The first time I brought my dad out here, we sat for hours on a boulder, watching the water rush over the rocks like a battering ram. The sheer force that the run-off creates, coming off the mountain, is a remarkable sight. Each time he visits, in the offseason, I take him somewhere new. It’s my way of filling the void I feel when it comes to him.
Our campsite is isolated from the road, but not other campers. On each side of us, tents are set up, with fires burning in the cylinder pits, and the smell of campfire wafts through the air. The only drawback to camping is that my clothes will smell, and after a while, it can be bothersome.
Harrison pulls out a collapsible broom, extending the handle until it’s full height. “What are you doing?” Quinn asks before I can get the words to come out. Harrison looks confused by his son’s question.
“Sweeping the ground.”
Sweeping the ground? Does he not realize that we’re under pine and evergreen trees and that anything he clears away now will only resurface later? We’re in the middle of the forest. Surely, he understands this.
Quinn runs his hand over his beanie and looks at me. I shrug. I can’t help him where his father’s cleanliness habits are concerned. I can see the wheels turning in Quinn’s mind. He looks back at his dad and asks, “Um, why?”
I want to laugh, but I don’t. Truth is, I’m tempted to know the answer as well.
“So the ground is clean.”
“Aren’t the pine needles supposed to give us a barrier, maybe some kind of comfort?”
Quinn has a point, but I stay silent as Harrison stops and looks at all of us. After a long beat, Harrison throws his hands up in the air, the broom goes flying, and loudly proclaims, “I don’t know. I’m only doing what Katelyn suggested.”
We laugh. All three of us. Harrison looks a bit put off. He waves us off and retrieves his broom and puts it back in his bag.
Did you ever hear the joke about the three musicians and the quarterback who went camping deep into the woods without any cell reception? No? Me neither, but I’m hoping these few days don’t turn out to be a nightmare.
“Let’s get our tent set up.” I tap Quinn on the arm who’s still watching his dad’s every move. There’s definitely a bit of tension between them. It’s not something I’ve ever sensed before, which is probably why it’s noticeable. Quinn’s the quiet type though, otherwise, I’d totally ask him what’s going on. I just know that if I wait, he’ll tell me when he’s ready.
Together, we work to get our tent laid out, making sure that when we wake up, we’re looking at the river and not our fathers. The dads follow suit, and once we’re done, we string a couple of tarps up to help keep us dry in the event of rain.
Watching Quinn, I realize that I’m definitely going to ask him to be my best man. When I first met him, I hated him, for no other reason than he got to spend his life with my dad. My dad was there when he came to live with Harrison as a baby, there for all of Quinn’s birthdays, holidays, and everything else in between. They have childhood memories together, and I was jealous. Still am to this day, even though I’ve long gotten over the hatred I’ve felt. There are times when I want to ask Quinn what my dad was like back then, but deep down I don’t want to know. I don’t want to hear about women, drugs, drinking, or any of those things because I only truly know my dad when he’s been with my mom. The image I have of my father is one that I don’t want to change, and I fear if Quinn and I delve into the past, it could alter my view of my dad. So, I stay quiet and leave my thoughts in my head because, in the end, Quinn has been nothing but a brother to me, even when I didn’t deserve his friendship.
I know we left our fishing poles in the car and motion for Quinn to follow me. I’m not looking forward to hiking two miles back to the car, but it’ll give us some privacy. Not only am I asking him to stand next to me, but I’m asking him to do it while I’m marrying his sister. When you think about it, we’re that cliché of the best friend falling for the sister, and I’ve never once considered his feelings on the matter. Not that I can change what’s happening now. I’m going to marry Peyton, no matter what.
“What’d you forget?” he asks, halfway up the path.
“Just going to grab the fishing poles,” I tell him. I can’t recall a time he and I have ever fished together, not that we would’ve. Camping isn’t exactly a thing in our families. Give us the beach, surfboards and we’re happy, especially if we’re all together.
The whole way t
o the car and back to the campsite, I chicken out asking Quinn the all-important question. I swear, asking Peyton to marry me, was much easier. Still, by the time we get back, I haven’t been able to find the words and I’m kicking myself.
Our dads have started a fire, cracked open a few beers and look completely relaxed, which is the whole point of this trip.
“You kids hungry?” my dad asks as soon as Quinn and I put our gear down.
“We’re not kids anymore, Dad,” I point out. I search through the cooler and toss a pre-made sandwich to Quinn. I made my dad stop at this corner deli that I love so much and stock up on their fresh bread, pickles, lunchmeat, and cheese. I also ordered us a few sandwiches to get us started with. I hand Quinn a soda. I probably should’ve asked if he wanted a beer, but I selfishly didn’t because I can’t have one. I only have a few weeks before training starts and I want to be in the best shape possible when I take the field.
“So, what’s the plan for these four days?” Quinn asks.
“Absolutely nothing,” Harrison says. “We’re here to rest, relax, recoup, and reenergize.” Harrison stares hard at Quinn, which to me only drives home the fact that I think there’s something amiss between the two of them, and really making me wish Peyton was here so I could ask her.
I sit down next to Quinn and start to inhale my sandwich. I’ve gotten into the habit of eating fast when I’m around other guys. I don’t know if it’s because I’m always in a rush to go watch game film or head back to the practice field or if I’m worried that one of my linemen is going to steal my food.
The sharp jab that Quinn gives my ribs pulls me away from the sub I’m trying to devour in no time flat. “Dude, this isn’t jail. You don’t have five minutes to eat.”
I swallow what’s in my mouth and laugh. “How would you know what jail is like?”
“Fine, this isn’t your locker room where some three-hundred-pound linebacker is waiting for you to turn your head.”
I reach over and give him a fist bump. “That’s more like it.”