“Thanks,” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear in a shy gesture that seems totally out of character for her. Even after all these years, I guess she can still surprise me sometimes. “Okay. Now you.” I look at her, quirking a brow. “Tell me a secret you’ve never told anyone. Come on.”
The only thing that comes to my mind are the Confessions video blogs. I try to push them away and think of something else, but they just cut through all my thoughts like a giant neon sign. I wince and breathe in through my teeth to try and make something up.
“I’m waiting,” Jessie coos in my ear.
“Um…okay…I keep sort of a diary too.”
“Be serious, Nate!” Jessie punches me in the arm. “I told you mine. Come on.”
“I am serious. I mean, it’s not exactly a ‘flashlight under the bedsheets’ sort of thing, but it’s a diary – more or less.”
“Are you fucking with me?”
“Absolutely not. It’s the truth. I’ve been doing it for a couple of years now. Like you said, it’s a cool way to organize your thinking a bit. Figure things out for yourself. Kind of like…”
“Like making your thoughts count for something. So you know where you stand.”
I look at Jessie, who’s gazing at me so sincerely I can’t look back at the road. A second later I do, somehow feeling like she’s just pulled at a part of me I didn’t know existed.
“Yeah, something like that.”
We settle into an easy rhythm for the long drive to Napa. Jessie hooks her iPhone up to the car stereo and plays a bunch of bands I’ve never heard of while we enjoy the scenery. The open road winding between the lush coastal mountains and the serene blue ocean makes me feel like we’re a million miles from the hustle and bustle of LA.
I try to focus on a game plan for my networking weekend, but Jessie is such a bundle of energy to the right of me – drumming on the dash, singing choruses out loud, and basically making me feel more like we’re heading to the beach than an isolated resort full of stuffy corporate types – that I soon give up and relax into the simple joy of the road trip. As I look over at her, taking in the goofy grin and the gigantic coffee table book of Renaissance costumes that she brought along for a little light reading, I start believing that we might just be able to pull this off.
We can tell we’re getting close to the retreat long before we actually do. The hills start to curve and roll like Picasso painted them, and the endless fields of grapevines seem to almost glow with greens and browns under the California sunshine. Everywhere you look, the valley appears to have had the most flattering Instagram filter applied to it, almost surreal in its perfection and vibrancy. I glance at Jessie, who’s doing her best ‘Alice in Wonderland’ eyes out the car window.
I guide the car down a narrow path through the vineyards, and when we round a corner, Jessie gasps as the retreat we’ll be staying at comes into view.
“Pretty nice,” I say, slowing the car down as the path widens into the forecourt.
“Pretty nice?” Jessie exclaims, almost like she’s offended. “This place is gorgeous.”
I don’t say anything – she’s right. Even I’m a little taken aback as I bring the car to a stop in front of it. The building’s three floors are set against the gentle curve of the hill, all red-tiled roofs, sun-faded terracotta, and vines of bougainvillea that coil themselves around columns and dangle from arbors. It looks perfectly cohesive with the nature around it, as if its multiple terraces, balconies, and aged colors sprouted out from the ground as organically as the dense fauna around it.
We step out of the car and grab our bags, a valet running over towards us. I hand him my keys, and he drives my car away like he’s just committed a robbery, leaving us standing there in the awesome presence of the place.
“Shall we, Tessa?”
Jessie turns to look at me in confusion, then quickly smiles when she realizes.
“Sure, booboo.”
“What?”
“Booboo, it’s a pet name. Nothing screams authentic couple like a saccharine and infantile pet name.”
“Sure,” I say, seeing the point but not really liking it. “But ‘booboo’?”
“I’m sure you’d prefer something like ‘big boy’ or ‘studmuffin,’ but I’m not giving you that.”
“Okay, then I should get to call you something.”
“Sure, take your pick,” Jessie says, nonchalantly.
I try to think of all the pet names I could call Jessie, and make the stupid decision to look at her for inspiration. My eyes go straight to the soft curves hiding beneath the thin fabric of her tank top, and suddenly all the things I can think of to call her wouldn’t be suitable outside a sound-proofed bedroom.
“Um…‘cutie’?”