Page 9 of My Favorite Bad Decision
There’s also an actual toilet being loaded on top of the bus, which unlocks a new level of anxiety. “Don’t worry,” says Stacy beside me. “It will be inside a tent.”
That doesn’t actually help. I don’t need Miller standing outside the tent, loudly commenting about how long I’ve been in there.
I wonder if I can just hold it all week.
“We’re going to know each other real well by the end of the trip,” says Gerald, clapping me on the shoulder slightly too hard while he strokes his overgrown gray beard. “You’ll get used to it, kiddo.”
I silence the urge to tell him where he can shove that condescendingkiddo, but other than Miller, he will definitely be the person I hate most on this trip. In the five minutes we’ve stood here, he’s mentioned his previous expeditions to Kili several times and offered unsolicited advice to all of us. He’s even making suggestions to theporters, for fuck’s sake.
“You’re sure you’ve got your epilepsy meds?” Stacy asks Maddie.
“Yes, Mom,” says Maddie, rolling her eyes. “For the fiftieth time.”
“You know, epilepsy can be completely cured with a keto diet and mindfulness techniques,” offers Leah, Gerald’s girlfriend. “It’s so much better than polluting your body with medicine.”
Everything she’s said is absolute bullshit, so I may have been hasty about who I’ll hate most on this trip. I’ll give it some time.
Gideon, the lead porter, reaches us with a clipboard and Miller extends his hand. “Miller West,” he says. “Nice to meet you.”
I roll my eyes. Fucking Miller. Even in Tanzania, he’s got to pull out his wholeman of the peoplebullshit. He won over every member of my household in seconds when Maren first brought him home. I was the only person who was suspicious. If I’d remained suspicious a little longer, I might have spared her some pain.
I give a tepid wave. “I’m Kit Fischer.”
He looks between us. “Ah. New York. You came together?”
Of course he wonders. Because what are the odds that two people from the Upper West Side would both decide to climb Kilimanjaro at the same time and on the same tour?
“No,” we say in unison, with equal vehemence.
Gideon’s smile flickers, then regains strength. He gestures toward the bus’s open door. “Well, come along then. You will be friends by the time the journey is through.”
That sounds more like a threat than a promise, under the circumstances.
When everyone is checked in, Gideon stands on the first step of the bus to get our attention.
“Are we ready?” he shouts, his voice a mix of enthusiasm and command. He’s pleasant enough, but he’s also telling us we’d better get on the goddamn bus and be cheerful about it.
I like this. It means he might tell Miller and Gerald to keep their mouths shut.
After another few minutes, we begin driving down a long dirt road, with people walking on both sides of it—mostly women, carrying baskets, wearing dresses I’d expect to see on Easter Sunday, circa 1980: baby pink, yellow, pastel green. The tall grasses soon turn into twisted trees and palm shrubs, creating an overhang that plunges us into shade, growing increasingly dense. By the time we arrive at Lemosho Gate—buzzing with people and buses—we are fully in the rainforest.
“Look at the monkey!” squeals Stacy, squeezing her son’s arm as she points to the roof of the open-air shelter Gideon told us to wait under while our bags are weighed.
“Mom,” he says, raising a brow at me over her head and grinning, “the entire roof is crawling with monkeys. You’re not planning to do this the whole trip, right?”
I reach into my daypack for my phone and Gerald is immediately by my side with more unsolicited advice.
“Keep your candy closed up, babe,” he warns, nodding at the monkeys running along the tree branches and shelter roof. “They’ll steal it.”
“I didn’t bring candy,” I reply icily.
And don’t call mebabe.
“Oooh, rookie mistake,” he says with a wink. “Don’t worry. Maybe I can help you out.”
Miller steps up beside me and places his hand on my shoulder in a way that feels a bit proprietary. “I’m sure she’ll be fine,” he says. As much as I want to slap that hand away, I do not because Gerald has noted the gesture too and is moving across the shelter in Maddie’s direction.
“Ugh. Now he’s off to hit on the twenty-two-year-old.”
