t h i r t y - f o u r

*

"You know what I miss?"

Arjun's voice jolts me when neither of us have spoken for a while. For once, neither of us have been sleeping either. I can't speak for him, but I've been listening to Carrie's music – soft rock, oldies, and the occasional pop song that she insists is a guilty pleasure – and letting my mind wander. His words snap me back to the present. I lift my head from his chest, where I've been very comfortable for over an hour.

"What do you miss?"

"Tea." He sighs. "I miss good tea. Good, proper tea. I'm craving a steaming mug of masala chai, or Earl Grey. Maybe Lapsang Souchong. Even a decent chamomile would do."

"Oh, you're one of those."

"Those what?" He cocks an eyebrow at me when I peel away from him, reluctantly parting from my new favourite spot.

"Tea drinkers," I say, exaggerating my despair. "You're the reason we're stereotyped. People like you, who leave England and cry about the lack of good tea in America."

"It's a very valid concern. Have you tried the tea here? It's either iced – which I love, I won't lie – or it tastes like hot bin juice."

"Hey!" Sam calls from the front. "Do I hear more America bashing back there?"

"American tea bashing," Arjun corrects. Sam's silent for a moment.

"Fair point," he says at last. "You may continue."

"I just really want a cup of tea," Arjun says with a wistful sigh. "I miss Mum's tea cabinet. Of all the things I thought I'd miss while I was away, that didn't make the top five."

"It must be one hell of a cabinet."

"It really is. She goes to India at least once a year, to see family, and I swear the only reason she takes a suitcase is to fill it with tea to bring home. I'm pretty sure she was feeding it to me as a baby."

"So you don't miss English tea. You miss Indian tea."

He gives me a withering look. "Where do you think tea comes from?"

"Yorkshire," I mutter, if only to pull his leg.

"Ha, ha," he says, so drily I need a drink.

"In all fairness, the only tea we have at home is Yorkshire Tea."

"Guess where that comes from?"

"Yorkshire."

Judging by the look he gives me, I've just dealt him the deepest betrayal and I feel myself shrink under his hard stare.

"Assam," he corrects.

"Is that in Yorkshire?" I ask. I'm only half joking. Clearly, by the set of his eyes, it's not, but my geography is absolutely atrocious. He could name any country and I'd believe him, and its not like I'm about to go and check where Yorkshire Tea gets its tea.

"It's in India."

Whoops.

Arjun dramatically rolls his eyes and his disgust fades, something closer to fondness settling in his expression. He puts his hand on my knee. "Seems like someone needs an education."

"We established that long ago."

*

Over the next thirty minutes, our conversation wends itself away from my shocking lack of knowledge about all things tea and most things India, much to Arjun's amusement – and slight disdain, I'm sure – and back towards companionable quiet.

I refuse to fall asleep again but I am feeling a little dozy after my shocking lack of sleep last night, and Arjun welcomes me when I nestle against him for the last twenty minutes of the drive to Tenaya Lake. I never lose consciousness, so I never lose the sensation of his fingers on the soft inside of my elbow, or the smell of his aftershave, or the feel of his breath on my head. Each one is a comfort, and I feel at home in his embrace.

The view outside is breathtaking. We're still in Yosemite, winding our way out of the valley along steep, curving roads that feel dangerous and exhilarating at once. At every turn, my stomach flips and I swear we're about to sail off the edge, but we're in Sam's excellent hands. He hasn't made a wrong turn yet.

When he pulls off the road once we're off the treacherous valley roads, I wonder if I thought too soon, until he announces that we're at Tenaya Lake.

As comfortable as I am, I am also in desperate need of a wee. A stop at a lake seems like as good a place as any to satisfy that urge.

"This," Sam says, once we're all out of the van and Arjun is helping me stand as straight as possible, "is one of my favourite places in the entire country. And I don't say that lightly. I have been to each of the fifty states and every national park, many of them several times over, but I have a soft spot in my heart for this little spot of California."

He leads us away from the dusty car park, where our van is the only vehicle, and as soon as the trees part, I can see why.

In front of us is a vast expanse of pure, still blue. Tall pines surround the lake, which might as well be a mirror. The clarity of its reflection is breathtaking, every tiny wisp of candyfloss cloud replicated in the perfect water. Without a breeze to break the surface, there isn't a single ripple to disturb the reflection. We're sunken into a valley, grey mountains rising all around us beyond the pines.

Sam holds up his arms as though he's at church, his eyes closed, and he lets out an audible sigh. "This, my friends, is what I call bliss."

Klara's the first to ruin the still water, when she strips out of her shorts and t-shirt to reveal a bikini beneath, and she runs in. There's no tentative stepping, no toe-dipping to check the temperature. She just throws herself into the water with a gleeful, childlike squeal, and Kristin follows.

