Page 23 of Ripe & Ready
Now, standing here, unafraid for what feels like the first time in my life, I know this: I may not have been brave from the start, but I was always his.
That man behind me still offering encouragement I don’t even need has been doing that since the day we met and I know, without a doubt, that when I reach the other side… he’ll still be there.
I hate this, by the way. Let’s be clear. But I’m learning that hating something and doing it anyway with my chest out and my head up aren’t mutually exclusive.
What I don’t hate is feeling like someone believes in me enough to make me believe in myself.
I don’t look back until I’m across.
When I do, the older woman behind me nods. Grateful.
The rest of the group follows. Not emboldened by my epic feat or anything. More likely wondering why I was going so slow and looking like I was contemplating the meaning of life while crossing a tree.
Derek’s the last to go. The anchor of the group. The one who always makes sure everyone else is safe before moving on.
When he lands in front of me, he’s got that look again. Like I did something huge.
“One banana and suddenly you’re leader of the pack,” he says.
“You were right. I needed the potassium.”
He laughs. Hard. The real kind that takes over his whole face.
The group keeps walking, but we don’t move. We stay there and the seconds that pass by feel like an eternity I’m willing to waste with this man.
He lets out a breath, then, almost like a confession. “I’m glad you were the one who got us out of our own heads. I don’t think I could’ve.”
I give it a beat to be sure I heard that right. “That’s a lie.”
He shrugs, eyes searching mine. “I’ve done a lot of reckless shit, Andy. Climbed mountains. Jumped out of planes. But choosing you and waiting, hoping you’d choose me back? That’s the scariest thing I’ve ever done. I couldn’t just leap. I needed to know there was a net.”
Around us the leaves rustle, far-off bird calls drift through the trees, and somewhere up ahead, someone calls Obed’s name.
But I stay right where I am, and Derek reaches for my hand.
“If we both fall, at least we’ll cushion the landing,” he says.
I blink, throat tight.
“Don’t cry,” he adds, bumping my shoulder. “You’ll spook the gorillas.”
“No promises,” I mutter.
We start walking again, and for the first time in a long time, I’m not chasing after something, and I’m definitely not running from it. I’m part of it. I’m not tagging along on one of Derek’s adventures. This time, he’s meeting me where I am and somehow, that makes it ours.
EPILOGUE
FIVE MONTHS LATER
“Don’t be afraid. Open it.”
Even with my best reassuring smile, I can tell Derek’s still a little apprehensive about the rectangular box in his lap. He’s holding it like it might detonate which, to be fair, it sort of could. Socially. Emotionally. Especially if his mom had seen what’s inside.
We spent the morning with his family. His parents, his brothers, a swarm of sticky-handed nieces and nephews high on sugar and Christmas spirit, buried in a mountain of wrapping paper. But we saved our own gifts for tonight. Mostly for the quiet.
But also because what’s in that box? It’s definitely not something his very sweet, very conservative family needed to witness.
If I only get to see this man on holidays and scattered weekends, I’m gonna make it count. His family doesn’t need to know the hows and whys of that.
