I spun around, my eyes focusing on Quattro as he ambled up the steps toward me, acting like he had never done his ninja disappearing trick into the elevator early this morning. Way back in Seattle and again in Sacsayhuamán, he had told me that he was on a Girl Moratorium, but a small part of me had dismissed that as a throwaway line you tell people for one and only one purpose: to win them over. It was no different from Ginny to her Chef Boy: Whoa! You’re into blowtorching food, too?
“Where’s your dad?” I asked now, more gruffly than I intended.
“Probably trying to find cell phone service up ahead,” said Quattro.
“How come you aren’t with your group?”
“I want to walk with you.”
That single statement burrowed into me further than I liked, secreting into the soft places in my heart that I thought I had barricaded successfully. No more boy drama; no more boyfriend trauma, I reminded myself. But I could lash myself with a thousand memories of breakups past, remind myself that I’d instituted a Boy Moratorium for good reason, and still, my pulse sped in response to Quattro’s answer.
“I’m not sure you could keep up,” I told him now, lifting my eyebrow. As I’ve coached Ginny, a little challenge every now and again is good for a guy.
Just as I knew they would, his eyes glinted. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. My job’s to walk with Grace, and I bet you couldn’t go this slow without going crazy.”
“I don’t think speed is the point of the Inca Trail.”
He was right, and that was the whole problem. Just one more confirmation that where this guy was concerned, it was much better to draw a distinct boundary line, clear and stark: You on this side, me on the other.
Even so, I found myself telling him, “I wish my dad got that. I’m worried about him.”
“I bet,” Quattro said sympathetically.
That understanding unleashed a flood of pent-up confessions. I couldn’t stop myself if I tried: “He’s going blind, but he needs to be Mr. He-Man, I Own This Trail! It’s like his whole entire personality has changed. I don’t even recognize him. Or my mom. My mom! I still can’t believe that she cashed out their retirement account to make this trip happen. I mean, who are these people?”
Instead of changing the subject, Quattro said, “I think it’s cool that your family would actually do something like this—pick up and go. Your parents are just getting adjusted.”
I mounted the steps faster. “But what if this is the new normal? Dad’s perpetual grouchiness?”
“Well, he’s going blind.… That’s huge. Who wouldn’t be angry about that?”
What Quattro was telling me was all true, but that wasn’t the point. He wasn’t supposed to empathize with me. He was supposed to say one or two perfunctory words, clear his throat uncomfortably, change the subject, and then flee at the first chance from high-maintenance, mentally unhinged me.
“But what if my mom can’t stand it anymore?” I found myself wailing. “You know, she’s totally used to Dad doing almost everything manly man around the house. If it requires the toolbox, it’s Dad’s job. If it needs a ladder, it’s Dad’s job.”
“They’ll figure it out.”
“And then what if their relationship totally falls apart and they get divorced? My best friend Reb—”
“The one waiting to rescue you at Oddfellows?”
I shot a look over my shoulder, then blushed. “Yeah, about that…”
“I get it, but you can trust me.”
I wanted to! That unexpected thought almost made me lose my footing as I continued up the steps without looking where I was going.
“Careful!” he called just as I righted myself. Then he prompted, “So Reb? Is she the one who’s coming to Machu Picchu, too?”
I stopped and frowned at him. How the heck did he know about Reb’s travel plans? But then I had a vague recollection of mentioning her Machu Picchu trip to him just to keep one of our first conversations flowing.
“My memory can scare people,” Quattro admitted with a self-conscious shrug.
“I like it,” I told him, then flushed, feeling vulnerable, as if I’d just admitted that I couldn’t stop thinking about him. Quickly, I began walking again and commented over my shoulder, “So Reb was supposed to be on this trip. Stesha is her grandmother.”
“No kidding.”
“Yeah, but she insisted that I take her spot. Anyhow, Reb thought she had the perfect happy-happy, all-American family, too. And then, boom! Her dad’s splitting because he’s having an affair. And I like my family! I like my family exactly the way it is. Was. The way it was.”
I hadn’t realized that I had stopped again, that my hands were on my hips, that Quattro was watching me with sympathy as he closed the gap between us. I should have ended my rant then, but it was as if my fears had their first taste of freedom and refused to be imprisoned for a moment longer. Why—why?—did I find myself babbling about how my parents had done everything they could so I could live the life I want?