Simon has rented a car for the occasion. I haven’t been in a car that wasn’t a cab in more than two months and I feel excited. I honestly didn’t know how I’d miss the car and the freedom that comes with driving until I was back in one. Simon lets me drive even though the rental car isn’t under my name. Sitting at the wheel again after all of this time makes me realize how confined I’d felt living in New York. I can go anywhere. I can drive all day and get to Canada. Or drive 18 hours and be in Florida. Or four days and end up back home in LA.

“How do people live in the city their whole lives without going anywhere?” I ask Simon, rhetorically.

“Many New Yorkers think that going across the park is a huge deal.” He shrugs.

“Well, I sort of get that.” I smile. “You have to take the bus or change trains. But if you had a car…”

I let my words trail off as I imagine all the wonderful places that I could go and all the things I could see if I had a car. Connecticut. Boston. Maine. Fuck, even Newfoundland.

Unfortunately, I won’t be going to any of those place today. Within two hours, we arrive at a little outcrop of cabins in a forest. This place isn’t far away, but it feels like we’ve traveled to another universe. A world in which Manhattan and all of its lights and craziness doesn’t exist. The trees glisten in the sunlight. Not a single leaf is green; all are different shades of fall: yellow, orange, red, gold. A light wind blows in and a few gold ones detach and dance under the cloudless sky. The air is crisp and smells of dew and fresh pine.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, immediately forgetting all of my concerns about coming here

Nature always puts me at ease. Unlike in New York where getting to nature, real nature, requires a car rental, back home, getting immersed in nature is a piece of cake. Wilderness is only a five to ten minute drive away, depending on where you live. Despite what many people think, Southern California is a wild place. Its mountains and hills are filled with mountain lions and coyotes. Even in the suburbs, where my parents live, coyotes often come right up to the house to sing their screeching songs of hope and loss.

Being back here in the wild, on Peekamoose Mountain, I feel homesick and at peace at the same time.

“You know, I’m really glad that I came out here with you,” I say. “I wasn’t so sure at first, but now that we’re here, it feels really nice. I really needed a break from the city.”

Simon smiles at me, the kind of smile that uses his whole face. His eyes twinkle and his cheeks get flushed.

* * *

After an hour-long hike, we come back to the cabin energetic and more alive than before. We laughed practically the whole time we hiked and my sides hurt not so much from the exertion, but from the stitches that I got from laughing so hard.

“I’m going to get some firewood,” Simon says. “I want to start a fire.”

I nod and go inside the cabin. It’s definitely quaint and cozy. The advertisement didn’t lie. The bed is soft and piled with more blankets and throws that we can possibly use. There’s a big wardrobe in the corner and it temps me to unpack my bag. I open the zipper, but don’t get any further than changing my sweaty shirt for Tristan’s merino sweater. No, not Tristan’s. It’s my merino sweater. The uplifting song of a blue jay catches my attention. I walk over to the window for a better look. I admire the way the bird’s blue feathers glisten in the sun and the way she sings without a care in the world. And then, just a little further down the worn path in between the trees, I spot Simon.

I’m about to call out to him, but something stops me. Instead, I just watch him. He drops the pile of wood he’s been carrying under his arm onto the ground and pulls out a dirty glass pipe from his pocket. He looks around to see that no one’s around and lights up. It could be weed. But growing up in LA, I know plenty of people who smoke weed. And none of them do it in secret, hunched over with that paranoid look in their eye.

I open the window. Call out his name. I want to see how he’d react. He doesn’t know where my voice is coming from and crouches down behind a bush to hide. Through the shrubbery, I see him take one big drag and put the pipe into his pocket.

A few minutes later, Simon walks back into the cabin holding the firewood with both hands.

“What’s up?” he asks breathlessly.

I’m sitting on the bed, not sure how or where to start. A strange feeling of malaise spread throughout me. Quickly, I realize that it’s not so much malaise, but disappointment. I really thought that Simon was better than this. I’m not even talking about his addiction. I thought that he was better than a liar.

I can’t beat around the bush. I just have to come out and ask him, straight up.

“What were you smoking?” I ask.

“What? Nothing. I wasn’t smoking anything.” He backs away from me.

