he turns you down, then that’s it. End of story. But I’m telling you right now, he’s not gonna turn you down. Not with that body of yours.”
I bite my lip. “I don’t just want to sleep with him.”
Jo squeezes my hand. “We know, honey. That’s why we’re doing the intervention. You know what you want. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. Now you just need to convince him of the same thing.”
“You don’t think it’s anti-feminist?”
Sam shakes her head. “Look, the true definition of feminism is equality. Women getting equal opportunity to live the lives they want. You know what you want. You’re not losing yourself in this guy, you’re losing yourself in your own insecurity. Go get ‘em. Own the shit out of this relationship. Fuck all the doubters.”
Jo laughs. “Um, yeah, what Sam said.”
Chapter Eight
It’s my night off. I haven’t seen Alex all day because it rained and we’ve been stuck inside our cabins and later in the rec hall for indoor games. I’m ready to poke my eyes out. The rain died down right after dinner and I’ve been in the bathroom for an embarrassing amount of time. I’ve even put on lip-gloss for Operation Jump on Alex.
Only when I get there and knock on his cabin door, he’s on his way out.
“Where are you going?” I say.
He’s freshly bathed and shaved. He’s wearing a button-down shirt and it’s tucked into his khaki shorts.
“Into town.”
“Oh.”
And now I’m the asshole. Because I told him I wasn’t going to come see him, and here I stand in a short skirt and slightly small top and strappy wedge sandals and lip gloss. It’s easily a 9.3 on the mortification scale.
“I thought you weren’t…” he starts.
“Yeah,” I say. “I wasn’t. Sorry. My bad. I’ll see you later.”
I swivel and teeter on my ridiculous strappy wedge sandals and try super hard not to touch my face and instead just let the tears fall until he leaves.
“Kay-Kay,” he calls.
I don’t turn around, but I stop walking. “Yeah?”
“I’ve got to see a friend in the hospital. Visiting hours end at nine. Did you… you could ride along with me if you wanted.”
A block of ice settles in my stomach. Because it feels like whatever my answer is going to be is huge. And I can’t decide if saying yes, I want to come is really the right thing. Because it’s so far beyond sleeping with him and still so firmly planted in the friend territory. I’m a mess of emotions.
I turn slowly and his mouth drops.
“Yes,” I say, brushing away tears. “Yes, I want to come with you.”
He takes three steps forward to meet me and traces his fingers beneath my eyelashes. “Don’t cry, beautiful. This will pass.”
Then he takes my hand and walks with me to the parking lot. Most of the campers are at evening activity, but some of the other counselors are heading out. They see his hand in mine. Glances are exchanged, but he doesn’t release me. And just like that, the ice melts into a pool of warmth. Because no matter what else happens, Alex, in his own way, has now claimed me.
The drive to the hospital is eerily quiet. I want to ask him who we’re seeing. I want to ask him what’s wrong with the person. I want to ask him why he held on to my hand when a week ago he would’ve dropped it. But instead, I stare out the window and watch the pine trees pass by.
My wedge sandals squeak on the hospital tile. Alex glances down at them and offers me a half-smile. “Probably should’ve let you change. But you know, visiting hours.”
I nod. “It’s okay. I’ll wait outside, right?”
“Yeah. That’d be good. I won’t be in there for that long.”
He stops at a door and looks at me for a second. Then, he wraps his arms around me and whispers, “Thanks for coming” into my ear. His hug is warm and delicious and everything I expected it would be and I don’t want to let him go, but he pulls away. Then he tucks a long piece of my hair behind my ear and pushes into the room.
I move down the hall to a bank of chairs. The plastic is cold against the backs of my legs, and I wish I had been smarter about my wardrobe choice. Not that I imagined my evening ending in a hospital. I cross and uncross my legs as I stare at a CPR poster on the wall.
“What are you doing here?” a voice breaks through my haze. Irene.
“I’m…um…waiting for Alex.”
Her mouth turns down, and she pats her pockets like she’s looking for a cigarette. “You came here with Alex?”
“Yeah. It’s my night off.”
“I gathered that.” Her gaze moves over me in disapproval. Every inch of flesh showing is like a black mark on my future at the camp. “Well, if you’ll excuse me.”
She shuffles past me and I call out, “Irene.” She looks up. “Are you okay? I mean…are you here to see someone?” Irene has always been formidable and terrifying. I can’t imagine anything actually ever being wrong with her.
“Of course. I’m here to see my daughter. Same as Alex.”
She turns around and shuffles the rest of the way down the hall to the room Alex is in. He’s coming out as she’s entering. His gaze zeroes in on me before he mumbles a few words to Irene.
My brain is flooded with questions. How does Alex know Irene’s daughter? How come none of us knew she had a daughter? I’ve been
at the camp for ten years. Surely, I would’ve caught wind of this.
Alex walks down the hall toward me. Slower now. Like he’s carrying a huge pack on his back. He stops in front of me and holds out his hand. I take it and let him pull me up.
“I guess you have some questions,” he says as he leads me out of the building.
“Yeah. A few.”
“All right. But can we wait until we get back to camp for me to answer them?”
I nod. “Are you okay?”
He stares at me, and his eyes glisten with unshed tears. “It’s hard to say goodbye.”
The ride back to camp is even worse. My mind is racing with questions and the peacefulness of the drive is overcome by the obvious heartsickness of Alex. He turns on the radio and listens to a couple of guys talk about hunting, then switches it off. His gaze wanders to my face a few times, but as soon as I look at him in question, he shakes his head and looks forward again.
He parks his truck and rounds the hood to my side. He opens the door before I can get my bearings, before I can brace myself for the rawness of his face. He takes my hand and pulls me out into the cool night and then steers us back to his cabin.
When the door shuts behind him, he releases such a long sigh that it sounds more like the beginning of a sob. I search the small wrinkles along the edge of his eyes. Laugh lines. Though now they’re more like sorrow lines, etching in his face a lifetime of pain that I have no idea about.
“Robin. Irene’s daughter. She’s dying. Cervical cancer.”
“I didn’t realize Irene had a daughter. I mean they don’t really talk about her. Are they estranged?” I ask.
“Yeah. They have been. I think Robin reached out to all of us again when she realized she was sick.”
I worry my bottom lip. “So you know her pretty well?”
He nods and moves next to me on the bed. The warm skin of his leg presses against mine and for the first time in awhile, the butterflies in my stomach don’t pick up speed. They’re still there. But this time, it’s like they’re waiting as much as I am.
10 Weeks Page 3
