Chapter 7

It’s the end of the workweek by the time the article is fully edited and submitted to my boss. Would this be a good time to throw him that curveball about an all-new column direction? Could there be any kind of chance that our target audience might be changing? Maybe other singles are having the same experiences that I am. Could there be a need for it now? There’s a slim chance, but I might as well try sooner rather than later. Something has to give and I’m trying to drum up the courage to face the alternatives.

Sitting in the middle of my apartment floor, I write an email to my editor requesting a meeting to discuss the direction of my column. It’s a huge risk—all on a slim chance—but it’s time to try. Calypso slumbers on the rug like a cozy shadow beside me, completely oblivious to the drama at hand.

“This is exciting stuff.” I scruff her belly and she rolls over for more.

I oblige, then hit send on the email. Setting aside the laptop gives me a chance to stretch muscles that are still sore from scaling walls lately. My neighbor, Meghan, reached out this morning, asking if I could do her a special favor and pick up Sammy from school even though it’s not a Monday. I texted her back that it was no problem at all. Peeking at the clock, I’ll need to leave in fifteen minutes. I close the laptop lid with a soft click then move it to the safety of my bed. Taking the chance to tidy, I fold up a blanket and drape it across the end of the comforter. I shift a water glass to the sink and close two cabinets. This studio apartment is about the size of a large bedroom, so it’s not only crucial to tidy, but pretty straightforward. At the desk, I slide pens and pencils into a jar, and tuck article ideas into a file.

A neat stack of sticky notes rests on the shelf where the sunny window is already lit up with a midsummer glow. With Calypso sound asleep in the middle of the rug, somehow selecting a stretch of floor with the perfect rays of light coming in, I gingerly step around her and to the closet. I swap pajamas for jeans and a graphic tee, then slide on socks and Converse. I grab my purse, a water bottle, and a juice box for Sammy, then head out the door. It’s a two-block walk to the school, and I always enjoy the outing and the time spent with my little buddy.

Today, I wait beside parents who are probably as eager for the weekend as I am. Overhead, the sky is a brilliant blue and some opt for the shade of a large oak tree. As we watch for the kids to come barreling out of the classroom, I recall that tonight is the monthly singles group movie night. Just one of the many social events our group’s leader organizes between Bible study gatherings.

Do I want to go? Not really. I’ve made some friends there, but something inside me is changing. Maybe it’s just a switch in perspective. Phone in hand, I scroll to the flyer that was texted out last week and read the invite one more time. Though I’m pretty set on passing, I might as well text Britt and see what her plans are for the night. On the off chance she needs moral support, I’d rather at least check.

The bell rings and kids come flying out of the classroom. Sammy bounds into view with her brown ponytail and butterfly backpack. She jumps up and down when she sees me since I’m not usually here on a Friday.

“Surprise!” I throw up a hand and she catches her juice box in one quick swing.

We toast our drinks together as we walk toward the diner where her mom works. “How was school today?” I adjust her striped scrunchie that’s trying to slide loose.

“We learned about shapes and built pyramids out of marshmallows and toothpicks.” She holds up a lopsided piece of art that’s as sticky as she is.

“That sounds fun. Are you going to show your mommy your craft?”

She nods eagerly then sips from her juice box.

Meghan and I aren’t super close, but since we live in the same apartment building and went to the same high school, we’ve known each other most of our lives. I remember when Sammy was born and her dad—Meghan’s boyfriend—moved out. Those were tough days on Meghan, and while I didn’t know her well at all, I offered to help in any way I could. It began with watching the newborn a few hours a week while Meghan caught up on sleep. That evolved into days like this.

I guess it’s been hard not to recognize that my life could have easily been just like Meghan’s. While we’ve taken different paths, I can see why she chose the one she did. Loneliness is a beast and Meghan tried to solve it in the only way that made sense to her by moving in with her then-boyfriend. Now she has Sammy and she’s a single mom working day in and day out to provide for her child all alone.

What I’m doing here?