“Don’t lie to me. I saw you,” I say without getting off the bed. I feel like I’m holding a one-hundred pound rock in my lap and if I were to stand up, I’d have to take it with me.

“Okay, okay. It’s nothing. Just something to relax.” Simon winks at me.

He thinks he can use his charm and cuteness to avoid the conversation. To make me forget about what I saw. But I can’t. It’s not just something to relax. His actions back there pretty much told me that. I don’t say anything.

“C’mon, Alice. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

“No,” I shake my head.

“Let’s just forget about it. I won’t do it again, I promise.” He crouches down next to me.

He puts his arms on my lap and looks up at me with pleading eyes. For a second, I’m tempted to just forget about it. I don’t like fighting. And the cabin is quite relaxing. But then I get a whiff of his scent. Definitely not weed. I’ve never smelled meth, but that’s the only thing I can imagine it to be.

“I can’t, sorry,” I say, pushing him away.

The invisible one-hundred pound rock vanishes as soon as I get up. My cheeks get flushed. I’m angry. Mad. But not entirely with Simon. I’m mad as hell at Tristan. I walk over to my bag. Turn around. Suddenly, I feel totally apathetic toward Simon. It’s like this is the excuse that I’ve been waiting for.

“Have you ever been arrested?” I ask.

I examine his face closely. Simon meets my eyes, doesn’t look away. His stare is disarming.

“No,” he lies. I know it’s a lie. And by the expression on his face, he knows that I know it’s a lie.

“Okay, okay, yes.” Simon walks over to me and grabs my hand. He thinks that physical contact will make me more sympathetic to him.

“But it was last year. It was really not a big deal, Alice.”

“Yeah, I guess not,” I say. I pick up the few things that I’ve taken out of my bag and stuff them back inside. I’m leaving because of the drugs, but it’s just an excuse. I know it. This whole trip was way too soon for us. My only regret is that I didn’t listen to myself when I’d thought that it was too soon.

“Where are you going?” Simon asks.

“Home,” I say. “I’m going home.”

“What? Why? We have this great cabin. C’mon stay, please.”

“I’ve had doubts about this trip before. And this just confirmed it,” I say, pointing to the pocket where he put the pipe.

“This is nothing, Alice. It’s just for fun.”

“Really? So why were you arrested? Why did you feel the need to smoke in the bushes if it’s nothing you’re ashamed of?” I say, grabbing my bag.

I’m grateful for the fact that I didn’t unpack right away.

“Alice, please. C’mon, be reasonable.”

“I am. I don’t want to stay.”

“Well, I do. And I’m not going back to the city until Sunday,” Simon says defiantly, plopping down on the bed in protest.

I hadn’t considered this possibility. Shit.

“Fine,” I say after a moment.

“What are you going to do? It’s dark out there already.”

“I’m going to take a cab or an Uber,” I say.

“All the way to the city? It’ll cost you a year of rent!” he laughs. I’ve never seen this side of him before. The mocking, insensitive, petulant, child side.

“I’m going to take a cab to the train station,” I explain. I don’t know why I even bothered. It’s none of his business anymore.

Simon jumps out of bed, meets me by the door.

“Alice.” He puts his hand on my shoulder. I shrug him off.

“Alice,” he says louder this time. “You can’t leave.”

“I am leaving.” I turn the knob.

“Goddamn it, Alice.” He hits the door with his fist, slamming it shut.

He startles me. The door slams shut with such force, the hairs on the back of my arm stand up. A shudder of fear courses through my veins.

What if he doesn’t let me leave?

What then?

I turn to Simon. His face is inches away from mine. I can feel his hot, fiery breath on my face. Blood drains from my cheeks and lips. My heart pounds so loudly in my chest that I hear it in my temples.

Thump-thump.

Thump-thump.

Thump-thump.

I take a deep breath. I don’t look away from him. I’m leaving this place one way or another.

The darkness in his eyes slowly fades and the old Simon comes back to me.

“I’m so sorry, Alice, really,” he says. He puts his head on my shoulder.

“I know,” I whisper. “But I have to go.”

I open the door again. This time, he doesn’t stop me.

When I get out of sight from the cabin, I finally let out a deep sigh of relief.