30
JOEL
September 6
I woke up with a stiff neck and a splitting headache, from tossing and turning throughout the night, from cursing myself for the way I handled the situation with Luke and Victoria. My sleep consisted of a two-hour power nap that felt like ten minutes before the first of the breakfast morning noises from campers and the arrival of Adrian, my daily tent-shaking alarm.
I’m pouring coffee from the percolator when the rig door pops open. The floral smell of Victoria’s bodywash wafts toward me, and I’m all the more aware of my bed head and my nasty morning breath. But I don’t pay her any mind—or pretend not to, anyway—as I pour two sugar packets into the cup of coffee.
I was sure Victoria was going to come to my tent last night to talk, if nothing else, through the obvious miscommunication between us. She was right—we’re not in a committed romantic relationship, but how about a friendship? How about respect? Temporary—sure. Fun—even better. When I told her I was unequivocally hers during this trip, I meant it, and I’d expected the same. Do I want to lord over her, to ever tell her what to do? No. But as usual, this woman pushed me to my limit. I couldn’t fathom her going back to Luke, even to tie up loose ends. History told me it’s never that simple.
But my words didn’t come out right. Probably because this competition has twisted everything we are into one fucked up mess in my head.
Victoria glides past me with a plate wrapped in plastic wrap. She was in the RV finishing up breakfast, and she puts the plate down on our picnic table. She heads toward me and makes her own coffee, though she doesn’t acknowledge my presence. She looks rested, hair perfect, makeup on.
A fleeting thought passes through me: Why does she look so damn good when I feel like shit? Was our fight so inconsequential that she slept like a baby? Wasn’t she up all night like I was, thinking about us?
I mentally scratch out the word us. There is no us.
“Morning, sunshines,” Tara announces, sounding like she already has three cups of coffee in her system. She plops down on our picnic bench with the map for our morning drive plan. “Gather around, my children.” Her eyes widen. “Oooo, Victoria, what’s for breakfast?”
Vic unwraps the plate. “Spam musubi. Fried spam, seasoned rice, wrapped in nori.” She picks one up with her fingers and takes a bite.
“How the hell did you make rice?”
“Using a rice cooker, silly.” She moans at her own creation. “Go ahead, don’t be scared.”
Both Tara and I dig in, and I inspect the food. It’s basically Spam sushi, except larger. When I bite into it, I’m hit with the savory meat, the sweet rice, and the salty seaweed.
Victoria might not be speaking to me, but I compliment her anyway. “This is hella good.”
“Why, thank you.”
“You guys are way too cheery this morning,” Adrian grumbles, stepping out of the RV, hair out of its bun. “And, hey, I get first dibs on that musubi. I’m the one who fried up the Spam.” He plops down next to Tara, grabbing one from the center.
“Where’s Lowell?” I ask.
“Lowell is present.” The guy appears from behind the RV. He’s got mud up his legs, and he’s wearing running gear. “Kind of veered off the trail a bit.”
“First breakfast rule with our crew? You snooze, you lose. And I was hoping you’d be late so I could take your share,” Adrian says.
Lowell drops down to sit next to Adrian, which leaves Victoria and me to sit together.
I know, I should be more mature than this. I’m fucking thirty-one years old, and I should be able to sit next to someone whether or not things are awkward between us. But I can’t do it. Because of my deep attraction to Victoria, I can’t chance that I’ll graze my arm against hers or accidentally rub shoulders with the woman. I refuse to imagine her beautiful body next to that asshole. I know nothing happened last night between the two of them, but I bristle at the thought of it.
So I park myself at the head of the picnic bench and remain standing. I swig my coffee and swallow it along with my wayward thoughts. The liquid goes down like a shot of tequila, burning every taste bud along the way.
“Does that sound like a good plan, Joel?”
“Oh . . . uh . . .” My mind crashes down to the present as all four faces stare at me. “I’m sorry, could we go over that again?”
“Here, plug this into GPS.” Tara scribbles the address on a Post-it and hands it to me. “It’s about six hours down to Alford. As usual, let’s keep in touch, and we’ll stop accordingly. We should get there in time to do dinner by the fire. You up to cooking tonight, Victoria?”
Poised and collected, Victoria answers, “Always. I’ll write up a quick list and make sure we stop by a grocery store before we get to the town.”
