Thursday morning began like a lot of coastal mornings—with the sound of a foghorn in the distance and mist so thick it was nearly impossible to see. The worst of it burned off before Daniel, Cam, and I finished breakfast.
Dan and I drank more coffee on the porch while we watched Cam play with the animals under the guise of “getting a little exercise.”
It seemed a little sacred, the way Cam became a boy around his dogs. Despite his size, despite his thickly muscled body and beard shadow, Cam’s eyes lit with happiness every time he tossed a Frisbee and one of the dogs caught it. I could only imagine how lovely he would be with his children if he and Daniel decided to have any.
“You’re a lucky man, Daniel Livingston. Ever thought about having kids?”
“Actually, that’s the plan.” Daniel smiled softly. “We’ve been looking for a surrogate.”
“That’s wonderful.” I almost teared up. “You’ll be great dads.”
“Knock wood.” He tapped his knuckles lightly on the porch railing.
I picked up my bag to take it to the car. “I’ve got to get on the road. I promised Epic I’d pick him up at nine."
“Come here, you.” Cam ran over and threw his arms around me. It wasn’t enough he could crush me with a hug, but he lifted me into the air and swung me around. Despite the indignity, I liked that a lot more than I should have.
“Hey!” I made a weak protest.
“Don’t take so long to come visit next time,” Cam said sternly. “We’ve missed you.”
“I won’t.”
“And eat something. My God, that was like lifting a middle schooler.”
“I’m not that light.”
“You need to get some meat back on your bones.” Cam’s smile dazzled me a little.
“Take care of yourself,” Dan said, patting my shoulder.
“I hear you both. I promise.” I couldn’t look Dan in the eye. “I’ll do better.”
He hugged me hard. “Please do. We love you. You know that.”
“I do. Love you too.”
I opened the door of my car. “Bye!”
Cam threw the Frisbee so the dogs had to run in the opposite direction, then he gave me a big smooch on the cheek.
“Bye, Ry. Take a break before you go back to saving the world.”
“Will do.” I ducked into the car and started the engine. I waved a final time before I drove off. As their pleasant cottage got smaller in the rearview, I was subsumed by envy, which was so unusual for me I almost didn’t recognize it at first.
I attributed my emotions to missing their company and the peaceful home they’d built together, but at the core of my feelings was a sense of unbearable loss and a quagmire of whys—why did I pursue my professional goals to the detriment of my personal life? Why would a personal life have been so bad? Why couldn’t I have what they have?
The answer, as always, was because I wasn’t strong enough, or smart enough, or organized enough, or brave enough to have it all. If I had to choose, then what I did professionally was so much more important than anything I could do privately. It wasn’t even a contest for me.
Instead of bemoaning what I couldn’t have, I should have rejoiced in what I could. And sometimes, I was able to do just that. Sometimes a win on the international front—if we were to find the missing schoolgirls or cut the head off an operation that dealt in slave labor, then I could celebrate my choices.
It was only when I was at loose ends, like I was then, trying to gather together the tattered scraps of what little personal life I had, that I was aware of how unbalanced my priorities were.
Dan and Cam were right. I should have eaten more. Drank less. Smoked less. I should have found a way to handle stress that didn’t take years off my life.
Note to self: Install meditation app on phone and learn to use it. Mentally, I added, after the wedding because I just knew I’d be using old familiar coping mechanisms on this trip.
And Epic.
Because surely I would use my colorful fake boyfriend as one of many crutches to lean on so I could limp through this event without losing my mind.
I pulled up in front of Epic’s apartment building to find him waiting on the sidewalk surrounded by what looked like a garage sale’s worth of inexplicable junk.
He waved. I parked and got out of the car to ask over the roof, “What’s all this?”
He picked up a suit bag and said, “Tuxedo.”
“Okay.” I went around the vehicle and took it from him. I hung it inside the car next to mine. “And?”
He pointed to each thing, “Snacks, drinks, clothing, pool toys—”
“Pool toys?” Did he seriously expect to bring a giant inflatable unicorn? “Is all that necessary?”
“I can deflate it.” He pulled some plug and the poor thing just sizzled and got smaller while I watched. “I wasn’t sure what kind of car you had.”
“Epic—”
“Don’t worry, it’s not as hard to blow up as you’d think.”
“I—”
“It’s fine. I promise. Pop the trunk. I’ll have everything packed up in a sec. We’ll need the snacks inside on the floor of the back seat where we can reach.”
“What if I don’t allow eating in my car?”
“How do you do road trips without eating in the car?” His apparent shock shouldn’t have made me want to laugh.
“I rarely drive long distances.”
“Oh. So maybe you don’t know how this works, then?” he asked, all bug-eyed and innocent. “Healthy snacks are an absolute must, along with things that are just tasty—like Frito’s and bean dip.”
“You plan to eat bean dip in my leased Lexus?”
“Well, I can’t make you stop every time I want a snack, can I?”
