two

MOLLIE

“That guy was definitely into you.”

“Hunter,” I remind Sophie. “His name was Hunter.” And he was tall and had a man bun that made me think I might actually be into man buns—a sentence I never thought I’d think.

“I’m saying, Hunter was really into you. You should go for it. Have a vacation fling.”

Nora laughs. “That would be so out of character for Mollie!”

“Exactly why she should do it!” Sophie insists. “Get out of your rut, Mollie!”

I wish my friends would stop talking about my rut. I don’t want everyone in this bar to know about my comfortable existence in which nothing extraordinary happens to me. Sophie recently got engaged and Nora got a promotion that shot her into the rarified air of six-figure salaries, so their energy is that of astronauts about to launch into space. I’m here to see them off on their journeys. And then wait for trip reports, like the little wife waiting at home.

That’s nothing new; my own mother raised me on phone calls home from her high-powered job. A single woman climbing the journalism career ladder needed a quiet child who didn’t mind babysitting herself—finishing homework, making microwave dinners, putting herself to bed—as soon as she was old enough.

Sighing, I take another drink. My life isn’t so bad, but it has a different definition of exciting. I mean, I almost cried when I saw the free dish of peanuts on our table when we sat down at this bar. Bars in the city where I live never offer free stuff.

Still, if exciting is this trip Nora and Sophie planned—forcing me to throw axes and ride bikes and hike into the woods and whatever else we’re doing—maybe I’m OK without it. Today had been embarrassing. I was so bad at throwing things. I couldn’t make my body do what my brain commanded. Even when Hunter patiently explained, repeatedly.

Nora and Sophie have moved on to talking about Sophie’s wedding plans. I’m so excited for her. Her fiancé, Chad—despite his stereotypical “bro” name—is good to her and respectful of her friends. When I see him, he always remembers to ask about something I’d mentioned during the last visit. In my life, that’s usually something dumb like the work baby shower I’m dreading or a new coworker I’m training even though they’re higher up the chain of administrative power at my law firm than I am.

Chad and Sophie got engaged on a trip to Hawaii, so Sophie’s having a hard time picking a honeymoon location. It’s hard to hate Sophie, even though her problems are one-percenter issues. She’s constantly terrified her good fortune will disappear and has been in therapy for anxiety since high school, when we first met.

Nora is the one who pushed Sophie to go to therapy in the first place. Nora, who says things like “let’s take the emotion out of this and analyze it logically,” has never found a problem without a solution—usually one she comes up with. Using an opened napkin on our tiny high-top table at this bar, she’s now mapping out a spreadsheet for Sophie to select the perfect honeymoon location based on factors like weather, difficulty traveling, available activities, and “memorability.”

If I were picking, I’d come here for a honeymoon. God, it’s gorgeous here. We rode an actual gondola to get to this bar—a 12-minute ride up the mountain and to this adorable village that I bet is a snowy delight at Christmas time. It’s a planned community, all the buildings matching each other and mostly hotels, restaurants, and vacation rentals. I can’t deny the perfection of the facade. The mountains in this part of the state are startlingly close, jagged because they’re the newest range in Colorado—as I read on a sign when we left the gondola—and still lightly dusted with snow despite being the middle of summer. This little town nestled in the middle of them couldn’t be more idyllic.

At least my friends are distracted from convincing me to “go for it” with Hunter, the hot guide with the kind blue eyes behind glasses who managed to teach me how to throw an axe. I hit the target one time and stopped there, not wanting to ruin the high of my success with another dozen bad throws. He’d been so kind to me, like maybe he wasn’t going to go home after and make fun of the incompetent girl with his other guide friends. Maybe .

The idea of Hunter making fun of me after being so kind makes me slump in my seat.

“Mollie, I’ve decided to make it my mission this week to get you more excited about life again,” Nora says.

Uh oh. I’ve seen Nora on a mission many times. She doesn’t give up. I admire her so much, with her daring haircuts and intense focus on everything she does. And she also scares me.