“I won’t be joining you all for dinner tonight, remember? I’m due at my sister’s,” I say.
“Right, thanks for reminding me.” Tara winks at Victoria. “One less for your menu tonight.”
“Sounds perfectly fine.”
Though her flippant reaction is like a jab in the kidney, I choose to ignore it. It isn’t worth the effort to rile myself up more.
Time away from this place is what I need to screw my head on straight.
“Okay, let’s put our hands in the middle,” Tara commands with a smile.
We all groan but reluctantly shove our hands together so they’re like spokes on a wheel.
“Because we’re all in such chipper moods this morning, when I count to three, let’s yell, ‘Team Barbecue.’ ” Tara’s eyes light up. “Oh c’mon, don’t roll your eyes. There’s no whispering a pregame cheer, even if it is quiet hours. Besides, if I don’t hear each and every one of you, we’re going to do it again.”
“I swear, you’re like one of my drill sergeants, Tara,” I quip.
“Uh-uh. Head camp counselor,” Lowell says.
“No, I’m not.” Tara gasps as if shocked.
“You can’t handle the truth!” Victoria shakes her fist in the air, then raises her eyes to me.
I get the reference to A Few Good Men immediately and I smile. “Classic.”
“You will not deter me.” Tara says, “One . . . two . . . three . . .”
We all join in the chorus. “Team Barbecue!”
And yeah, it works a little. That one big yell loosened some of the tension in my chest, woke up parts of me my coffee hasn’t yet been able to touch. Conversations begin as we pick up our garbage, wash our dishes, uproot our flag, sweep, and roll up the rug—all without having to remind each other of what to do.
Maybe Tara’s rah-rah method works after all.
I swing around to the left side of the rig to do what I still consider the worst part of this job: emptying the black and gray tanks. I announce, “Last call, draining the rig,” but Tara’s already there.
“You sure you don’t want me to do it?” I ask.
“Nope. Anyway.” She peaks around me and pauses as Victoria passes us. She has our recycling and is headed down the path. “I wanted to get you alone.”
My heart thuds in my chest. “What’s up?”
“The network loves you. Olivia loves you.”
I don’t know how to respond. “Great.”
Tara squats down and is about to pull the corrugated tube that will connect the RV to the waste dump, when I stop her. “Wait. You forgot your gloves.”
“You all have been doing this with gloves?”
I run back around, climb into the rig, and pull out the box of medical gloves Victoria brought specifically for this trip. Gloves I laughed at when she first unpacked them from her backpack.
How I’m ever going on a camping trip without remembering her, I don’t know.
How I’m not going to look forward to nights alone with her, I can only guess.
How I’m supposed to not speak to her the entire six hours, I have no idea.
Tara is still in the same position I left her in, and I hand her two gloves. She snaps them on like a surgeon. “Ready for download?”
I wince. “Please don’t.”
“Sorry. It’s the ‘head camp counselor’ ”—she puts air-quotes around the term—“in me.” She takes one end of the corrugated tube and reaches under the RV and connects it to the main drain. “Where were we? Oh, right: not only do they love you, there’s some regret that they didn’t cast you first. It’s become apparent you’re more knowledgeable about barbecue, and while the camera obviously loves Victoria, your technical expertise is shining through. If you keep the charm up, then you might take this opportunity.”
A lump forms in my gut like I swallowed a rock. This was something I would’ve wanted to hear in the beginning, but now? It isn’t triumph I feel. Instead, I feel like a dick. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I want you to be ready for it. For the announcement, should it come. Anything can happen, of course. Olivia hasn’t made her decision yet. The impression she’s given me might not be how she feels at the end of this trip. We still have Alford and San Diego. I’m simply warning you so you can prepare for the potential repercussions.”
I raise an eyebrow at her, wondering what she means by that vague statement. She continues, now screwing the other end of the corrugated tube to the waste dump spout. Her voice dips to a whisper as she tests both connections again. “You and Vic have gotten close. I mean, we all have, and at times like this, when one person gets something and the other doesn’t . . . well . . . it’s pretty painful. So . . . this is a strong FYI. Whatever you need to do to prepare for the backlash, do it.”
She pulls the lever that empties the black tank. And what drains is pretty much exactly what I fear the outcome of this entire competition will be.