Hard Wood Page 3
“You mean Chase?” Mia asks, batting her eyes innocently.
He scowls. “Fine, I’ll let him come along.” His tone turns serious. “Henley said to remind you we have reservations for seven thirty, and Chase and Josie are excited to see you.”
“I’ll be back. I swear. You act like I’m going to get stuck in the woods.”
Max scoffs. “No. I’m not worried about that at all. I’m worried you’re going to get stuck on your conference call.”
A few minutes later, Mia slides into my most-decidedly-not-a-Hyundai Jeep, and as we make our way out of Manhattan, she pets Zeus, who’s decided to spend the drive on her lap.
Can’t say I blame him.
I wouldn’t mind spending some time there, too.
3
I have a rule of thumb if I like a woman.
Call me crazy. Call me old-fashioned.
But here’s what I do.
I ask her on a date.
I know, I know. I’m old-school, especially since I use the phone to do it.
I don’t send coy texts. I don’t Snapchat her a Wassup? And I don’t try to weasel a hookup. I call her and invite her out. I try to choose an activity that suits her. For the athletic ones, I might suggest a bike ride. For the casual gals, maybe an afternoon at a craft beer festival. For the Louboutin-styled lady, I find sushi or the latest hip eatery that fits the bill. There’s no need to half-ass anything in life, especially a first date. I go all out and make sure we can truly get to know each other. Find out if we’re compatible.
I haven’t asked Mia out, though, and it’s not because of Max. Not really. The guy is a total softie inside. Plus, he’s not, ya know, a dickhead who’d pull that whole don’t date my sister because she’s my sister bullshit.
The bigger reason is she’s not around that much. I suppose I’m not, either. But she’s really not around. She doesn’t even live here. She lives in San Francisco, and though she makes it to New York enough for me to have developed a wicked attraction to her that shows no signs of abating, she’s not here enough for me to realistically pursue dating her. Or mating her. Or more.
We pull up at a trail near the town of Cold Spring in the Hudson Valley, and I try to shove all thoughts of attraction out of my head. That involves some seriously intense mental gymnastics, since Mia is completely fetching in her khaki shorts, white sneakers, and a sky-blue scoop-neck shirt. When she unzips the light hoodie that she’s been wearing, I read her T-shirt. It says “I’m sorry for what I said when I was hungry.”
After I harness up Zeus, I nod at her shirt and say, “Good thing I packed two servings of surprise food for you. I take it this means you’re one of those people for whom hangry is a real word?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You know how some people are before coffee?”
I nod.
“That’s me unfed.”
I laugh as we head for the trailhead, enjoying the sun shining brightly above. “We need a food mood ring for you. It would detect your probable mood based on what fuel you’ve consumed, and it would warn me when stores are dangerously low.”
“I had oatmeal and blueberries this morning, so the arrow should still point in the pleasant range, but in a few hours, it’ll drop precipitously into disagreeable.”
“Good thing I’m prepared.”
Mia makes eye contact with my backpack. “Looks like you’re prepared for everything.”
I know too well the risks of getting lost in the woods, so I’ve packed some of the basics. Better to be safe than sorry. “I am.”
I gesture to the soft dirt path that unfurls ahead of us at the base of the hill before it winds into a more wooded section. “After you.”
She holds up her hand as a stop sign, then points at me, accusatorially. “Wait. Aren’t you supposed to be the nature guide?”
I run a hand through my hair. “Yes, but the way I see it is if I send you ahead, you’ll be my canary so I’m aware of any jagged rocks, quicksand, snakes, mountain lions, or even the occasional man-eating twig.”
She shoots me a steely stare. “If the twigs are man-eaters, then they’ll be aiming for you.” She spins around and takes off in a sprint, initiating a full-on, all-out, shotgun-has-fired race. “Catch me if you can!”
Holy shit.
She’s a blur.
She glances over her shoulder, waving to egg me on.
