Page 77 of One Week Hating You
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We resume our quiet walk, and I replay that kiss about a dozen times. His kiss is one of my favorite things in the world – cupcakes, swimming in the ocean, Doritos, sunsets, shoes, kittens, chocolate milk, bubble bath, and… Blake’s kisses.
“Remember when we used to hike as kids?” Blake says, breaking the silence. “Seems so long ago, doesn’t it?”
Of course I remember. Every summer, we’d go hiking with our dads. They were both into birds. They’d always lug huge cameras around their necks and bags of equipment, trying to outdo each other. At the end of the season, they’d pick their best shots, and take a poll. The best picture would earn its taker a case of beer of their choice.
While they were taking their pictures, we’d collect bugs – I had a mesh covered box just for that. While other boys usually found joy in torturing bugs, tearing off legs and wings, Blake played with them gently, like I did. That’s what I mean when I say he’s a sensitive sort. He would never admit it, but he is.
“Those hikes were some of my best childhood memories,” I tell him.
“Mine too,” he’s quick to add.
In fact, a lot of the memories I have of my father involve nature; hiking, fishing, and camping. Once he passed away, I knew those things would never be the same again. Was that the reason I chose to never do them again, to run away, to get involved with someone who had no interest in those types of activities?
A quacking sound from up high startles us. I freeze for a second and look up. All I see is a ruffle in the tall trees. I smile as one of my most vivid memories comes to mind. “I remember once… I was on a hike with my dad, and we were having one of our ‘big talks’ about life and the future.”
He smiles, and his gaze flickers over me for a few seconds.
“Anyway, I remember telling him that one day I’d own a little shop in town and I’d sell homemade jams and pies.”
He laughs out loud.
“What? Why is that funny? I used to really be into baking pies with Momma back then. I can still bake a kick-ass pie, I’ll have you know.”
He smirks. “I’m sure you can.”
“You know what else I told him?” I go on, biting my lip. “I told him that I would marry you one day, and that we would have three kids, two girls and a boy.”
He laughs. “I like that.”
A few seconds of silence follow.
“How old were you?”
I smile. “Ten,” I confess. “I’ve had a crush on you for a long time,” I say jokingly.
He grins playfully. “Ditto.”
We fall back into the sounds of nature, the both of us blushing a little.
“Do you ever miss it?” he asks. “All this… hiking, camping… the trees?”
“I didn’t think I did, but I do,” I admit. “I do.”
We fall into silence again, nothing but the crackling under our feet.
After a long beat, I finally manage to say something I’ve been holding in for a while, “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry for running away.”
He stops dead in his tracks and turns to me. “You didn’t run away… I pushed you away.”
Did he? Did he push me away?
He reaches for my hand. “I’m sorry, I pushed you away instead of letting you turn to me. I just… I just couldn’t…” He stares at the ground, at my filthy Keds. “You reminded me too much of the whole thing. Every time I looked at you, I saw your dad, and mine too. The four of us, we were a team.”
My throat pricks and my eyes sting. I don’t want to cry right now. I don’t want this to come between us again. This is supposed to be a fun, carefree day. I inch closer and wrap my arms around him. I bury my face in his dirty shirt. Now he smells like popcorn and pine needles… and man. “I know we were. It’s nobody’s fault,” I tell him, my voice cracks a little and I swallow hard. “We were so young… we didn’t know how to handle it.”
We finally break our hug, tearful smiles on our faces. “Marilyn and Brian really had their shit together,” he says. “They fell deeper in love, got hitched, and popped out a few kids.”
