Page 9 of Red, White, and You (Merry Little Midlife #3)

After Brady left me this morning, I slept for another good hour, then showered, took my time drying and styling my hair, applied a hydration mask to counteract the dryness of the forest, and then did my full face of makeup.

I slowly decided what to wear, unfolding and refolding my clothes to see all that was packed, then dressed in new teal yoga pants and a matching sports bra.

By the time I check my phone for the time, I’m hopeful that I’ve taken long enough and he’ll be close to done with his meetings—

I huff.

Time mocks me. It’s only ten o’clock.

Brady will be busy until at least two o’clock this afternoon.

My stomach growls, and I have the beginning throb of a caffeine headache blooming in my temples.

I can hide out in this cabin no longer.

Pulling a white linen button-down shirt over the sports bra, I grab my cell phone and my laptop and step outside. Brady informed me that the only Wi-Fi can be found in his office, which he gave me permission to enter and told me his staff knows I’m coming.

Sure, I may have convinced myself to take the time away, but the work doesn’t stop—so neither can I .

When I step into the bustling dining hall, every bit of relaxation Brady’s presence provided me seeps out of me instantly.

I should have just stayed in the cabin. It’s noisy and overwhelming to be surrounded by a mess hall full of strangers and, if I’m not imagining things, they’re all staring at me.

But the air isn’t only thick with curiosity and conversation, it’s heavy with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and the delightful aroma of sizzling bacon, so instead of turning on my heels and hightailing it back to the cabin, I drift further into the room, driven by my caffeine addiction and my undying love of friend food.

I make my way to an empty table near the window, casting a curious glance at the tables of campers around me as I pass. They seem so carefree, so at ease in their sun-kissed skin, as if they possess a secret to happiness that has eluded me for far too long.

As I sit down, I sense the weight of their gazes upon me, dissecting me.

No doubt they’ve seen me with Brady, who is very obviously highly admired around here, but even more than that, I stick out like a sore thumb.

Not only are my clothes new and expensive, they’re brightly colored.

Not an ounce of vomit green or cowpie brown in either of those suitcases.

I force a smile, then focus on my personal email inbox from the app on my phone, pretending that their questioning looks and blatant whispers don’t bother me.

But beneath my facade of confidence, I'm a bundle of nerves. It's been a very long time since I last indulged in a leisurely breakfast. Can they tell? Is it so obvious that I don’t belong, that I’m not one of them?

Building my firm has taken every minute of free time, sucked the life out of every day.

And now, in the midst of this camp, where time seems to slow, how can anyone expect me to just let go of that responsibility ?

How have all these people just… unplugged?

After a few moments without a server, I look up from my phone and scan the room to flag one down, quickly realizing that the other campers are serving themselves.

Wonderful.

Leaving my laptop and phone at my table, I stand and make my way to the long buffet line, scanning the food on display. I can’t recall the last time I ate at a buffet, but I can’t make a stink about that now when this is the only option for food and my stomach growls angrily.

Once I locate the plates and silverware, I grab a few slices of bacon, a biscuit and butter, and a spoonful of fresh fruit, then head for the coffee station and pour myself a cup.

When I return to my seat, I bring the mug to my nose and breathe in the rich aroma, then take a tentative sip.

The warm liquid caresses my tongue, awakening my senses as I observe the campers around me, their laughter and easy banter simultaneously intriguing and intimidating.

There's a sparkle in their eyes, an air of freedom in the way they interact.

Each moment I spend here brings me closer to relaxation, even as my basest instinct is to work. Hustle. There’s an itch at the base of my neck, a pull. I’ve managed to enjoy my coffee without checking my work inbox, but the struggle is growing more difficult with every passing moment.

By the time I finish my breakfast, the need to open my laptop and check my work emails is a relentless itch I cannot scratch. But still, I refrain. Not a single screen or handheld device in the entire room. Just smiling faces, connection…

I want that.

So I gather my courage and, instead of making my way to Brady’s office to connect to his Wi-Fi, I turn left and head toward the yoga studio .

Work can wait.

Besides, it is Saturday, and unplugging for the weekend shouldn’t be that difficult. Everyone does it.

Or so I’m told.

The yoga room is set up to put campers at ease.

From the soft music to the essential oils, everything is muted and quiet.

I grab a mat and a bottle of water, then find a place at the edge of the room and begin to stretch.

I’ve taken a yoga class or two, but it’s been years.

I find I don’t have the time for exercise, so I get in as much cardio as I can on the treadmill desk during my lunch hour.

The instructor enters the room, dressed in the same muted earth tones the rest of the room is decorated with, and positions herself on her mat. She speaks so softy I can’t hear her from my position in the back, so I just wait, watching the others to gauge my next move.

As their bodies bend and stretch with graceful ease, every move I make feels stiff and awkward, a stark contrast to the fluidity that surrounds me. Shocking, I know. Just another example of why I don’t belong here.

I stumble through the poses, my muscles protesting against the unfamiliar motions.

A part of me longs to retreat, to seek solace in the familiarity of my structured life.

But another part, a voice that has been silenced for far too long, urges me to keep going, to embrace the discomfort and find my own rhythm.

The one-hour class ticks by slowly, but I stick through it, and though I am already sore by the end of the class, I do feel, strangely, lighter .

Maybe this is what relaxation feels like?

With my computer and cell phone still in hand, and my work emails still unchecked, I head back to the cabin in hopes that Brady has returned early. Instead, I find a note on the bed. He came by to check on me but had to return to his office.

He’ll be back this afternoon.

Once I change out of my yoga clothes and into a swimsuit, I venture toward the glistening swimming pool, a sanctuary of cool, blue water.

The sun caresses my bare shoulders, its warmth seeping into my very core.

God, I miss the sun. It’s not that we don’t have sunshine in New York—we have some truly excruciating summers—but I don’t find myself basking it in like I did when I was young.

My skin hasn’t been naturally bronzed in ages.

Just a quick airbrush tan every few weeks has sufficed for the past decade or so.

I locate one of only a handful of empty lounges and settle into it. Closing my eyes, I allow the gentle breeze to carry away my worries, embracing the idleness that has eluded me for far too long.

Time drifts by, and as the midday sun warms my skin, I close my eyes, and… just breathe.