I’m fast, too. I could catch up in seconds. The trouble is, Zeus is allergic to running. Sure, he can tear off in hot pursuit of a small, and likely, tasty bird. But that’s about the extent of his speed footwork. He’s not playing Mia’s game. Instead, he puts one white paw in front of the other and walks.
And walks.
And walks.
“Dude, you’re cock-blocking me,” I mutter to the cat.
He lifts his face and utters an au contraire meow.
“Can you try to at least jog?”
If cats could laugh, Zeus would be doubled over as he strolls after the woman.
“How about a trot? Maybe a power walk?”
A minute later, I’ve caught up to Mia, who’s laughing, her hands on her hips. “I’ll take my medal now, please.”
“And what event is that in?”
“In leaving you in the dust,” she says, shaking her hips back and forth, like a badass trash-talker. I see taking Mia out of the city has made her even feistier.
“I had a handicap. My cat.”
“Aww. Poor Zeus.” She bends to scratch his ears. He stretches up into her palm. “I’m sorry Patrick is blaming you for him being slow.”
I roll my eyes, shaking my head in amusement. “One, I’m not slow. But two, you’re a jackrabbit.”
She rises. “Not a cheetah?”
“Anyone can call you a cheetah. Not everyone knows jackrabbits are the seventh fastest land animal. However,” I say, gesturing to the gray boy by my side, “the humble house cat is not on the list at all. Hence, we stroll today.”
She shrugs and smiles, a grin full of mischief, as we begin our trek. “‘I took a walk in the woods and came out taller than the trees.’”
She’s quoting Thoreau. She’s not helping things at all. I was a lit major in college, and his work inspired me. His writings on nature were my drug. Nope, there’s very little Mia can do, it seems, to make me not want her.
“That’s a good one. But my favorite of his is, ‘If one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.’”
“I love that. I even love the simplified version you see in those inspirational quotes.”
“Live the life you’ve imagined,” I begin, and she jumps in to finish with me. “Go confidently in the direction of your dreams.”
I smile, impressed.
Her smile spreads, too, shifting from playfulness to warmth. “There’s a shop at SFO Airport that has magnets with all sorts of popular business and life quotes. You know—dream big, work hard, innovate, pivot. I always stop to read them, since they give me a warm glow. But I love that one best. Because I want that life.” She glances at the cat. “Speaking of dreams, it’s one of mine to say I walked a cat. May I?”
I hand her the leash, and she beams. Just fucking beams. And that smile hooks into me, lighting me up, so I step closer, lower my voice, and say, “The reason I said ‘after you’ at the start of the trail is that I’m a gentleman, and I still believe that ladies come first.” I stop, reining in a smirk. “Go first, I mean. Ladies go first.”
Her pupils dilate, and she blinks. Then, her shoulders rise and fall, more dramatically than before. Good. If she’s going to beguile me with quotes from my favorite philosopher–poet, then perhaps I’ll tease her with a little wordplay, too. Of the dirtier variety. The kind that’ll make her imagine. Make her feel. Make her wonder.
“That’s considerate of you. And I do like gentlemen,” she says, a slight catch in her breath when she says like.
Sunshine, lip gloss, and her. That’s what I’d taste if I pressed my mouth to hers the way I want.
But she’s given no indication she wants a kiss.
I step around her on the path, pointing to a gnarly twig for her to avoid.
“Man-eating variety?” she asks as we walk.
“That one likes speedy women, so be careful.”
“Thanks for the warning. And since you were right about twigs, does that mean you were accurate about snakes on this trail?”
Her voice is calm and even, unlike the way most people talk about snakes. Usually the word comes out in a chilled whisper.
“There are some, sure. We’re outdoors. But you don’t see them too often, and I know how to handle them, so you don’t have to worry.” I study her face, looking for signs of fear. I don’t see any. “You’re not afraid of snakes, are you?”
“Let’s put it this way—I’m not about to curl up on the couch and share popcorn with one, but I can deal with them.”
