Circled around the cold cookstove with the lanterns on low and the crickets making a racket, he expected to have hit that point where the discomfort of dirt and rocks and the whims of the weather faded, and campfire camaraderie kicked in. And far as things with Ton and Cisco went, he was there. The three of them had plenty to say—or he and Cisco had plenty to say, with Ton between them comfortable chiming in or just listening as suited him.
It was the other mostly silent Bellamy he wasn’t sure about. By the time they crawled into their tent, it had been maybe a full hour since she’d expressed one of her opinions.
“You doing okay?”
The lantern wasn’t any better at letting him read her face than it had been when they were under the stars. “Sure.”
“Not sure I buy that.”
She rolled to face him, which helped. “I didn’t think to pack any mandarins.”
He laughed a little. “We all had access to the packing list. If I’d wanted them, I’d have added them. Or packed them myself.”
“Still.” Her furrowed brow wasn’t making her mood any clearer. “I remembered the Granny Smiths for Anton.”
“Gillian. It’s not your job to pack our favorite snacks. You’re not our mom.”
She shifted. Her restless legs shushed against their nylon sleeping bag. “All those times you camped with us, that was you needing someone to take care of you.”
He closed his eyes. Even the crickets couldn’t soothe his flash of irritation. “I’m not Oliver Twist. Yeah, there were lots of ways being with y’all was more of a traditional family experience, but it’s not like my parents didn’t provide for me. Or like yours were ….”
“Mine were what?” Her face was calm, but her voice had an edge.
“Perfect. I was going to say ‘perfect,’ but that’s not even the thing. We both know none of us would call them ideal. You’re certainly not who you are because you followed the path they set out for you.”
Her legs shushed again as she balled up her body. “At least they went to your plays.”
“And provided me with fruit, I know. Anything on the stereotype of fifties parenting I needed, I got from them. I don’t deny that. Look, I love your parents. They made a difference to me, growing up. It’s no secret I’m all in on you Bellamys.”
“That’s right. Us Bellamys.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We’ve been taking care of you since you and Anton met. And I’m not suggesting it’s not mutual with you and him. God knows how he’d face the world sometimes if not for you.”
“Hey, give him credit. I can’t get why you act like he’s still eleven.”
“Yes, fine, I know. He deserves more. But there you go again—we’re in the middle of talking about us, and he’s in the mix.”
“I didn’t bring him up.”
“You didn’t have to. He’s always there. And don’t twist that to mean I mind—he’s my brother. He was my brother before he was your twin.”
Well, that had bite. He scrubbed his eyes and worked on keeping his voice quiet enough to not drift to the next tent over. “I don’t follow what you’re saying now. I feel like everything’s coming out at once and, news flash: I was never enmeshed enough in your family to track the leaps y’all sometimes make. You want to bring me oranges when I never asked that of you, same time as you want me to praise your parents’ ideals when you work so hard to forge a path different from them.”
The lantern flickered and dimmed further, which probably counted as some kind of cosmic message instead of a need to buy new batteries. He switched it off and sank to the ground beside Gill.
She drew in a deep breath and unfurled herself. “I know all about my parents’ flaws. Believe me. And I shouldn’t have given in to that tug to be the caretaker.”
He slid a hand over enough to link his fingers with hers. She didn’t pull away. “It’s okay to care about making the trip good for each other.”
“Yeah.” She squeezed his hand. “Yeah, you’re right. And I know we already talked this out, but tonight I heard you tell stories about all these ways you’ve anchored yourself to us. Turned to us for stability when your family was in the wind. But right now, I feel like Anton is your Scylla, and I’m Charybdis drowning in my own whirlpool, and you’re the one who has to navigate between us. And maybe you should just steer towards Anton’s shore, because you know you’ll be safe there. Leave me to my whirlpool.”
Now he had to brush up on Greek mythology to be taken seriously by her? “Gillian. I’m not picking between you two. I already picked him, years ago, but that doesn’t mean I can’t chose you, too. Not because you’re good at buying fruit, or because you know all the inside jokes about the great outdoors. Because you’re you.”
By the time Anton and Cisco made it back from climbing, she and Vic had done their hike up the pink granite mound of Enchanted Rock and basked in the miles of mesquite plains and rocky outcrops stretching in every direction around them. He'd carried one of his lighter cameras—no pile of lens attachments and light monitors or whatever all that stuff he used was. She'd carried the water bottles and day bag.
Between them they'd settled into a pace, walking uphill, that took on a form of communion between them. The way they passed the water back and forth. The way she paused when he was taking shots. And he paused when he outpaced her up up particularly steep section of the trail. Not that she had trouble with climbing. All those mornings on the elliptical conditioned her for more stamina than she remembered from the last time she climbed E-Rock. But her brain was wrestling with her heart, and with everything that made her jump into what Vic would call overprotective sister mode. What Anton called her being a pain in his ass.
She didn't know what Cisco would call it, just that some looks between them had her suspecting that she was the odd one out among these three men. She didn't like it. She didn't want anyone making allowances for her, or excusing her for being emotional, or approaching her with gentleness as she processed her feelings. She could for sure deal without any of that bullshit in her life.
So while she worked on shoving those thoughts away, her footing was not as secure as she might like. Not that she explained one ounce of herself to Vic as he braced with one foot uphill, ready to reach out a hand if she needed it. Maybe she didn't need to. Maybe that's what this unspoken transfer of water bottles and chin nods towards a particularly cute kid rumble-stumbling along the rocks was all about. What did she know from how relationships worked? Only time she dated anybody this long it was a colleague already under contract to move to Montana for the next academic year.
So, probably she and Vic were fine.
Probably she and Anton were fine, too. He and Cisco seemed chill enough while they were reliving every belay and foothold of their adventure up the rock face. No one snarked while they loaded up the truck, or rolled their eyes at her for her one last trip to the restroom before they headed out.
Rolling into the outskirts of Austin, she nudged Vic with her knee. “Stay for dinner with me tonight?”
He glanced at his phone. Like they were unaware of the exact time Anton predicted their arrival at the duplex. She'd given up on teasing her brother about his ETAs, since he was always right, no matter what the GPS predicted.
“Ah, yeah, Sure. That works.” Vic nodded decisively. Like there was nothing hesitant about him.
“Count out us out,” Anton offered from behind the wheel. “Cisco’s sister made enchiladas.”
He shook his head and drawled, “Only if we get there in time. They go fast.”
“Oh, we'll get there in time. Hundred fifty-two minutes to my door. Seventeen to unload and put on a fresh shirt. Eleven minutes to your sister’s place.”
Cisco’s response was muttered head shaking.
“Don't doubt him,” Vic said. “He'll gloat when he proves you wrong.”
“It's not doubt I'm feeling. Trust,” Cisco said, which made Anton take a hand off the steering wheel to cup Cisco’s cheek.
And if that didn't prove what an asshole she was, Gillian didn't know what did.
Vic glanced to her like he was checking in on what she was thinking. She grinned back as if to say, “See, everything's happy. No issues, no stress.” And if the silence and slightly inane conversation that buoyed them all over the next hundred and fifty minutes was any indication, she was almost entirely clear. No one would call her out, and that meant the past was past and they could stay focused on the now.