“I’m not not excited about life,” I protest, lying. My two best friends since high school stare back at me, holding their beers and saying nothing.

“OK, well, sometimes life isn’t that exciting and that’s OK. Sometimes you’ve got to just…be a good human and try to get a good annual review at work.”

I’d recently gotten my annual review at work. I got “meets expectations” across the board. Even my job thinks I’m boring.

“But not this week,” Nora insists. “This week, you get excitement. It’s your last hurrah before you turn 30. You’re going to try biking and hiking and white-water rafting and you’re going to kiss a stranger.”

Cringe . None of that sounds like me. “I am?”

“Mollie!” Nora makes a face at me. “You have the agenda.”

I do; Nora color-coded it. “Kissing a stranger definitely wasn’t on there,” I say, and press on before Nora promises to find a slot for it on our week-long schedule. “I just want to hang out with you guys. We never get to hang out like this anymore.”

Nora and Sophie both reach out and grab my hands, then link hands with each other so we make a circle around the little table like we’re about to pray, even though none of us is religious. “I know; I miss you guys so much,” Sophie says. Sophie is moving out of state with Chad. Nora is always busy. I’m the one with all the free time that I spend, mostly, on my couch binge-watching every rom-com show that The Powers That Be grace us with. I talk to my mom a lot on the phone. I love my mom, but she’s addicted to being the boss—the person people come to for answers—and it keeps her busy. Even though we live in the same city, we rarely meet up in person.

“And I’m so excited we’re doing this friend-moon before our lives get even more crazy,” Nora agrees, graciously including me in the craziness. There are no big changes on my horizon. “But this trip is really for Mollie. Don’t you agree, Sophie?”

Sophie nods, her pretty face earnest. “Yes. Mollie, we worry about you. You haven’t found your thing .”

“My thing ?” I repeat. Nothing about this trip is for me. I would have picked a relaxing beach, I think, not an “adventure” trip.

“Yes, your passion,” Nora agrees. “The passion that gets you up in the mornings.”

Briefly, I think about how many times I hit the snooze button during the week. How do my high school friends still know me so well when we’ve barely seen each other for the past few years? “I do OK,” I protest, even though a voice in my own head— traitor —tells me, the lady doth protest too much. “Anyway, I don’t think axe-throwing is my thing .”

Sophie and Nora exchange a look. They both know I was terrible at it. “Well, no,” Sophie agrees diplomatically. “That’s why you’ve got to keep trying things until you find something that is!”

Good God, they’re really going to force me to stay out of my comfort zone all week. The back of my neck starts to sweat. I’d signed onto this week of “adventure” to spend time with the friends I never see anymore. I have the best intentions to try everything on the agenda Nora and Sophie signed us up for. I’d even tried training for the mountain biking at that horrible spin class! I had also figured I could bail on any activities that terrified me. I don’t want to be trapped into doing everything Sophie and Nora do; they’re much more adventurous people than me. I mean, look at Nora’s hair! “Um,” I say weakly. “You really don’t have to worry about me.”

“We’re your friends, we’re always going to want better things for you,” Sophie says, a weird turn of phrase that makes me suspect they’ve been having conversations behind my back where they pass judgment on my life. I have friends with less accomplished lives—friends who live for long Sunday brunches and cheap finds in the latest clothing trend—and they’ve never pushed me to look for “better.” What’s better than a bottomless mimosa?

OK, mimosas are actually the worst. All that sugar gives me an instant hangover. And I constantly have to deal with the nail-biting terror that is parallel parking when I go out to restaurants in the city.

Still, I go to brunch with my friends and try to ignore the painful boringness of my life; why can’t Sophie and Nora? Maybe their lives aren’t boring. Maybe I’m the only one.

Maybe we need more alcohol. I scan the bar for our waitress.

“Starting tomorrow, you should make a resolution to try every new thing you can while we’re here,” Nora announces, with the finality of a decision made for me. “By the end of the week, I bet you’ll have found your thing. Or your thing can be trying new things ! Maybe that’s it!”

