Page 29 of My Favorite Bad Decision
I thank him, though I want to groan aloud, while Miller turns on the lamp.
Once again, the inside of the tent has iced over, but the tent isn’t bowing at all. At the risk of sounding suspicious, I’m not sure why my tent is withstanding the weight of the ice so effortlessly while Miller’s buckled.
Whatever. I sort of liked feeling him there beside me in the darkness, heavy and solid. It was oddly comforting, though I’ll never, ever say that aloud.
“Rise and shine, Kitten,” he says.
Ugh. That nickname.
“Give me a sec,” I reply. “I’m trying to figure out what symptoms I should feign to be carried back down the mountain.”
He laughs. “Imagine all the shit Gerald will talk if you do that.”
I throw my covers off. “Thank you for that motivational speech. Let’s go kick the Barranco Wall’s ass.”
We pull on multiple layers over the woolens we slept in, repack our gear, and go to the dining tent. The energy today is nervous and I see why: now that the rain is gone we’ve got a clear view of the wall, and from here, it looks as if we’ll be scaling a cliff.
“One of you is definitely not making it,” Gerald says, nodding at me. “The wall is hard as hell.” He’s generally full of shit, but I’ve heard about the wall prior to the trip, so I’m worried that, just this once, he might be right.
I sip my coffee and scoop some eggs I probably won’t eat—the altitude and nerves have taken a hit on my appetite.
“More, Kit,” Miller says quietly, sliding the fried bread my way.
“I was planning just to eat all the snacks you’re carrying up,” I reply.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about,” he says, but his grin—that shy dimple blinking to life—says that he’d probably let me.
“Please be careful today,” Stacy begs of her kids.
“It’s not even supposed to be that bad, Mom,” says Alex. He grins at me, but it’s definitely been different between us since he learned I’ve got a boyfriend. Or perhaps it’s different because no one seems to believe Miller’s tent actually broke.
“There’s a portion of it called the kissing wall,” Stacy replies. “You know why? Because the trail is so narrow that you have to kiss the wall not to go over the side.”
My stomach drops, and the face I seek is Miller’s. I never wanted his to be the face in the crowd for me, the point of reference, the thing that reassured me, but it is and up here, he’s all I’ve got.
“It’ll be fine,” he mouths, his gaze holding mine.I’m not going to let you get hurtis what that gaze says, and I believe him.
This is how Miller and Blake are different: Miller says very little and means every word, while Blake tends to say things he doesn’t believe in the least. He’ll announce that every meal is the best meal ever, that your favorite comedian, movie, or sport is the same as his. Tell him your dream destination is Botswana, or Bolivia, or Bhutan, and he’ll tell you he’s dying to visit.
It’s not lying so much as it is agreeability and exuberance, but it makes it a little hard to believe him when we’re alone. When he tells me how much he loves me, but he’s also watching the game. When he tells me how beautiful I am, except he’s just trying to get me in bed or isn’t even looking at me as he says it.
If Miller said those things, they’d hit different. He’d look you in the eye as he said them. The words would sink so deep they’d engrain themselves into your very bones.
My stomach flips over at the thought in a way that’s pleasant and unpleasant at the same time. I don’t even want someone to like me that much because I don’t want to like anyone that much in return.
But God, a part of me wishes I did.
We return to the tent for our daypacks and set out. Gerald, as always, is loping off ahead. Leah no longer bothers trying to keep up with him—not that I blame her. I’d have made an effortnotto keep up with him in her shoes.
Today, Miller stays close to my side. I’m not sure if it’s because he actually wants to be there or because he’s worried about me climbing the wall, but I no longer mind. I like the porters, and I like the Arnaults, and I don’t mind Leah when she’s not singing or providing fake health advice, but Miller is my favorite person to talk to.
There’s a certain degree of comfort when he’s near. It’s as if, even should things go wrong, they’d stillfeelokay if he was close. It should probably bother me more, but this all ends in three days. Blake wouldn’t begrudge me taking comfort in a friend’s presence, even if that friend is a really hot and presumably single male.
“Why did you decide to do this trip?” I ask as we progress ever closer to the wall. The air is cool and the rock-littered ground is relatively flat, but I’m already breaking a sweat in the bright sun.
He hitches a shoulder. “I have this thing. The six-month rule. Every six months, I’ve got to do something really hard—something I’m not even sure Icando.”
I laugh. “That sounds…unnecessary.”