Small fries compared to all that Meghan does for this child.

And this walk we’re on today is short and sweet compared to the long road Sammy and her mom have together. I’m just glad for the chance to be useful and reap the unexpected blessings in the fun walks that Sammy and I share. Deep down there is always the twinge that I might never have a child of my own, but I try and sideline those thoughts if they creep up in moments like this. There are times the realization blooms into tears, but I only ever want to be fully present with Sammy and trust that everything else will work out as it’s meant to. Right now, that means walks like this with Sammy once or twice a week. I am grateful. As for the ache that lives in the center of my heart? I just need to keep taking it one day at a time.

The pair of us make small talk and enjoy the bright sky overhead, and before I know it, we’re at the diner. I lead her inside and wave to her mom who’s in a pink and white apron, serving burgers to a group of customers. Sammy skips off to the back room where she’ll hang out until five, enjoying a burger and a diner coloring page all her own.

Heading off again, it would be easy to just head back home and put my feet up, but now that I’ve come this far, Valley Outfitters is just two more blocks away. There’s plenty of time to think about tonight’s movie plans. For now, I’ve been waiting all week for the chance to head back to the outdoor adventure store and peruse the climbing shoe section. I’ve finally decided to make the jump and purchase my own pair. Shoes all my own would be a better quality than the rentals, which will help me make steadier progress on the wall. Plus, they would have meaning behind them and be a special asset to the upcoming competition.

The walk there seems to fly by. Maybe because there’s just something energizing about this new passion, and honestly, I don’t even know how to explain it to others. I haven’t mentioned these new climbing ventures to my mom or even close friends. There’s a part of me that knows there’s time to describe it, but also, I’m nervous they won’t understand. Then again, maybe I just want to savor it a tad longer before my mom sets out to talk some reason into me.

There’s this longing inside that she might be proud, and even encourage me to keep trying. But I’m not brave enough to find out yet. Soon. I promise.

As for the timing of this all—of this new hobby and even the competition—it’s felt perfect for so many reasons.

I reflect on those reasons as I wait at the final crosswalk. A truck passes by with a kayak strapped to the top. To the right, two teens whizz by on skateboards. It’s a beautiful Colorado morning and traffic in town is light for the few blocks to the parking lot. The sky overhead is a brilliant blue dusted with white clouds that hint that we might be in for a wet summer after all. With thousands of acres of grassland all around, rain would be a blessing. Fishermen would rejoice over the rejuvenation it would bring to the river and cattle ranchers would have richer grazing land.

My phone beeps as Britt texts back. She’s going to take a break from the group for a while. I don’t blame her, and honestly, I think it’s the right thing. And for me?

There is always the thought in the back of my mind that whispers: this could be the week.

This could be the time that the perfect guy shows up. He’d enter, look around at all the new faces, and I’d be smiling amid the crowd. We’d all make awkward introductions and over the course of hours and even weeks, the spark of possibility would unfold over the things we would have in common. Even a shared sense of humor. Most of all, the same passion in our faith. The dream fizzles out . . .

With a slow sigh, I drag myself up from the floor.

I’m trying not to entertain those thoughts anymore, but some dreams die hard. And this woman’s heart—and hopes—don’t always see reason. Secretly? I have no idea what the right thing is. Keep believing? Or let it all go? I’m probably wedged somewhere in the middle which is probably the wisest place to be. Practical but not abandoned to the idea (read: hope) of a relationship either. Yet deep down, I just don’t want to whittle away time that could be spent living life and having a marvelous time with it.

At Valley Outfitters, I soak in the sensation of air-conditioning and the familiar sights and sounds. Inside, shoppers push carts, some loaded with gear for various sports. Other customers wait in line at the check-out counter where employees scan everything from beanies to hunting boots. I navigate to the rock climbing section. Rounding the corner, my heart lightens further at the memory of how a table stood here not too long ago, and, thanks to the gym booth and a flyer for a free class, this whole adventure was set in motion.