I blink at my friend. “Trying new things is not my thing. I hate trying new things.”

“ Do you?” Nora asks, like it’s a serious question. “Are you sure ?”

“Yeah, Mollie, how often have you tried new things?” Sophie chimes in. “It might be better than you expect. Especially with that hot guide there to instruct you.” She and Nora exchange grins.

“You guys,” I say, because despite my sweaty palms, I need to stop this disaster before it happens. “Hunter was just being nice while doing his job. Let’s stop objectifying him.”

“You’re so sweet, Mollie,” Nora sighs. “Always seeing the best in people while missing the opportunity they represent. Maybe that’s your thing. Hunter probably is a nice guy. That’s why we want you to sleep with him. He won’t screw you and then pretend not to know you the rest of the week.”

“I mean, he could still be like that,” Sophie warns. “It’s hard to tell with guys.”

“Well, start with kissing, then,” Nora replies, with surreal logic. “We’ll work up to trusting him with plowing Mollie all night long.”

“Shhh!” The tips of my ears are burning as I dart my gaze around the bar to see if anyone’s listening. What if Hunter were here —not outside the realm of possibility, in a community this small—and heard that?

“Good idea, or they could wait until the night before we fly out and that way he won’t get a chance to be a douchebag afterward,” Sophie says. “Even if he wants to.”

“Smart,” Nora nods.

They both laugh at me for cowering into the smallest size I can on my side of the table.

“Mollie. You need to be fucked so bad,” Sophie says. “How long has it been?”

“Oh my god,” I say. “I don’t keep track.” That’s a lie, of course.

“That’s a lie,” Nora says. “Every woman keeps track. I bet the time you’re thinking of isn’t even the last person you slept with. Getting fucked is different from having sex.”

Whimpering, I put my head down on the table. The thing about Nora is, she’s almost never wrong. The last time I “got fucked” was a disaster—he left after and unmatched me on the dating app— and it was the best sex I’d ever had. It was a year ago. I’d slept with guys since, but none were as memorable. Once, I’d been so drunk I cried, and he told me I should talk to a therapist while putting on his pants.

“I don’t want to have a one-night-stand,” I tell my friends. “They make me feel like shit.”

“Well, it’s important to know your boundaries,” Nora agrees. I knew that would get her. Nora can’t resist therapy-talk.

“Maybe only the make-out session, then,” Sophie concedes. “You know we’re not going to leave you alone until you agree to try something new. Something you wouldn’t do back home.”

And then they start discussing strategies to get me alone with Hunter over the next week we’re here. Maybe we can invite him out for drinks (Sophie’s idea) or lock the two of us in the equipment shed together (Nora’s idea, assuming there is an equipment shed somewhere since we haven’t seen the adventure center yet).

Poor Hunter, probably the inspiration behind many a city girl’s plots to “have an adventure.” How could he not be? The combination of that man bun with the glasses is like a nerdy He-Man. A gal desperately wants to take the glasses off and comb her hands through his blond hair. Or maybe I’ve had too much to drink that I’m imagining that, shifting against the crease in my jeans in the middle of a crowded public bar.

Another beer in, I find myself agreeing to their wild plots. I want them to stop trying to convince me. Yes, I need to get fucked, I find myself agreeing. Yes, Hunter is hot. Therefore, yes, I should get fucked by Hunter. Logic!

It’s fine. I can bail on this plan later.

It’s not like Hunter would be interested in me, anyway. He must have his pick of women—both local and out-of-towners. He’s not at home thinking about me.

As though I splashed cold water down my front, I suddenly pull up short. My friends got me carried away with this fantasy, even though Hunter is a real person and not a tour we can sign up for. The “get fucked” tour. It’s not like me to get lost in my thoughts to this extent, mixing up reality and what will never be.

What if Nora and Sophie are so determined to make it happen, they don’t let go of this plan even when we sober up?

I agreed to come on what Nora said would be “the most memorable girls trip ever” because I miss my friends. I just didn’t realize this trip was going to be memorable for the wrong reasons.