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
“Don’t worry," he reassured. "This is all part of the fake boyfriend service plan."
"But it's only a two-hour drive."
"And by the time we’re back in St. Nacho’s, I’ll have you inducted into the road trip hall of fame.”
I wasn’t sure that was a good thing, but swept along by Epic’s enthusiasm, I let him shove all his stuff into my car.
When at last the sidewalk was empty and my car looked like the Griswolds would be driving it to Wally World, Epic beamed at me over the roof.
“I’m really honored you asked me to come with you, Ryan. It means a lot to me that you think I can be a good fake boyfriend for such an important event.”
“And I’m honored to have you, Epic. Honored and…pleased.”
He got in, and I joined him. “Ready?”
“Of course.” I keyed the engine.
“Wait.” His mouth formed a surprised O. “I need to sync my phone to your Bluetooth. Can I do that? Or do we need a USB? I made a road trip playlist.”
“You can sync it. Here.” USB indeed. Did he think I lived in the Dark Ages? As soon as I took his phone and linked it with the audio, a cello introduced me to a familiar but elusive overture. “What is that?”
“The Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack. Perfect start, don’t you think? Bring me the Horizon!” he said, quoting the film.
“Oh my God.” I muttered, not unhappily. “You’re going to be the weirdest fake boyfriend ever.”
“There’s nothing wrong with weird,” he said primly. “Grape soda?”
I almost gagged. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Okay. But you don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Yes, I do. I have grown-up tastebuds.”
With a knowing smile, he handed me a grapefruit LaCroix. “Okay, then, mister. You’ll probably like this.”
I probably would. Goddamn it. How had he known that?
I put the car in gear and took off as the music swelled around us.
“It really isn't that long a drive.”
“Then we must begin right away. Eat up, my good man.” He pulled a couple of Kind bars out of his bag, stuffed them into the console, and then turned back to rustle around until he came up with chips. It looked as if Epic planned to feed me like a goose on the way to the foie gras follies. If only Cam and Daniel could see me now.
It was still early. We reached the nearly empty highway, and I felt as expansive as the road in front of us. Was this happiness? I wasn’t sure I had the skill set to know happiness when I saw it. Did I feel lighter than usual? Yes. Did I feel optimistic? I did.
But I also felt strained in a way I wouldn’t have had Laurie been in the car beside me. Laurie was the known, and Epic was very much part of an unfinished map with the words: Thar be danger past these waters on it.
What was it about Epic?
I’d already asked myself this question several times. Epic seemed to act on impulse, and in my ordered life, I had only made room for things or people I could predict.
“Can we stop at the miniature golf place?”
I slid a glance his way. “Now?”
“Yes, now. There’s a place ahead that features a fairy-tale theme. You can see the castle from the highway.”
“I played mini-golf once. I hated it.” I’d gotten to the ninth hole, realized there were eighteen, and nearly opened a vein right then and there.
“Of course you did,” he said sarcastically. “What happened? Didn’t you win?”
“I don’t have to win all the time.”
“But?”
“But mini-golf is so frivolous. I mean, golf is frivolous—”
His eyes widened. “Apologize right now. My ancestors invented golf.”
“I despise golf. My experience is that it’s the last bastion of ‘old boy’ handshake deals and classism.”
“You’ve never used that to your advantage? The networking possibilities seem to dovetail with fundraising. I’d think you’d golf if only for that.”
I had to give Epic the point. He was absolutely right. “The networking possibilities would outweigh my personal disdain for the sport if there weren’t others better suited. I have colleagues who play. They work within social circles I don’t have entry to anyway.”
Epic sent a calculating look my way. “You’re more a boots-on-the-ground man, then?”
“I’m not as comfortable on the fundraising side. Since I’m unattached and willing to travel, I’m more useful in analysis and negotiation.”
“I see.”
“We have the whole day to get to the hotel.” I dug into the bag of chips he held and used one to scoop a dollop of bean dip from the can he’d also produced from his snack food cache. “Do you really want to mini-golf?”
“I love mini-golf,” he said wistfully.
“Then mini-golf you shall, Epic,” I said. “I have some work to do. I’ll wait for you in the bar, or wherever passes for a watering hole, while you play.”
“That’s adorable,” he mused while we crunched our chips. “It’s almost like you think you have a choice.”
My mouth went dry. “I don’t mini-golf, Epic. Honestly. Don’t set yourself up for disappointment.”
“Oh, I won’t.” He hummed.
I may have had a picnic’s worth of snacks and sodas in my car and a deflated pool toy in the trunk, but I had to draw the line somewhere. Epic wasn’t going to get his way every time. This was my horrible wedding weekend, not his. I was going to decide which horrible things I’d do, not him.
“Mini-golf really isn’t for me,” I said firmly. “There will be no negotiation. Mini-golf is off the table as far as I am concerned. You are, of course, free to enjoy yourself.”
“And I will. I assure you.”
I didn’t trust his sweet, smug smile when he said those words.
I was right not to.