Rows and rows of climbing shoes hang along the back wall. They’re all similar in shape with black soles, but the various colors and skill level is what takes more attention. I skim the options, noting that some are designed for beginners. These have a flat bottom that look pretty comfortable to stand in. The more advanced shoes curve at the toes. Ideal for scaling complex formations, but not so easy to learn in. They’re also quite a bit pricier. I hear these shoes can be painful to one’s feet, so I pick a few pairs in the beginner style and try them on. The first pair is too small so I swap it out for a different size. That’s much better. I angle my foot, admiring the blue Velcro straps and black rubber soles. These fit pretty good. A different pair is on sale, so I try that one on next.

Ooh! Perfect fit. Even more comfortable than the last.

Closing the straps, I stand and pace up and down the aisle. The shoes are stiff like the others, but that’s because they’re brand new. After a few weeks of breaking in, they’ll be perfectly conformed to my foot. I adjust the gray Velcro strap, admiring the way it’s threaded in sage green. Very me. They fit like a glove and each box of this style contains a complimentary chalk bag which I also need. Oh yes. Definitely the ones.

After stashing the other boxes back into place, I search through a bucket of carabiners. Turns out, the brightly colored clips are not only crucial for climbing with a rope, but they’re handy to clip shoes to your backpack. Bright shades of purple, green, and blue glisten from the bin, but a simple brassy one stands out. The $1.94 will definitely be well spent for the occasion. I carry my new treasures toward the front registers.

At the camping section, a man and woman are shopping for tents. They stand hand in hand, discussing two different options. I step aside for the couple, noticing a millisecond too late that the guy is my ex and the girl is most definitely not me.

Seth’s blue eyes register me at that exact moment, and in the span of the millisecond, everything comes rushing back. Our first date. Our first kiss. The way we had started to make plans for the future. The comforting way his hand held mine as we drove through town toward our favorite hiking trail. The smell of evergreen that always lingered like a whisper in his cologne. Now his hand is locked with hers and I’m straining to make an exit.

My fingers lose all feeling. I drop the box of shoes and both tumble out, clattering onto the aisle. The carabiner follows with a sharp clang. The woman turns, looking irritated. Seth steps back, nearly tripping in his haste.

We only dated four months, but this was the guy who broke up with me for not intensifying our relationship to the next physical level with a weekend backpacking trip—just him and me. I tried to express to him why I felt that way. He looked at me like he was seeing the cold truck window behind me and not my heart, mind, or intentions. We broke up on a rainy day in a restaurant parking lot, and as the longing in my chest throbbed, I’m pretty sure he called me prudish. Not the right type for him. All of my hopes and dreams with him were slashed to bits as I walked home through puddles and tears.

Now my cheeks are scorching as I gather up the shoes and tissue paper, trying to cram everything into the box. The whole world narrows to the same upside down, haphazard mess. My very existence crinkling like the tattered paper. Seth stammers as though to try and force out a hello, but I spare him—and this other girl—the awkwardness of a conversation by side-stepping a rack of two-person sleeping bags and continuing on down the aisle.

I hope they find the tent they’re looking for.

My eyes burn. The fact that the same intensity of pain just crashed into my chest has me nearly in tears by the time I get to the register. The truth is? I had loved him. The shoes nearly tumble from my grip again, but I manage to place them on the counter. The glory of this moment is gone as the employee scans the barcode on the box and I swipe my credit card. I manage to keep it together until I’m hurrying out to the parking lot. It’s not until I’ve searched for several minutes that I realize something. I walked here.

My brain just isn’t functioning well right now.

A shaky breath slips out and I turn away from my frantic search, opting for the familiar sidewalk again and the long trek home. I don’t want to delay a moment longer. Not if Seth and that girl come out anytime soon. I don’t want them to see me and certainly don’t want to see them.

The crosswalk light flashes, and with a sigh of relief, I hurry through and down the next block.

Once home, I plop the box of new climbing shoes onto the counter. As the receipt flutters down beside me, I sink to the floor and finally give in and cry.

