Page 7 of My Favorite Bad Decision
When all this is done, I video call Blake, which is how most of our relationship is conducted since he splits his time between Vegas and New York.
I don’t mind the distance, and I like the way we’re able to withstand it all without the drama and jealousy that plagues my mother’s relationships so often. There was always an ache when I was separated from Rob. I prefer this—the absence of an ache.
Blake picks up the phone and tips back in his chair. He’s what I would call generically handsome—nice features, nice hair—the face of someone who could be a news anchor. Any time I walk through an airport, I see at least ten men I think might be Blake for a half second.
“There you are,” he says. “I was gonna give you a call tonight.” Blake is not one to think of things like the difference in time zones. He doesn’t mean any harm. He just has never really had to think about anyone but himself.
“I’m eleven hours ahead,” I remind him. “I’ll be on my climb in eleven hours.”
“Oh shit, for real?” he asks. “I assumed you’d be on London time.”
Which would still make it the middle of the night if he’d called, but there’s no point in quibbling.
“How is it?” he asks.
I stretch out on the bed, arranging the mosquito netting with my foot. “Well, my five-star hotel is a tent, so I’m not optimistic about the luxuriousness of the coming eight days. And you’ll never guess who’s here…Miller West. He practically lived with us for an entire summer at the Hamptons while he dated my sister—he drove out every single weekend—and then dumped her by text.”
Blake laughs. “Another of your mortal enemies, then?”
“Indeed. We’ve already argued three times and the trip hasn’t even started. I don’t think I can deal with him for a full week plus.”
“Go up with another company,” Blake says, and I fight a twinge of irritation. He’s somewhat prone to solving problems I didn’t ask him to solve, in ways that are not nearly as easy as he tries to make them sound.
“The trip’s already paid for. And it’s expensive. Like, ten grand. I can’t throw ten grand in the trash because I don’t like the guy.”
Blake shrugs, as if ten grand is meaningless. And I suppose it sort of is, but changing companies would also mean a last-minute scramble to research alternatives and find one with space and probably changing my flight home. It’s a whole lot of effort because I don’t like one person on my trip. And I’m currently with what’s considered the most luxurious of the companies that climb Kili and I’m already complaining. I doubt a cheaper company is going to make mehappier.
“Look, go to reception and slide a crisp twenty-dollar bill to someone, and you can probably get them to do anything you want.”
I wince. He sounds like a dick who thinks he can buy anyone and anything, the kind of person I’d loathe back home. My dad would probably say I shouldn’t be marrying someone who is already showing early signs of narcissism, but clearly my dad doesn’t have the greatest judgment either—I mean, look where his judgment has left me now. Plus he once chose to marry my mom.
Blake has found a couple of houses he wants us to look at when I get back to NYC. He’s wanted us to move in together for a while now, and though I’ve resisted his push to move to the suburbs, he’s probably right: it’ll be easier there once we have kids. We discuss a restaurant we both want to try and then I remind him that the sign-up deadline for our next marathon is looming. We’ll have to do most of our training separately, but at least we can commiserate after our long runs.
“Oh, shit,” he says. “Were you serious about that?”
I sigh. “Blake, we discussed it. We picked out a hotel. I’ve already registered.” I researched that trip for a week and he was endlessly enthusiastic at the time. Now he’s acting like this is news.
“Do you know how many flights that’ll take?” he asks. “It’s in the fucking arctic circle.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose.Yes, I know how many flights it will take. I showed you the flights. I showed you the train ride. And you fucking agreed. “Right, that’s what makes it so cool. Twenty-four hours of sunlight, polar bears. What could be more memorable?”
“Look, if you really need to do something different, let’s just do the London marathon instead. Direct flight. In and out.”
I want something magical, something exciting, because my regular life is fairly dull. There’s nothing wrong with running through London, but it isn’t what we discussed. It isn’t twenty-four hours of sun and polar bear sightings, with a side trip to a city that has abandoned the concept of time. But a successful marriage means compromise. It’s fine that he doesn’t want to do it. I just wish he’d fucking said so before I put in the work.
“Okay,” I say, grinding my teeth to hold in my disappointment. “I’m not going to have Internet for the next week so can you get all the details?”
He agrees readily...just like he agreed to the Norway marathon back in November, so I’m not holding my breath as we end the call.
It’s still early, but there’s not much to do so I slide into bed. The sheets are rough and too warm and this is the height of luxury compared to what I’ll go through for the next week. What if I can’t adjust? What if I’m sleepless every night, prickled by small irritations, my body too soft and pampered to deal with a sleeping pad on the hard ground?
All this just to get a story for my dad, knowing full well he’s unlikely even to publish it.
It’s the “all this” he’s after—the mysterious lesson he hopes I’ll learn along the way.
And Miller West is going to be gloating the entire time, watching me learn it.
4
