Nick is all about speed. Even his features—sharp and short nose, small eyes, straight brows—move quickly and dramatically. You get a glance at him and you have an idea of what he’s all about. You don’t need to keep staring. But still, he’s handsome, in that overly athletic way—deeply tanned skin, thick neck, white teeth. It was his smile that won me over the day we first met in his gym, that and the fact that he was successful, had a career behind him, and a new one in front of him. But he’s not smiling much these days.
He’s not happy to be here. He’s always been a rather hot-headed person—especially when he was playing rugby—but for the most part he’s aloof. He keeps that all buried, and all you see is the professional. Here, though, everything seems to put him on edge. What he did with Blair was embarrassing, yelling at him like that and smacking his hand away just for touching me. I want to say it’s out of character, but something tells me it’s not. I may not know Josh but I’m not sure I know the guy I’m seeing all that well either.
It’s like being here is the last thing he wants to do. He’s sullen, moody, immature. At first I assumed that Nick was coming because he wanted to do this trip with me and Josh had just spurred him on. But now I’m starting to think the only reason he’s beside me right now is because he doesn’t want to lose face. He doesn’t want to lose, period. He’s competitive to the very core, and I’m just a prize.
As the easy acoustic notes of “Fearless” play out over the speakers, I glance at Josh in the rearview mirror. He’s sitting back beside Amber and staring out the window, his legs splayed, wearing flip-flops, jeans, and a tight black T-shirt. His tattoo snakes masterfully down his arms, like an organic extension of his shirt, and his thick, rich black hair is free of product and occasionally falls across his forehead. He’s lost in thought, his pretty blue eyes taking the passing scenery in.
Josh’s face invites you to stay awhile, to spend some time taking him all in. You want to dwell on his features—the soft, Elvis-like curl to his upper lip, his arched dark brows, the slant of his cheekbones. Most of all, you just want to stare into his eyes. Sometimes they’re so easy to read that you think you can see right into his soul. Other times they’re clouded, like a storm rolling down a blue glacier, and you have no idea what he’s thinking, what he’s wanting.
I want him to want me.
I want him to not want me.
I don’t know what I want.
But when he was massaging my legs yesterday in the caves, I couldn’t deny there was something between us. There always had been, there had just been too few opportunities for it to spark.
It scared me, the feelings he brought out.
But so far my fear is greater than my want.
And so I’m with Nick, not with Josh, because Nick is my future. And Josh, he’s a ghost from the past, staying for a spell before he’s pulled back to where he came from. He’s not permanent. He’s like the wind. He’ll be with me long enough to ruffle my feathers and then he’ll be gone.
Just outside of Tongariro National Park, we pull over for greasy fish and chips wrapped in newspaper. The imposing volcanic peak of Mount Ngauruhoe, still fringed with snow, pokes its head in the distance. We sit down at a picnic table nearby, a scenic spot for lunch, and I can’t help but watch Josh as he takes it all in, the contrast of white against all the green. I wonder if it reminds him of home.
“Do you miss Canada yet?” I ask him, pouring an illegal amount of vinegar all over my chips.
“Not even for a second,” he says, eyeing the carcasses of vinegar packets as they pile up in front of me. “When did you start missing New Zealand while you were gone?”
I thought he’d already asked me that question, back when we were talking in his bed till dawn. I don’t look at Nick as I answer, “I didn’t miss it at all.”
I’m not sure why I say that since it isn’t exactly true. I had missed some things—our chocolate for one, Watties tomato sauce (not ketchup), and a few friends and family. And I guess, on occasion, I had missed Nick. But things are different now, and I’m not about to admit anything.
“Well, I’m homesick,” Amber admits, and I look at her in surprise.
“You are?”
She nods and exchanges a look with Josh. “I was just telling Josh last night that I don’t really . . . feel like I’m here yet. It’s like my memories of home are more tangible and this is just some dream.”
“Could it be jet lag?” Nick suggests.
She shakes her head, a few curls coming loose and framing her fairylike face. “No, physically I feel fine. Mentally I feel like I’m in a cloud.”
“I told you, it’s because you’re placing too much pressure on yourself,” he says, and I feel like an animal when someone pets them the wrong way, my hair all raised. It actually bothers me that the two of them are having private moments together.
I blink and try to shake it off, and Josh eyes me closely. I put on my mask and tell him to elaborate.
“I don’t know,” he says, running his hand along the dark stubble on his jaw. I’m glad he didn’t shave this morning. I like it. He looks more rugged. “I’m just now figuring this out for myself, but it seems like when you travel, at least for the first time, ’cause, fuck, I don’t know any better, there’s so much pressure to take it all in. You’re short on time and money and you panic, thinking, ‘I better be present in the here and now or I’ll never remember anything, I’ll never feel like I’m here. It will be a waste of time otherwise.’ But the more you concentrate on being here, the more it clouds over. Amber said she was feeling the same way, so maybe I’m onto something.” He shrugs, as if suddenly aware that neither Nick nor I might understand.