Something furry, not reptilian, rustles in a bush ahead, and Zeus goes bananas. He lunges, jerking Mia with him, yanking her as he charges after his favorite thing in the world. The one thing he’ll run after forever—a squirrel.
“His greatest dream is to have squirrel for a meal,” I say as Mia gently tugs him away.
“Let me guess. He hasn’t yet achieved that?”
I shake my head. “Not yet. But hope springs eternal.” I cycle back to the conversation. “So, snakes don’t scare you off. What are you afraid of?”
Her answer is immediate. “Balconies,” she says, shuddering.
I arch a brow. “Balconies, as in decks?”
She nods vigorously.
“I’d never have guessed. Max’s apartment is on the twenty-fifth floor.”
She raises a finger as she sidesteps a low branch. “Aha. Therein lies the issue. I’m not afraid of being up high. I’m afraid of standing on a balcony.”
Awareness dawns on me. “You either have the fear of the balcony crumbling under you, or the one where you’ll fling yourself off.”
“The second one. It’s so weird, isn’t it?” she says, her voice full of seeming surprise that she feels this way. As if she doesn’t entirely know what to make of this fear of hers. “I know logically I won’t. I love life, and I don’t have suicidal tendencies. But when I’m on a balcony, I’m supremely aware that I could hoist my leg over and jump off. It’s such a strange fear, Patrick.”
Her tone is intense, but what strikes me the most is the way she says my name. As if there’s a special intimacy to this confession.
“I’ve never admitted that to anyone,” she says, under her breath, almost astonished she gave this fear voice.
I’m pleased—proud, if I’m honest—she chose me for this confidence, but curious as to her reasoning. “Why haven’t you told anyone?”
“Most people wouldn’t understand it,” she says, as a monarch butterfly flutters past my head, flapping its sun-yellow wings. I point to it as she talks, and she smiles, watching it fly away before she goes on. “Most people would worry it means I’m going to launch myself overboard, but that’s not it. It’s just that my brain can see all the horrible things unfolding. Even though I know rationally that I won’t do them, the mind still lets the images unfurl. And that’s how I feel when I stand on a balcony and look down. I feel all the things that could happen, and some ancient human curiosity pokes and prods at me, saying test it out, even though of course I don’t want to.”
“So why’d you tell me if you think sharing this will make people think you’re crazy?”
Her eyes are a darker green than I’ve ever seen before as she answers. “You’re different. You’re not like everyone else.”
And that’s one of those things people say that can rock your world or upend it.
4
Different.
It’s one of those adjectives that can go either way.
He’s a little, how shall we say, different.
I’ve never thought of myself as different. I’m a regular guy. I’m not someone who has odd habits, like swabbing my ears with Q-tips in public, or discussing Q-tip swabbing in mixed company, for that matter, or even standing so close to strangers that they can smell my breath. Though, to be clear, it’s minty fresh since I brush as if it’s a religion.
But aside from walking a cat, I’m as regular as they come.
“Lay it on me, Mia. Tell me why you think I’m different. You don’t like the beard?” I run my hand over my chin.
She laughs. “The beard is great.”
“Clearly, you have something against dudes who like cats, then.”
“Oh my God. I love animals. You know that. I volunteer at WildCare, helping injured wildlife. I do what I do because I love animals more than people most of the time.”
“Then obviously, you found my high school yearbook photo.”
She arches a brow, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. “No, but now I want to.”
“Don’t. Just don’t,” I say, my voice deeper, warning her. Because that right there is a line no one should cross.
“Fine, fine. I’ll stop rifling through your underwear drawer for your yearbook.”
Mia and my boxer briefs. I’m just going to linger on that thought for another second. Okay, back to the matter at hand.
“So I’m different?” I draw air quotes. “What’s the story?”
She smiles broadly at me. “It’s a compliment. You’re different because you’re normal.”
A laugh starts deep in my belly, rumbles up my chest, and bursts from me. A hearty, happy laugh. “Normal. I’ll take that.”
