bring Ripley everywhere, on all the trips, all their daily activities and adventures, reminds me so much of how my parents raised me. I was always there with them. Constantly. Limitlessly. Until I guess I grew old enough to go on my own.
Ripley babbles to me, as though to say thank you.
“You’re very welcome, little dude.”
That’s all she is to me.
I wish I would stop replaying that fucked up thing. Akara reminds Farrow to look at my cut and Banks’ wounds, and so Farrow checks us before returning to Akara.
No stitches for us.
“You two should be good with new bandages,” Farrow says, putting on a new pair of black gloves. “If any of the wounds start itching or swelling, come get me immediately. Not the next day.”
“Sounds good,” I say, dropping the hem of my shirt.
Banks nods.
“Nice ink,” Oscar says to Akara, motioning to the snake tattoo along his upper chest, shoulder, and bicep. None of his wounds cut through the ink. All survived the cougar attack. Oscar quips, “What else have I missed?” He isn’t in Philly as often as the other bodyguards. Maybe his compliment is just to get on Akara’s good side after pissing him off.
“A lot,” Akara says easily and catches my eyes that ask, are we okay?
I just nod. I fucking want to be.
Feelings are fucked up. Like I know he couldn’t have meant what he said. Right? But just hearing them is messing with me.
Everyone is staring at me again, and I suddenly realize they think I’m infatuated with Akara and he’s decreed I’m not into her in that way.
Great.
Awesome.
I take out my phone. “I’m going to call my sister.” I walk away. Akara can’t follow because he’s about to be sutured.
Smell of campfire and burnt logs in the air, I hike down a sloped path towards the bathrooms. I hear Moffy about to follow, but Jane tells him, “Let me, old chap. I think this one is for the girls.”
My lip aches to rise as Jane catches up to me.
I see her at my side, then we both glance behind us. The Moretti brothers are following. Our bodyguards. They keep their distance to give us the illusion of privacy.
As a gust of cold morning wind blows through, Jane rolls down the sleeves of her chunky, pastel pink sweater. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I twist my hair up in a messy bun. Part of me wants to just explode and tell Jane every fucking thing, but I can’t. I can’t. And even mentioning the bits and pieces I can say feels like sharing a lie more than a half-truth. “Maybe later?” I tell her.
She nods, understanding.
Her understanding hurts more than it should. Jane gives me a consoling side-hug. “If it makes you feel any better, even if Akara doesn’t feel that way, I have a very strong suspicion that Banks does.”
I dead-stop in place a few feet from the outdoor bathroom stalls. “Wait, are you saying you think Banks likes me?”
“Oui,” she smiles brightly.
I’m not caught off guard that she knows. Just… “You’d be okay with that? Him liking me? And me liking him?”
Jane begins to frown. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know…is it fucking strange for you?” I slip on my jean jacket that I tied around my waist. “Banks is Thatcher’s brother, and you’re marrying Thatcher.”
“That wouldn’t bother me. You realize that your mom and Moffy’s mom are sisters and your dads are brothers too?” A pair of sisters married a pair of brothers.
I smile more and elbow her hip. “You’re always reminding me of that.”
“It’s easy to forget,” she says. “No one holds it against you, and if they do, I doubt they’re our friends in the first place.” She hooks her arm with mine, and we continue our stroll.
For a bit, we chat about her upcoming bachelorette party and our siblings. But I still can’t get over how Jane is Team Banks.
Like I’m Elena fucking Gilbert and there are teams in this love triangle.
Oh God.
It’s not like Jane has all the information. She literally thinks Akara has permanently friend-zoned me. In her mind, Team Akara doesn’t exist.
When I find a good spot for cell reception near the “information center”—which really is just a corkboard with laminated fire-safety graphics and trail maps—Jane hugs me goodbye, letting me call my sister. But as she leaves and Banks comes closer, I wait to dial Winona’s number.
He stuffs his hands into his blue cargo jacket. “You okay?”