Page 21 of Red, White, and You

Wonderful.

Leaving my laptop and phone at my table, I stand and make my way to the long buffet line, scanning the food on display. I can’t recall the last time I ate at a buffet, but I can’t make a stink about that now when this is the only option for food and my stomach growls angrily.

Once I locate the plates and silverware, I grab a few slices of bacon, a biscuit and butter, and a spoonful of fresh fruit, then head for the coffee station and pour myself a cup.

When I return to my seat, I bring the mug to my nose and breathe in the rich aroma, then take a tentative sip. The warm liquid caresses my tongue, awakening my senses as I observe the campers around me, their laughter and easy banter simultaneously intriguing and intimidating. There's a sparkle in their eyes, an air of freedom in the way they interact.

Each moment I spend here brings me closer to relaxation, even as my basest instinct is to work. Hustle. There’s an itch at the base of my neck, a pull. I’ve managed to enjoy my coffee without checking my work inbox, but the struggle is growing more difficult with every passing moment.

By the time I finish my breakfast, the need to open my laptop and check my work emails is a relentless itch I cannot scratch. But still, I refrain. Not a single screen or handheld device in the entire room. Just smiling faces, connection…

I want that.

So I gather my courage and, instead of making my way to Brady’s office to connect to his Wi-Fi, I turn left and head toward the yoga studio.

Work can wait.

Besides, itisSaturday, and unplugging for the weekend shouldn’t be that difficult. Everyone does it.

Or so I’m told.

The yoga room is set up to put campers at ease. From the soft music to the essential oils, everything is muted and quiet. I grab a mat and a bottle of water, then find a place at the edge of the room and begin to stretch. I’ve taken a yoga class or two, but it’s been years. I find I don’t have the time for exercise, so I get in as much cardio as I can on the treadmill desk during my lunch hour.

The instructor enters the room, dressed in the same muted earth tones the rest of the room is decorated with, and positions herself on her mat. She speaks so softy I can’t hear her from my position in the back, so I just wait, watching the others to gauge my next move.

As their bodies bend and stretch with graceful ease, every move I make feels stiff and awkward, a stark contrast to the fluidity that surrounds me. Shocking, I know. Just another example of why I don’t belong here.

I stumble through the poses, my muscles protesting against the unfamiliar motions. A part of me longs to retreat, to seek solace in the familiarity of my structured life. But another part, a voice that has been silenced for far too long, urges me to keep going, to embrace the discomfort and find my own rhythm.

The one-hour class ticks by slowly, but I stick through it, and though I am already sore by the end of the class, I do feel, strangely,lighter.

Maybe this is what relaxation feels like?

With my computer and cell phone still in hand, and my work emails still unchecked, I head back to the cabin in hopesthat Brady has returned early. Instead, I find a note on the bed. He came by to check on me but had to return to his office.

He’ll be back this afternoon.

Once I change out of my yoga clothes and into a swimsuit, I venture toward the glistening swimming pool, a sanctuary of cool, blue water. The sun caresses my bare shoulders, its warmth seeping into my very core. God, I miss the sun. It’s not that we don’t have sunshine in New York—we have some truly excruciating summers—but I don’t find myself basking it in like I did when I was young. My skin hasn’t been naturally bronzed in ages. Just a quick airbrush tan every few weeks has sufficed for the past decade or so.

I locate one of only a handful of empty lounges and settle into it. Closing my eyes, I allow the gentle breeze to carry away my worries, embracing the idleness that has eluded me for far too long.

Time drifts by, and as the midday sun warms my skin, I close my eyes, and… just breathe.

Brady

After most of the day without her, I’m anxious to return to Brie. I knew seeing her again would be an emotional journey, but I had underestimated the way she completely consumes my every thought. All these years away haven’t dampened the memory of our time together, but knowing she’s near, within my grasp, is more distracting than I’d planned for.

And my meetings took longer than expected, which has me checking my watch every few seconds.

A few hours ago, I sent Duffy to get Brie from the pool and let her know of our plans tonight so she’d have time to get ready. Then, as soon as my afternoon appointment was finished, I grabbed a quick shower at my place, and now I’m hurrying down the path toward the dining hall.

The sun has set, and the dining hall is lively and loud with the sounds of laughter and chatter as campers prepare for their meals, but I pass the entrance and continue to the small, inconspicuous door on the side of the building. One thing I knew had to be included in Camp West was cooking, as I’ve always loved everything about food. There’s a culinary class each night, with rotating chefs hailing from all over the world. From London to New York to Oaxaca. Though the classes are included in the price of the camp, guests must bookthem in advance.

Tonight, I’ve reserved the room for just the two of us.

I walk into the cozy kitchen, a mix of nerves and anticipation swirling inside me. It’s the second night of camp, and even though our physical connection is still very much alive, I’m wary of the years apart and what they might mean for the future I want with Brie.

Because Idowant a future with my wife, and I’m hoping that by the end of this week together, she’ll want that, too.

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