Page 36 of My Favorite Bad Decision
Miller tugs me closer. “He got to leave the world knowing he was loved by you. I promise that meant more to him than any summit ever could.”
It doesn’t remove my guilt, but he isn’t entirely wrong...I think what we haddidmean more to Rob than those summits he wanted to conquer, in the same way that he meant more to me than med school...and we were lucky to find it. Not everyone does.
I know I need to dry my eyes and pull my shit together. But I like being exactly where I am right now—sitting in the dirt, freezing cold, pressed up against the only person I’ve ever told this to.
Somehow, I knew he’d make it better, and I was right.
* * *
We reachour final camp before the summit a little while later. Like Barafu, it’s a barren desert where the wind blows hard, and you don’t really want to be anywhere but inside a warm sleeping bag.
We’re fed an early dinner, everyone gets their oxygen checked, and then they brief us about what will happen next. “Sleep,” says Gideon. “We will wake you at eleven to get ready, eat a small meal, and leave by midnight.”
I swallow. Around me, the faces are serious. Thousands of people manage this each year, but…that doesn’t mean it will be easy. We’re going to be climbing in absolute darkness for six or more hours, on little sleep, in freezing weather. And then we’ll still have to climb back down.
What if I just can’t do it? I know I’ve got Miller there, and the porters, but I also don’t want to be the person who fucks up someone else’s trip.
“See you in a few hours,” I say, squeezing Maddie’s hand. She’s okay so far. I really hope it stays that way.
“She’ll be fine,” Miller says as we walk back to the tent.
“You don’t know that,” I whisper.
“You’re right,” he says as we climb inside. “But if the altitude hasn’t gotten to her so far, I’d say the odds are good that tonight will be no different. I also spoke to Gideon. He’s got oxygen canisters if it’s an issue. We’ll keep an eye on her.”
I reach for my brush, swallowing hard so he won’t see how touched I am. “Thank you.”
I start trying to work the day’s knots out of my hair and he holds out his hand.
“Here,” he says. “It’ll be easier for me.”
I raise a brow. No man has ever brushed my hair in my life, aside from hairdressers.
“I have sisters, remember?” he asks.
I hand him the brush and turn away. “Charlie has never brushed my hair once.”
“Well, obviously,” he says, working out a knot with his fingers. “Brushing yourownsisters’ hair would be gross.”
I laugh and then quiet. It’s surprisingly soothing, having his hands in my hair. I wonder if this is how dogs feel about being petted. If he kept brushing my hair the way he is, I could fall asleep sitting up.
“The Rob thing,” he says. “Is that why your dad actually wanted you to do this? Was it some push to help you get over it?”
I shake my head the little I can with the brush pulling my hair. “No, not exactly. I think it’s about the ashes.”
He stops brushing. “Ashes?”
I glance over my shoulder at him and take the brush away as I turn his direction. “Rob’s mother gave me a little cup full of his ashes. She said I should leave them in a place that he loved or a place that he would’ve loved. It’s almost as if she was asking me not to fuck it up this time.”
“Kit,” he groans. “I’m sure that’s not what she meant. So I guess you must still have them, then?”
I run my fingers through a tangled section of hair. “I’ve brought them everywhere. I’ve carried them with me since he died.”
His eyes widen. “Jesus. You’re saying that you’ve carried that little cup with you everywhere forfouryears?”
“Well, you make it sound weird when you say it like that.”
He looks so incredibly sad, and worried. “Kit…”
