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hydrometer an instrument used to measure sugar content in mash

THE TOUR bus rumbled to a stop in the parking lot of the strip mall outside the tour office, its engine diesel engine ticking as it cooled in the humid evening air.

My last group of the day—a boisterous bunch from Maryland celebrating a lottery win, of all things—filed off with satisfied grins and promises to post good reviews online.

"It was a good day," Jett said when he closed the door and it was just me and him.

"Yes, it was a good group."

"You were on your game."

"Thanks. I want to do a good job for Marv."

"That's good of you," he said. "I hope it's enough."

"Did he mention he and Teresa might get back together?"

"Only a hundred times," he said with a chuckle. "I hope he doesn't get his big dumb heart broke again."

I nodded, then we lapsed into silence. To break the quiet, I asked a question that have been in the back of my mind.

Okay, the front of my mind.

"Is Naomi coming back soon?"

"Not soon enough," he said easily.

Okay, then. When the campground entrance came into view, I gathered my notes and water bottle. When the door opened, I practically jumped out. "See ya!"

"Have a good night," Jett called.

When I reached my campsite, I spotted the large boxes that had been stacked at the rear of my van. I frowned because they didn't look big enough to hold the cabinets I'd ordered. When I tore open one of the boxes, I realized with dismay that they would need to be assembled.

And there were many, many, many pieces.

The instructions, printed in six languages with tiny diagrams that looked like hieroglyphics, were tucked into a plastic sleeve on the side. I pulled them out and unfolded an accordion of paper covered in numbered steps and incomprehensible sketches of screws, dowels, and cam locks.

"Tools required," I read aloud to myself, my voice flat with disappointment. "Phillips head screwdriver, hex key set, drill with wood bits..." The list went on and on.

I sank onto the picnic bench, surrounded by my unopened boxes, feeling defeated.

My grand plans for van life suddenly seemed incredibly naive. I'd imagined myself as some kind of capable nomad, but here I sat, stumped by the most basic requirement of furniture assembly. I didn't even own a screwdriver, let alone a hex hammer or whatever.

It felt like a reminder from the universe of how much I still had to learn about taking care of myself.