Page 28 of Here for a Good Time
“Vaguely,” I say as I try to recall. He had wanted me to join him, but it would’ve involved giving up my weekends for an entire month. Besides, it wasn’t like we worked at a jewelry store.What kind of foolish robbers would want to rob an independent bookstore?I’d asked.
“We were taught that if someone is in the back room while robbers come in, that person’s primary focus should be on getting help, either by escaping or trying to get the attention of your neighbors. You shouldnottry to be the hero and free everybody,” Zwe is saying. “The closest source of help right now is Leila’s family.”
“Leila said her family lives in themountains,” I remind him, taking the first sweatshirt and pair of jeans at the top of my suitcase. “How the fuck are we going to knowwhichmountain they’re on? There are, like, fifty of them!”
We’ve got our backs to each other, but I can hear Zwe changing out of his pajamas, too. “There aren’tfifty,” he says sarcastically. “And I imagine there’s a way forthemto access the resort too, which means there must be a path somewhere, probably out in the back. There was a map of hiking paths here somewhere—” He trails off, and I first take a tentative peek over my shoulder to make sure he’s dressed. He is, in jeans and a long-sleeved henley. Making his way over to the desk, he quietly checks the drawers until he locates what he’s looking for: a rectangular sheet of paper that’s been folded multiple times (the map, I’m presuming).
I sit down on the bed with rolled socks in one hand, my sneakers in the other. “You seriously think we can make our way through this massive resort, toward the hiking trail, climb up a whole-ass mountain, and locate a group of people we’ve never met? And in the cold dark of the night? Do we even knowwhichhiking trail is the correct one?”
“Do you have a better plan?” Zwe says as he forcefully tugs his own shoelaces tight. He’s sitting on the floor, backpack by his side, map folded into a smaller rectangle that’s already tucked into his pocket.
“I never said I did. I just am asking if yours is… the best.”
“No plan.” He gets to his feet and slings on the backpack. “No input.”
I open my bag with the intention of unloading any items I might not need, but almost instantly talk myself into believing that Imightneed a pen or mints or wet wipes at some point. And Icertainly can’t leave my water bottle and wallet behind, and you always,alwayspack a book with you. In the end, I remove my mini floss and Tide pen.
“Passport?” Zwe asks.
“Yes, Dad,” I say, although I feel for the rectangular bump within the inside zip compartment, just to be sure. Reaching across him, I unplug my laptop from its charger and am putting it inside my bag’s padded laptop compartment when a hand stops on top of mine.
“What are you doing?” His expression is one of utter bafflement.
“What does it look like?” I zip the bag shut, laptop secured. “I’m getting ready to go hike a mountain. We’re going to need to ration the granola bars, by the way. I only have two.”
“You’re not bringing your laptop.”
I blink to make sure I’ve heard him right. “I’m notnotbringing my laptop.”
“Poe, you’re going to struggle enough as is to hike a mountain—”
I rear back. “Hey! I can hike—”
“Ssshhh!” he hisses, eyes widening.
Sorry,I mouth. Then, whispering this time, “I can hike! You think I’m leaving my laptop behind in a hotel room that we’re never going to return to? My manuscript is on there!”
“Seriously?That’swhat you’re concerned about right now? Yourmanuscript?” he hisses out the last word.
“Yes, because I’ve been working really hard, and—”
“You don’t even have a manuscript, though! You hate everything you’ve been writing! They’re all in your trash folder!”
I know he doesn’t mean it as an insult. It’s a fact, one that he heard from my own lips: Ihavehated every word I’ve been writing.But still. Even in this particular moment, to hear it said out loud by somebody else—it feels like I accidentally touched a lit candle. The hurt isn’t massive, but itdoesstill hurt.
On his part, Zwe immediately looks apologetic. “I’m—” he starts.
“I started a new one last night—” I cut in. “And I think it’s got real potential, and I haven’t connected to the Wi-Fi so I can’t email it to myself. Zwe, call me insane or inefficient or stupid, or whatever you want, but I’m not leaving my laptop behind.”
“I would never think any of those things,” he says. “But a laptop is not a priority right now.”
“It’s coming with me,” I state matter-of-factly.
We engage in a staring contest that might’ve gone on for much longer were it not for a new sudden explosion of gunshots.
“Fine, but if you need a break, we’re switching bags,” Zwe says resolutely.
I roll my eyes. “Ugh, we get it, you’re a gym bro, you can hike a mountain carryingtwobackpacks.”