"Ready to face a lake again yet?" Arjun asks with a teasing glint in his eyes. He stands with his arms folded, surveying the vista before us. I'm leaning heavily against him, cursing my inability to stand unassisted but also quite enjoying his touch. I don't think I even realised how touchy-feely a person I am until I ended up on a trip with strangers.

"I am, not sure how my foot feels about it though," I say. "And any desire to waddle into the water is currently overridden by my very full bladder. Any chance you could give me a hand getting over there?"

I nod at a thicket of trees, where I can safely pee without anyone spying on me.

"Sure. Want a piggyback?"

"If you even try to pick me up right now, I'm pretty sure I'll piss myself. And, therefore, I'll piss on you. And I'm not particularly into golden showers."

A laugh bursts out of him, a loud and sudden surprise. He locks his arm around me and tuts. "What're you like," he mutters. "Come on. Time to pee."

I may not have much dignity, but I have enough of a shred left to prevent me from letting Arjun hang around while I wee. With the help of a tree to lean against, I'm able to relieve myself without his aid, and I try not to let out any kind of satisfied sound this time. I'm already the subject of everyone's conversations; I don't need anyone thinking I'm wanking in the woods.

Back on the lake shore, I sit down on the sand with my feet in the water. Arjun wades in to meet the twins, unbothered by the fact that while they're in actual swimwear, he's wearing boxers that cling to everything. I'm struggling to tear my eyes away when Sam comes to sit next to me. He slips off his flip-flops and sighs when he pushes his feet into the cool water.

"So. First things first," he says. He sticks up one finger. "Your head." Another finger goes up. "Your ankle." A third finger. "Any other injuries you've sustained and kept secret so I don't grill you." A fourth finger. "Your heart."

I touch my Togo scab. "This is fine. A superficial wound, healing just fine, which may or may not give me a super cool scar." I point at my ankle. "That'll fix itself eventually. But no more hiking for me."

"No more on the agenda."

"Ok, good. And I haven't hidden any injuries from you. None that I can think of, anyway," I say. I don't tend to keep track when I spend half my life tripping and dropping things and misjudging distances and hunting for plasters.

"That just leaves your heart."

We're both looking out across the water. He's a calming presence next to me, and I feel bad for every time I've snapped. He doesn't deserve it in the slightest, but I can't always see sense when my temper flares up. Dad jokes that I have spaniel rage – ordinarily, I'm all cuddles and belly rubs, but sometimes a switch will flip and I bite.

"My heart's doing pretty well," I say, measuring my words and nodding to myself as I decide they're true. "Recent developments have suited it very well. It took a tumble in Vegas, when my ex messaged me, though. And the first night in Yosemite, he called me at four in the morning. That sucked. But I blocked him and I told him I don't want to see him or talk to him ever again, so hopefully he'll get the message."

"That's rough," Sam says with a sigh. "I've had my fair share of relationships, and sometimes, things don't end the way you want them to. It's hard when you're young."

"You're not exactly old."

"I've got a good eight years on you," he says with a laugh, "and they're a pretty formative eight years. You have to take the shit with the great, though. For every shitty ex, there's a serendipitous romance."

"Mmm. Who was your shittiest ex?"

He inhales deeply, and I can't tell if he's trying to decide which one takes the biscuit, or whether he wants to tell me. I seem to have a habit of asking the wrong questions, but this time I don't try to take it back. If Sam doesn't want to say, he won't.

"I dated a girl called Emily, a few years ago," he says. "We had a great thing going, but it had reached its end. I broke up with her – nicely, because she deserved it – and she didn't take it well. She badmouthed me to all her friends, all our mutuals, her whole family. There are a lot of black marks against my name because of her, and hardly a single one is even rooted in truth."

"That's really shitty. And sad."

"Yeah. That was my thought too. It was really sad, yeah." He nods slowly, lips pursed. "But, you know. Take the wheat with the chaff and all that. I've had some amazing relationships. Just because they ended doesn't mean they weren't great, and I'm on great terms with some of my exes."

I wish it could be that way with George. I wish I didn't feel so bitter and angry every time his name pops into my head. When I think of him and what he did, my heart burns and my gut churns, acid anger roiling in my stomach and spreading to my chest, my throat. I'd be lying if I said it's not devastating. But I don't think there's hope for reconciliation when he seems to want me back, and I just want to forget.

"You're a changed man already," Sam says. "I tell you, a trip like this will do that to you. I see it all the time, especially on the longer treks." He pulls up his knees and folds his arms on top. "You were quiet at first – I noticed that. You seemed shy and a little beaten down, and I know your emotions were getting the best of you."

"Mmm." I throw my mind back to San Diego, when everything bubbled up and I cried around the campfire; when I wept the next morning after my parents spoke to George. "My emotions always get the best of me. The good and the bad."

"It's not bad to cry," he says. "Hell, I cry all the time. You gotta get those feelings out. You know, the chemical makeup of tears is different based on your emotion? Like, scientists can tell a happy tear from a sad one? Your body is literally trying to balance out its chemistry by leaking out the chemicals it doesn't want."