At a buzzing on the counter, I stir awake. Where am I? I sit up with sore, straining muscles and realize I’m on the kitchen floor. A classic cried-myself-to-sleep situation. It’s still daylight so not a lot of time has passed. The buzzing vibrates again on the counter. Reaching up, I catch hold of my purse strap and pull it down. It takes a moment to free the phone. It’s Britt.

“Hello?” I sniffle.

“You okay?”

Three different lies come to mind. Ways to dodge that question and, more particularly, the answer. But honesty spills out. “Um. Not great.”

“What’s wrong?”

I fight another sniffle and instead struggle to stand. “Nothing serious. I’ll fill you in, but first, what’s up?”

“Oh, I just wanted to check and see if you got my text about not going tonight. I got a little worried.”

Tonight? Oh. Right. The movie night. I’d completely forgotten. “I don’t blame you. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ll be going either. I’m sorry I forgot to respond.”

Ice clatters into a glass on her end, then the faucet runs. “No problem. I just hadn’t wanted to leave you on your own or anything so was checking in. Okay. Now tell me what’s wrong.”

With a sigh, I force out the words, feeling lame and pathetic with each description of how the events unfolded. I’m swiping at my eyes again as I finish, but at least now I can laugh. Well, a small laugh. Spotting the lonely receipt, I snatch it up and set it on the counter. “It all happened so fast, I honestly shouldn’t be so upset. It just brought up all that pain again.” Pain that I had really been trying to forget.

“Oh my gosh, Sadie, I would have done the same thing. I’m so sorry that happened to you today. That would be so unexpected. I think you handled yourself incredibly well.”

“That’s nice of you but I felt so awkward.” So miserable.

“From the sound of it, you did the only thing you could do. I was practically in tears at the coffee shop the other night and I hadn’t even gone on a date with Jason. I can’t imagine how much it would hurt to have really shared time and experiences with someone you cared deeply for.”

I nod, even though she can’t see. The time and experiences she’s alluding to spanned some really special months of my life. Maybe not many months in the grand scheme of things, but in the moment—and with hope on the line—it was significant. The butterflies of falling in love and the rush of belief that finally, maybe, someone cares for you and that you’re worthy of someone’s heart. Then it all just crashes down. Bookending all of that is the missing of someone that you once cared for, all the while knowing there’s nothing to be done. “It’s all hard, Britt.”

“I wish I could come cheer you up but my parents are already expecting me for the weekend.”

“That will be a great time. You and your parents will have fun together.”

“And when I get back, let’s have a movie night with pizza. With double pepperoni and milkshakes.”

“That sounds perfect. Movie and pizza it is.” The receipt in hand crinkles when I fold it. “Thanks for checking in, Britt, and I’m glad you’re starting to feel better.”

“I am, and I promise you will too.”

It’s a promise that I don’t know how to believe in. None of us can really assure anyone else that things are going to be okay, right? But there’s also the glimmer of understanding that the promise she offers isn’t one of false assurances, but of a trust in things much more lasting than external outcomes. It’s a hope in all the good that’s to come. Things I can’t see with my eyes right now. Even though I felt so incredibly alone on the camping aisle just an hour ago, I wasn’t alone. Maybe I didn’t have a partner by my side like Seth did, but I have the assurance of my convictions and the dignity that I’ve retained in standing for what I believe in. There’s no shame in that. It’s the comfort needed to face the rest of this day, and what all the unknowns of this week might hold.

“Okay, I’m going to be texting you some movie ideas over the weekend, so stay tuned.”

The way she says it actually brings a smile to my face again. “I think that sounds like a great plan.”

“And Sadie, I’m excited to see what it is that you got at the adventure store. You did say you checked out, right?”

“Yes. Made it all the way through.”

Britt chuckles. “Well, I hope you know how brave you are for doing that. Now that you described the unplanned experiences of the day, I’m eager to hear about the adventure you’ve been dreaming up that’s going to make it so incredibly worth it.”