Easton finishes the presentation he’s giving us about expanding the standup paddleboard tour offerings and diversifying into paddleboard yoga.
“You’re going to teach yoga,” Brody says, eyebrows practically touching in the middle.
“I’m going to hire someone to teach yoga.”
“On paddleboards,” Brody says.
“Standup yoga. It’s a thing.”
“It’s fucking insane thing,” Brody says. “Why not do goat yoga? Or goats-on-paddleboards yoga. Maybe you could do seal yoga. Seals like paddleboards.”
“Look who’s talking,” Easton says. “I mean, sunset mani/pedi cruises, Bro? Seriously? Why don’t you just do naked boat massage with happy endings?”
“Now there’s an idea,” Brody says. “I kind of like it. I’ve got good hands.” He holds them up, then mimes a massage where he reaches around to cup someone’s breasts. “Do you have Photoshop up? I’m making a flyer.”
They’ve been doing this all week, messing around with stupid shit instead of buckling down to make Lucy’s vision a reality, and suddenly I’ve had enough. “Can you all stop messing around and just do the fucking work? I kill myself for this business, and all I’m asking of you is that you take it seriously for a fucking change.”
They’re all so used to my short temper by now that they barely turn around, but I see my mother’s face go still.
My mother, even when we were kids, never yelled. She just wore the disappointed face.
Which was way worse than getting scolded.
I know I’m in for it.
After the meeting she calls me into her office.
“Gabriel Wilder,” she says quietly. All disappointed face.
Oh, shit. Talk about pushing buttons formed in childhood.
“I know you’re hurting—”
“I’m not.”
“Oh, Gabe, don’t lie to me. I gave birth to you. I could tell which of your cries meant you needed food versus sleep versus a diaper change. And I know you miss the shit out of Lucy.”
She’s right; there’s no upside in lying to her. And I don’t have the energy for it, anyway.
“Yeah,” I say. “I do.”
I miss her all the time. Every time Buck greets me at the door, every time I look at the washing machine. Every time I step inside the barn and she’s not up in the loft. Every time I take a shower and there’s no chance she’ll slip in there with me.
Every time I lie in bed alone, missing what we had. The way she kissed, like she was all in, no turning back.
The no-condom games.
When she let me in.
“Gabe,” my mother says, and I come back from Lucy La-La Land to find her looking at me, not with the disappointed face but with its close cousin, the deeply concerned face.
Just as bad.
She wrinkles her nose and keeps on looking concerned, like it’s a full-time job for her. I know I’m not going to like what’s coming next.
“Amanda told me you never asked Lucy to stay.”
“It’s none of Amanda’s business. Or yours. Lucy needs to be in New York. She belongs there.”
It’s like I’m talking to the mountains; she doesn’t even acknowledge what I’ve said. “I just want you to know, Gabe, if you ask for what you need, the world isn’t going to end.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I mean it. I was expecting her to give me a lecture about how Lucy wasn’t Ceci and I should swallow my pride, but I’m lost right now.
My mom crosses her arms and fills me in.
“You should never have had to grow up so fast. If I could undo one thing, it would be my getting sick when I did.”
I’m shaking my head, but she’s shaking hers, too.
“You didn’t get sick on purpose.”
“I know,” she says. “But you were too young to have to be someone’s hero, and you really were my hero, Gabriel. I don’t know if I could have gotten through that time without you being the kind of kid you were. But what I wish I’d seen sooner is that somehow you got it in your head that it was your job to take care of everyone. The one time you asked for what you wanted, it ended up with Ceci miserable, and that messed with your caretaker brain even worse. So after that, I think you decided it was always going to be about what everyone else needed. But you’re allowed to need things, too. You’re allowed to need Lucy.”
The whole time she’s talking, my chest is feeling like something is clamped around it, and the longer she talks, the tighter it gets, until the part about “you’re allowed to need Lucy.” And then it kind of cracks. Like an ice fissure opening up, dark and dangerous.
Because I think she’s right. I think my mom nailed it perfectly. I’ve believed I don’t get to need anyone or anything, that it’s not my job to need. It’s my job to make sure everyone else has what they need.
She looks at me like she can see straight through me. Moms, man. What a mindfuck.
“The thing about Lucy belonging in New York, Gabe? That’s just bullshit you tell yourself so you don’t have to do the right thing. Tell her, Gabe. Tell her you need her. Give her the chance to say she can’t give you what you need, but don’t take that chance away from her. Or from yourself.”
And then she delivers the biggest mindfuck of all, because Moms don’t hold themselves back when the shit gets real.