"Are you serious?" I look at him now, tearing my eyes from the sun-dappled lake, where Arjun and the twins have ducked in fully while Young-mi is still cautiously wading in, the water up to her thighs.

"One hundred percent."

"Wow. That's fucking crazy."

"Right?" He bugs his eyes at me. "When I read that, I was like, dude, what the fuck, that's insane. Our bodies are crazy clever, though. That's why you should always cry when you need to, and you should always trust your gut. Those instincts are there for a reason."

We slip into a deep, contemplative silence. I think about every time I cry, how I do genuinely feel better once I've shed my tears instead of tried to blink them away. My thoughts slip right back to Arjun before long, when he stands up in the waist-high water and droplets cling to his body, dripping from his hair.

"What's your gut telling you right now?" Sam asks.

"I can't say. It's inappropriate."

He follows my eyeline and laughs, and he bumps his shoulder against mine. "Those instincts are always the most fun to follow," he murmurs. "Nothing better than following your gut, with a smattering of mutual consent and a dash of protection."

I'm pretty sure this guy's a mind reader.

He stands and claps me on the back, leaving me to stew in my mortification that he knows exactly what I'm thinking, and he goes off to talk to Carrie and Ade. Maybe he's going to give them the same talk. If he is, he's a bit late.

*

We have plenty of time stretching out ahead of us and not too far to drive, so we end up spending hours at the lake. Sam digs out his guitar and a bunch of snacks from the back of the trailer, and we have a singalong session without the campfire.

When it's eventually time to head back to the van, Ade gives me a hand while Arjun jogs ahead in his boxers to find something a little dryer. Judging by the speed at which he changes, though, I'm fairly certain he discarded his damp pants and he's going commando under his shorts.

That thought might be a hard one to shift.

"As much as I love camping," he says after we've been on the road for thirty minutes, "I'm looking forward to a proper bed tonight."

"Proper bed in proper room, all to yourselves," Young-mi says, once again attempting a wink. She's not very good at it, which makes it all the more endearing. Everything about her is so sweet and genuine, even when she's basically telling us to do it tonight.

"You know it," I say. "I can't wait to go wild. We've still got those cards, right? I'm just gagging for a game of snap."

A moment later, my phone buzzes and I look down to see a Facebook message from Klara, of all people, who is eyeing me from the front row.

KLARA MARIA MEIER: more like a game of tap (that ass)

When I look up from my screen in shock, she's grinning like some kind of mischievous pixie whose sole mission is to get my cheeks as red as possible. She's doing pretty well so far.

"Oh my god," Arjun mutters, quietly enough that only I can hear. When I meet his eye, I see that he's on the cusp of laughter, and he has a full view of my screen. With a grin, he takes my phone and acts all innocent as he types out a reply on my behalf.

ME: jealous? ;)

I have to cover my mouth so as not to gasp. "Arjun. Don't encourage her!"

"People like Klara have to be beaten at their own game," he says, handing my phone back right as Klara sends another message.

KLARA MARIA MEIER: honestly? yes. mama didn't raise no liar. you have been blessed. tap that ass like a maple tree

Her message is followed by a twerking gif, and a few more that grow gradually cruder until I can't bear the heat of my face. She catches my eye and judging by her expression, she's pretty pleased with herself until Kristin swats her arm.

Kristin may be hissing a whisper, but I hear her say, "Jesus, Klara, stop torturing the poor boy!"

Arjun takes my phone again, fingers flying over the keys far faster than I can type.

ME: don't stop. i like to see him squirm

Oh, for fuck's sake. I'm just a pawn in their weird game. I keep my eyes locked on Klara and I see her frown, and when she casts a glance back at us, horror dawns on her face when she realises she's texting Arjun. I'm clearly the one squirming here, one hand over my beetroot face.

Her horror doesn't last, though, and it's not long before I see her next message, this time knowing it's directed at Arjun.

KLARA MARIA MEIER: that's what you'll be saying tonight

Ok, I'm officially done. I can't take this anymore. It has to stop before every blood vessel in my face bursts. I snatch my phone from Arjun, who is silently wheezing with laughter, and I shove it to the bottom of my bag before I turn away from him with my arms crossed.

Arjun doesn't say anything, but then I feel his hand on my thigh, pulling me to face him, and the look on his face would melt me if I wasn't sitting down. Those deep eyes; his dimples; his crooked smile. His glasses; his hair; his stubble. It's an intoxicating cocktail.

"Don't listen to her," he whispers.

"You're just as guilty."

"Don't listen to me either."

"You'd better stop talking then," I say.

He shrugs and nods, as if to agree, and then he tilts my chin and cups my cheek and kisses me.

Well. I guess he's not talking. 

*

my timeline/geography is a little off with this as tenaya lake technically comes before yosemite, so let's just pretend they're taking a scenic route that involves going back on themselves a smidge! i hope you liked this chapter!