Page 1 of Ripe & Ready
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“What are you afraid of?”
Derek’s voice cuts through the humidity like it’s nothing, like we’re not standing in the middle of the actual jungle surrounded by god-knows-what kind of wildlife, one mosquito bite away from a medical emergency. His words settle somewhere low in my chest. Not sharp. Just... direct. Like always.
And I think… so much, actually.
I’m in Odzala-Kokoua National Park in the Republic of the Congo. The actual Congo. On foot. In boots I borrowed. Preparing for an expedition to observe western lowland gorillas, an experience that, according to Derek, is “once-in-a-lifetime,” and according to me, is “a pretty solid way to die.”
This is the first time I’ve left our hometown. The first time I’ve left the country. The first time I’ve had to get six vaccines just to be in the same place as the man I’ve secretly been in love with for the last ten years.
And still, none of that is half as terrifying as the idea of telling him how I feel.
Despite my parents’ best efforts to raise me into someone confident, I wasn’t built for brave faces. I wasn’t made to take risks. I like safe. Safe makes sense. Danger? Not for me.
Like the time my dad took me on a Ferris wheel when I was little and we discovered, together, that I’m absolutely terrified of heights. Yes, I threw up over the side. Yes, it landed directly on my mom and sister in the car below. No, we don’t talk about it.
Or when I was twelve and my mom signed me up for horseback riding lessons as if riding a giant skittish animal was the key to self-esteem. I was so scared of the horse I wouldn’t go within ten feet of it. Eventually, I got on. Immediately panicked. Fell off. Broke my arm. Swore I’d never do it again.
The horse was fine, in case you were wondering.
Then there was the time in high school when I told a boy I had a crush on him and he punched me in the face.
So yeah. Trying new things? Not a great track record.
Every new thing, every so-called brave thing, ended the same way. I got hurt.
So that’s the lesson, right? Stick to what you know. Keep your head down. Don’t reach. Don’t want too much.
But I want this, so here I am. Sweltering in the jungle, next to a man I yearn for, putting on the bravest face I can muster.
Derek Bannen is a walking adrenaline rush of a man, every inch of him carved by chaos and sun. His skin is golden and sweat-slick and glowing. His shirt clings to him, soaked through and stretched across a chest that was obviously hand-sculpted by a Greek god with a cardio addiction.
His abs flex with every breath, taut and unbothered, while his straw hat sits cockeyed on his head, barely containing the wild, sun-bleached mess of curls spilling out beneath it.
I glance over and meet his eyes. Sweet Mary mother of God, those eyes. Sharp and amber-bright, like they’ve never second-guessed a single decision in their life and right now, they’re locked on me. Watching me like I’m something worth seeing.
“What am I afraid of?” I echo, forcing a smile. “Literally everything.”
“How can you be afraid, Andy?” Derek laughs, nodding toward the stilted, wood-and-thatch hut that will be our lodging for the next week. “Our room has a roof! It’s not like we’re sleeping with the gorillas.”
No, but it does look like the most precarious thing I’ve ever seen. The hut is a raised structure with palm panel walls and an open-air feel that suggests a high likelihood it’s vulnerable to every bug and beast in the Congo. It’s connected to the resort and main research outpost by narrow wooden bridges that creak when the wind shifts. Which, in case it’s unclear, is deeply unsettling.
“For the Congo, this is practically a Hilton,” he adds with a grin.
“I guess it does have a bed,” I say, mentally noting that a confident breeze with bad intentions could reduce it to rubble before sunset.
Derek’s been talking about this expedition for years. His parents paid for the whole thing. It’s a big graduation gift for getting into that fancy master’s program in biological anthropology at UCLA so he can specialize in primatology.
It was never a question of if he’d buy me a ticket. Only whether or not I’d actually go.
But considering this program is about to take him halfway across the world from our little corner of Raleigh, I didn’t say no. Because it’s Derek. And I never say no to Derek.
I accepted my role as a tagalong. Emotional support. Walking proof that sometimes love makes you do stupid things like fly across the globe and pretend you’re not terrified of snakes, parasites, and very large apes with judgmental eyes.
Figured I’d cash in on as much time with him as possible before he’s off living his jungle-research dreams and I’m stuck sending good luck texts from my couch.
So now I’m here. In the middle of the Congo. Watching the man I love live his best, mosquito-repellent-coated life while I spiral in breathable hiking pants and a deep sense of regret.