“I know all about what you feel like you owe your dad, Gabriel Wilder. I don’t have to be psychic to guess. Maybe you promised him you’d take care of me. I don’t know. I don’t know what he said to you or what you said to him.”
She takes a deep breath.
“But here’s the thing, Gabe. Your dad would want you to be happy. And you know it.”
I have to go on three different airline sites to find something available in the next 72 hours. Who knew people wanted to go to New York City so badly? I think it’s a major error in judgment, but then, I’m not the target audience for a big city.
I’m not sure if I should be flying into La Guardia or Kennedy but I decide it doesn’t matter. Go big or go home, right? The least of my worries is how much I spend on a ride service to get from the airport to Lucy’s apartment.
Finally I get desperate and type, “I want to fly to New York City as soon as possible,” and then I find something. It’s three hours from now, Bend to Seattle to La Guardia.
I buy and print the ticket, and then run next door and basically ransack my house packing an overnight bag. It looks like someone tossed it, but I don’t have time to care. Buck’s going to stay with Amanda and Heath and the kids. I probably won’t be able to convince him to leave afterwards, because he’ll be in doggie heaven. I load his stuff into the car and shuttle him to Amanda’s.
“You have her apartment address?” Amanda asks.
I shake my head.
“I don’t know it. But her mom would.”
So, my last stop in Rush Creek is Adele and Gregg’s Airstream.
Adele comes out, looking like Lucy plus twenty years and filling me with fresh longing for Lucy.
“Hey, Gabe, what’s up?” she asks, and I explain that I need Lucy’s address.
“Huh. You do? Why?”
Valid question, so I explain. “I’m going to New York to try to talk her into being with me.”
Lucy’s mom tilts her head to the side and gets a funny look on her face. “Huh,” she says again. “Not sure…”
Okay, I wasn’t expecting this. I figured Lucy’s mom would be gung-ho about the idea of me going to get Lucy, of bringing her back here, and the fact that she’s hesitating so much sets me back on my heels. Does she know Lucy’s going to say no to me?
I can’t let myself think that. I can’t picture failure. I am going to go to New York and I am going to show Lucy Spiro why saying yes to me will be the best decision she ever made.
“Lucy loves New York,” Adele tells me.
“I know.”
I want that address, so I’m going to have to fight for it, and I can do that. I’ve had plenty of time to think about this, and I know myself now. I know myself and I know I should have fought for Lucy to begin with, and I know this is my last chance to get this right.
And I’m willing to beg. Whoever I have to beg, including Lucy’s mom. This is a version of the old, busted asking-the-dad-for-permission ritual.
“If she belongs there, then I’ll make it work for me.”
Adele’s eyes get bigger.
“I asked Clark if he would be willing to take over the business if I need to move to New York.”
“What will you do there?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I will figure it out. Maybe I’ll do the East coast marketing for Wilder Adventures. Maybe I’ll parlay my outdoor experience into working for one of the big gear companies. But I will figure it out—if she’ll have me.”
I definitely have Adele’s attention now. I take a deep breath. “Because Lucy is fearless. You should have seen her in the woods. On the water. If something freaks her out, she does it anyway. I thought I was so brave before I met her, but I’m realizing that’s bullshit because I’m your basic coward about the things that matter. I let her leave because I wasn’t strong enough to tell her I need her. When she was in the hospital, I just walked away—and I’m so, so sorry about that.”
I can’t read Adele’s expression. I can only keep going and hope I’ll convince her. It’s good practice for what I’m going to need to do in New York… only in that case I’m planning to do it on my knees if I have to.
“The only thing in the world Lucy’s scared of is that people won’t love her. And she doesn’t need to be scared of that anymore. Because there are so many people here who love her. If she comes here, we will love her every day, in every way. And if she stays there, I love her, and I’m never going to stop, unless she tells me it’s hopeless. And possibly even not then, because I don’t seem to have any control where she’s concerned. And I will make sure she’s surrounded by other people who love her. So that’s what I’m going to New York to say.”
Adele seems to be crying.
“Well,” she says. “You can tell her yourself, because she’s right here.”
And then I look up and sure enough, Lucy is standing in the doorway of the Airstream. She comes running down the steps and catapults herself into my arms, and I catch her and lift her up. She wraps her legs around my waist and we both hang on for dear life.
“Did you hear all that?” I demand.
“Every word,” Lucy says. “But if you feel like saying any of it again, I won’t stop you.”
“And?” I prompt.
Her eyes are teary, too. “And I love you, Gabriel Romantic Wilder.”
I scowl at her, but I kiss her anyway.