Walk on the Wilder Side by Serena Bell
39
Brody
The sweet spot between a plan and no plan is what Rachel and I do next.
First, we help her abuelita, Caridad, pack up her Washington Heights apartment, get her belongings loaded on a moving truck, and drive her to the airport. Rachel’s mom will meet her on the other end.
While we’re doing that, Caridad plies us with endless Cuban cooking. She speaks to Rachel mostly in Spanish. Sometimes Rachel sends me apology eyes since I understand about twenty percent of what they’re saying, but the thing is, I kind of love it. I especially love it in the evening when they watch telenovelas together and talk back to the characters while I tie flies at the coffee table. From time to time, I catch myself just watching Rachel smiling and laughing.
Once Caridad’s things are packed and we get her on a plane, Rachel and I rent an RV and drive back across the country.
First, of course, I recruit Kane to run Brody’s Boat for a couple of weeks. I promise him I’ll make it up to him by helping him plan the winter festival, Tinsel and Tatas Gala & Games, this winter.
I check in with Gabe to make sure he can do without me for those two weeks. He tells me to check in occasionally and to keep an eye out for some trip ideas to assuage Lucy’s unending hunger for new concepts. (I’m getting the feeling Gabe’s sexual fortunes rise and fall depending on whether he can satisfy that hunger of Lucy’s. Though I don’t think he minds, as long as he’s satisfying Lucy somehow or other.)
I let Zoë know the travel situation, too, because I know she’s been hoping for some Justin coverage. Both my mother and Amanda have been talking about nothing other than the fact that Justin has started turning his head when you say his name, so I don’t think Zoë will have any trouble getting the childcare she needs.
All this checking in with people and making sure I’m exactly where I need to be feels extremely weird and foreign.
And really fucking good.
Meanwhile, Rachel has absolutely zero responsibilities, which she says feels really “dang good.”
We decide to follow the Oregon Trail, of course, mostly because I want to show Rachel Yellowstone, which she’s never seen, and because the best fly fishing is along that route. And yes, I have my gear with me. I don’t leave home without it, because you never know when you might stumble on a quiet river.
We spot many of them, and Rachel looks beautiful in all of them, sun glinting off the hidden highlights in her dark hair and turning her skin an even deeper tan.
Her casting is getting really good, and one night, she makes me teach her how to tie a simple fly. We sit for a long time with all my materials spread out. Her fingers are smaller than mine, and even though she has less experience, she gets good at it quickly.
She says she understands why I like it so much, why I think it’s such good meditation.
We never know where we’re going to stop or stay until we get there, which scares the shit out of Rachel. And also, she loves it.
We sleep out under the stars most of the time. The RV mostly gets used at night for the pre-sleep activities we engage in, frequently and vigorously.
Our last stop is Tierney Bay on the Oregon Coast, where we treat ourselves to a night at Beachcrest Inn. The proprietors there, Auburn and Trey, tell us all kinds of hidden places to visit, and we thoroughly enjoy ourselves in the town, at the Inn, and on this secret beach they hip us to, hidden away from prying eyes.
We also made a deal with Auburn and Trey to swap promo—Wilder Adventures will keep an eye out for people on the move who are headed toward the coast, and they’ll keep an eye out for visitors looking for other great destinations.
On the last night, parked in the RV at Tierney Bay State Park, which has got to be the most beautiful campground on the whole Oregon coast, I say to Rachel, “So. When I suggested this cross country trip, I had ulterior motives.”
She turns in my arms and runs a finger down my chest. Even though I just finished making love to her, my body stirs, ready to go another round. It’s like that with Rachel. We’ve both been insatiable. “Getting me naked in an RV every night?”
“Well, that, yes, but beyond that. I figured if the two of us could live for two weeks together in an RV, I could make a convincing case that we’d be happy together in an 900-square-foot apartment.” I shrug. “Oh. And some of the time we’d have an infant who still doesn’t always sleep through the night? I promise not to make you change diapers.”
“Brody. Are you asking me to move in with you?”
Her eyes glitter in the low light.
“Are you crying?” I ask, with wonder.
“Can I tell you something?” she says, sniffling. “When I was a little kid, and I played all those games? Library, wedding, house? Do you know who the groom was? The daddy? The man in the plan?”
I shake my head.
“You, Brody. It was you. It was always you.”