The stair-climber taunts me.
“You can use the treadmill.” Jeremy hovers at my side, ever the supportive friend. But I don’t need support at the moment. I need someone to kick my ass. And someone to hand me my emergency inhaler if I overdo it.
“I’ve used the treadmill the past two weeks. But this one is a hike in the mountains. That means going up.” I hear the reluctance in my own voice. “The treadmill only tilts so much.”
In three weeks, Dom and I are heading to Idaho. Ever prepared, he searched the coordinates beforehand.
Josh is sending us to Alpine Lake.
This one is a seven-and-a-half-mile hike, with over a thousand feet in elevation.
After my abysmal showing in South Dakota, I’m determined not to make Dom my pack mule again.
Even if I did enjoy the way his back muscles felt pressed against my boobs.
Maybe I’ll get strong enough to handle the first ninety percent of the hike, then make him carry me the last ten percent.
That seems fair.
“Well, don’t force it.” Jeremy eyes me with concern. “Take it slow. Don’t choke on your own lungs.”
I roll my eyes and try not to hate my friend for his fit form. The guy runs full marathons. For fun.
Fucking weird, if you ask me.
“You’re in charge of this.” I wave my inhaler under his nose, then set it in the cupholder of the treadmill next to the stair-climber, knowing that Jeremy plans to go on a too-many-miles-to-contemplate run while I find out how many flights of stairs I have in me.
A half hour later, I’m gushing sweat from every pore in my body and cursing every piece of land that dares to rise above sea level as my legs shake on the final step. Meanwhile, Jeremy continues to jog while laughing at my colorful cursing as if he has a separate set of lungs.
Amazingly, I haven’t had to utilize my inhaler. True, I’ve taken frequent breaks whenever I felt myself start to wheeze. But each time I go through the breathing exercises the specialist taught me, my body eventually calms down enough for me to remount the torture device. I can also give credit for my improved lung function to spending a portion of my days wearing a high-altitude mask to strengthen my airways. The thing fits over my nose and mouth, restricting my airflow while making me look like Bane from The Dark Knight Rises. I tend to wear it while I’m responding to annoying emails, pretending I’m going to demolish Gotham City instead of answering the same mind-numbing question for the fiftieth time. Last week I accidentally kept the mask on when answering a Zoom call from Pamela, and she screamed.
I apologized, but I’m not sorry for being able to breathe better.
Still, I’ve officially reached the stopping point. For today, at least.
I think Dom would be proud. I’d send him a success selfie if I didn’t feel like a swamp monster from a sweaty lagoon. Plus, Jeremy would probably ask who I’m texting.
I still haven’t told him and Tula about my travel buddy.
At first, I simply didn’t want to acknowledge Dom’s existence. If they knew I was making the trips with Josh’s best friend, they’d ask about him every time I got back. It was easier to distract them with souvenirs and descriptions of the destinations.
Then, when I realized how much Dom still affected me, I didn’t want to bring him up to Jeremy and Tula because I’d have to give them the whole backstory. A tale that at its core is just a naive nineteen-year-old falling for the wrong guy. They’d be sympathetic, but in the end they would have advised me to find a way to move on from him.
I knew that already.
Or maybe they would have told me I had every right to be pissed off, which also seemed terrible because then I’d have to admit what Dom did was truly horrendous.
I didn’t want to be told what I felt was wrong, but I also didn’t want to be told what I felt was right.
I just…didn’t want to think about him.
Now, though, I don’t know how to talk about Dom after keeping him a secret for so long.
How do I tell my amazing friends I’ve been lying to them since the day my brother died?
The Maddie solution: I don’t.
Real fucking mature.
But as hot as things currently burn between me and Dom, I figure they will snuff out when the fuel of our shared task is done. We’ll help each other through these final trips, and then after Alaska we’ll move on from my brother’s death, and we’ll move on from each other. I’ll send Dom the occasional check-in text the way Josh would have wanted, and it’ll be good.
All good. I’m so good.
But also, currently, I’m dying on the gym floor.
“You’re doing great, Maddie! Now, why don’t you run a few miles and call it a day,” Jeremy hollers over the repetitive slap of his sneakers on the belt.
“Fuck you,” I whimper, offering my mature response as I sprawl like a starfish on the floor of our condo’s gym. “If I do any more, I’ll have to crawl to my apartment.” I may have to anyway. My legs no longer have muscles in them. Only the insubstantial ghosts of what used to be.
“Fine.” My friend points to the space near the entrance that’s clear of machines and weights and has extra padding on the ground. “Go through your stretches so you don’t cramp up tomorrow. I’ll be off in ten.”
I groan my response, then decide to logroll my way to the stretching mat instead of forcing myself to stand. Who cares if I look like a human-sized slug? Jeremy and I have the place to ourselves.
“That doesn’t look like stretching,” Jeremy scolds ten minutes later when he finds me in the same position.
“It’s corpse pose.”
“You’re going to be a corpse if you don’t let me or Tula come on this hike with you,” he mutters, while scooping up one of my heels and helping me stretch my leg.
“I’ll be fine,” I gasp as I try to relax my tight glutes. “It’s a well-hiked path. Other people will be around.” Including Mr. Overly Protective and Always Prepared.
“So, you’ll let strangers rescue you, but not your best friends?” Jeremy gives my other leg the same treatment.
I scowl. “Maybe I don’t want to hike with someone who thinks I need saving.” The words come out in a harsh snap I immediately regret. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“No,” Jeremy cuts me off. “You’re right. I shouldn’t baby you. Or try to push my way onto your trip.” He resettles my leg on the ground, then sits cross-legged beside me. “I just want you to ask for help if you need it.”
I exhale deeply, trying to force my unreasonable animosity out with the air. “You are helping. That’s why I asked you to come with me today.” I wave around the gym.
“I’m glad you did. We can make it a regular thing.”
I let out a pathetic groan that earns a chuckle.
“How’s your life?” I press, trying to get the focus off me and my upcoming trip.
Jeremy narrows his eyes, clearly seeing my topic change for what it is. But he’s kind enough to let me get away with it. Jeremy leads me through a series of stretches as he chats about the website redesign committee he’s been assigned to at his job and the Caribbean cruise he plans to surprise his boyfriend with for their anniversary.
Dom and I won’t be together long enough to celebrate an anniversary.
I force the thought away, ignoring how it feels like a sharp needle jab to the heart.
And as my friend talks, I realize how I’ve let distance settle between us. Not just the Dom secret, but also these simple life plans. Before Josh got sick, I would have been helping Jeremy plan the cruise, researching the most luxurious ships with him and seeking out the best deals. In the past, we’d text throughout the day, and I’d already have a mental map of all the relationships and drama going down with his work committee.
We still hang out all the time, watching movies and shows together in my condo.
But I sit quietly beside him, letting my brain zone out. Like a form of self-preservation to guard me from the pain of Josh and the guilt of my Dom secret.
I blink when Jeremy’s hand appears in front of my face. “Let’s go. Time for you to shower, smelly.”
When I glance up to meet my friend’s eyes, I see his normal teasing nature, but also a flash of worry. And I acknowledge that he has a reason to be concerned. I would worry, too, if he started folding into himself the way I have been.
I slip my hand into his.
“I’m running out of books,” I announce once I’m standing.
Jeremy laughs. “I doubt that very much.”
“Fine.” I offer him a cheeky smile. “I’m running out of new books. What do you say to you, me, and Tula going to happy hour tomorrow, then some tipsy bookstore shopping?”
The relieved grin that spreads over his face from the simple suggestion tells me all I need to know.
It’s time to start living my life again.