“Trust me. It’s a huge compliment. Most people aren’t as easygoing as you. As laid-back. As comfortable with who they are. I think that’s why I told you about the war I’ve been waging with balconies.”
“I’m glad you shared your balcony battles.”
She sighs deeply, as if she’s inhaling the fresh, invigorating air. She stretches her neck from side to side and shimmies her shoulders, almost as if a weight has lifted. “You were right. Getting away from work and phones and pressure does help.”
I flash her a smile, giving myself a mental fist bump. It makes me happy to know I’ve helped her.
She points to the trail. “Keep on going. It’s your turn now. Tell your friend Mia—what are you afraid of, Patrick?”
“Vegas,” I say, shuddering. “Can’t stand that city.”
“Oh, stop it. You’re not afraid of Vegas.”
“Fine. I just dislike it.”
She laughs. “I like Vegas. It’s fun. A little crazy and over-the-top, but I take it all in stride. Why do you hate it? You live in one of the biggest cities in the world.”
“I don’t really hate Vegas. But there’s no balance to it like there is in New York City. See, Manhattan operates at a million miles an hour, but then it surprises you with Central Park and Hudson River Greenway, and then a cobblestoned street in the Village. And water—everywhere there’s water.”
She sighs happily. “I do love Manhattan, too. But you still haven’t told me. Fears. Fess up. Be truthful.”
So we’re playing the getting-to-know-you game. I can do this. I like this. I want this. Plus, the answer is easy. My big fear? I’ve conquered it. I adjust my pack slightly, dropping my shades to my eyes since the sun is rising higher and hitting harder. “Bridges.”
“Huh. That surprises me.”
“Yeah?”
“I can’t see that at all. Do you mean like those crazy bridges you see on Facebook? Would you cross this bridge? And then it’s a glass bridge with a view from one thousand feet above roaring waters? Or do you me
an the rickety bridges in a jungle?”
“Rickety bridges I can handle. Even glass bridges. My issue was with the ones I have to drive over.” It’s my turn to shudder. “Those were mildly horrifying.”
“Ohhhhh,” she says, dragging out the word. “You’re afraid of crashing, tumbling over the side of the bridge, and being stuck in a car.”
I mime hammering. “Nailed it. But I got over it.”
“How did you get over it? Did you buy a car with manual windows so you could always escape and swim free?”
“That, and I drive wearing flippers and goggles so I’m ready.”
“Ha ha,” she says, shoving my shoulder. “Seriously. What did you do? Because you were completely fine when we drove across that bridge over the Hudson.”
“I kept doing it,” I say, matter-of-factly. “I kept facing the fear. Stared it down, so to speak. Honestly, it was the hardest thing for me when I moved to Manhattan. So many bridges, right?”
“Like they’ve mated and produced baby bridges everywhere.”
“Exactly. I had to deal with all the bridges. I played music to keep me in an upbeat zone, and actually talked back to myself as I drove over them. I said things like I’m fine, I’m in control, I’m safe.”
She smiles. “That’s kind of cool. You took charge of your fear. You didn’t let it control you. Is it gone entirely? Did you even think about it when we drove here?”
“Sure, it occurred to me. But I can handle it now.” I take a beat, casting my gaze behind me to meet her eyes. I wink. “Though, next time it would be so much easier if you’d hold my hand.”
“Want me to pet your hair and sing lullabies, too?”
“Yeah, maybe not.”
“Okay, next order of business,” she says as we wind along the trail, heading higher into the hills. “Tell me something you’re still afraid of. Tell me a fear you haven’t conquered, because otherwise I’ll think you’re not normal.”
I scratch my chin, considering her question, as Zeus sniffs a purple wildflower tucked beside a small boulder. In the distance, I can make out the faint gurgling of a stream. The sound of water rippling over smooth stones is music to me. It means I’m outdoors. I’m moving. My legs are working. My heart is pumping blood. This is what I love. Energy. Action. Living. The way I feel under the big sky, with no pavement between the earth and my feet, is why I have one big fear.