Chapter_41_Getting_th

“The Milky Way is EPIC!” Biz shouts, lying next to me on the hood of Virginia Woolf, staring up at the night’s stars. We’re naked, covered in sweat and grime from rolling around on the earth, luxuriating in our afterglow.

I’ve never seen so many stars. “Like, what even is the Milky Way, ya know?” I ask.

“Technically, a candy bar,” Biz jokes.

“There are a gazillion bajillion stars,” I contemplate, “and we’re just so inconsequential compared to all of... them.” I wave my arms toward the open sky like a QVC model. “I am truly humbled.”

Biz cracks up at my sincerity. “Mmm, now I wish we had candy bars.”

“I wish we could make s’mores.”

“Oh my god, yes!”

“C’mon. You know how to build a fire. Be the daddy and get it going.”

“I think there are designated areas for that.”

“I want a burnt marshmallow real bad.”

Biz crosses and uncrosses his legs. “How do people in movies lay on their cars and watch the stars, this is so not comfortable.”

“I know. My back is trashed right now.”

We both tumble off at the same time, groaning like elderly men.

“I wish we had a tent,” Biz says, sliding on his boxer briefs.

“We could sleep in the car.” I pull on my boxers.

“What if we get mauled by a bear?”

“Are there bears out here?”

“I have no clue. Are there snakes? Or spiders? I think I read once there are baby tarantulas in the desert.”

“Scorpions are a thing out here too. I think.”

We’ve both lived in the city too long to know what current neighbors we’re dealing with. I wouldn’t be surprised to see a pigeon. Our Brooklyn is showing.

“Whatever’s out here, Matilda and Pancake will protect us.” We turn to see both dogs curled up in balls of innocence, incapable of hurting a fly, fast asleep.

There’s a faint cool breeze. Thankfully, the temperature has dropped so it’s not too steamy. In one big swoosh, Biz spreads out a blanket on the soft ground where we hold each other and cuddle under the dust of constellations.

The silence is abundant. It feels like we should whisper.

“I feel like we’re in an episode of Naked and Afraid,” I say.

“Except we’re in an episode of Boxer Briefs and Semi–Freaked Out.”

Biz grabs me, flips me on my side, flings his leg around my hips and turns me into the little spoon. Matilda and Pancake lazily waddle and plop down next to each other at our feet.

I grin from ear to ear, listening to Wyatt, Matilda and Pancake all breathe heavily, dreaming together; our little family. Our bodies blur together and we all find sleep.

Sometime around eight thirty the next morning, I wake up surprised to find Biz already awake. The night owl is up before the early bird.

“How are you awake?” I ask, rubbing sleep out of my eyes, sitting up. My mouth is dry and my brain feels swampy. I crave black coffee. “This might be the first time I’ve ever seen you up before me.”

“I guess I sleep better in the middle of the desert,” Biz says. “And snuggled next to you.”

I smile as the dogs stretch and shake the dirt off their fur.

The blinding sun is high and bright, moving over the surreal, ragged mountains towering in the distance. It feels hotter and dryer than yesterday and it’s time we find indoor relief.

“Is there any more water?” I ask, putting on shorts and a T-shirt.

“I just poured some for the dogs. There’s a little left.”

“Shit. Okay. We should get going.” I start to panic slightly.

“Relax. We’ll be fine.” Biz starts doing yoga poses to wake up.

“I’m serious, Biz. I don’t wanna die of dehydration out here. I saw a roadside motel on the way here that looked decent. We can check in, shower, get breakfast and stay the night.”

“Or we can just buy a tent and come back to this spot.”

“I’d rather have a little more civilization tonight,” I decide.

“Okaaaay,” Biz says, making sure his disappointment comes across.

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re completely diminishing last night but that’s fine,” Biz says.

“How am I diminishing it?”

“By saying you want more civilization,” Biz says, standing up. “I thought it was magical for both of us.”

“It was. That’s not what I’m saying at all. Last night was a total blast but today’s a new day and it’s time to focus.”

“I should’ve known your spontaneity was temporary.”

I watch him abruptly fold the blanket and put away the dog bowls. I wonder how this went south so quickly.

“C’mon. Stop. It was my idea to detour out here,” I remind him.

Biz unfastens the thick Velcro straps—four of them—on his medical boot and slips it off with a sigh of cathartic relief, like undressing after a day of skiing.

“Thanks for agreeing to keep that on while we did it last night. That was kinda hot,” I say, trying to win him back.

“You have a medical boot fetish, I guess?” he says.

“Apparently.” I watch Biz massage his foot and ankle, which is sweaty and still swollen. “I still can’t believe you did that. I feel so bad.”

“It’s okay. I’m mobile. And the whole experience was a breakthrough for me,” Biz says. “But don’t drink and zip-line at home, kids.”

I turn to him with a quizzical look. “What do you mean? You drank before you went zip-lining?”

“I told you. I was at the pool. I just had a couple pi?a coladas,” Biz says.

“You did not tell me that.” I shake my head. “That’s just... that’s unbelievable.”

“Okay, you don’t have to judge me,” Biz says, offended.

“I’m not judging you. I just don’t understand when that’s going to end?”

“Aaaaaand the magic desert party is officially over.”

“I’m serious, Biz. I mean, you seem to make the same mistake over and over again.”

“What mistake?” Biz demands.

“Being irresponsible! Enough, already. You’re about to be a dad,” I say.

“I’m pretty sure dads drink. The entire concept of a beer was made for dads.”

“That’s not what I’m saying at all.”

“What, you meet your actual dad for one day and suddenly you’re the expert? Why do you have to be so uptight when it comes to literally everything?” Biz asks.

This stings.

“I’m not claiming to be a dad expert. And I’m not uptight. It’s called responsibility. We’re about to have one of the most profoundly life-changing events, and we’re in the middle of the desert fucking off like we’re in college without a care in the world. I’m just saying maybe it’s time we grow up a little. Not everything has to be fun fun fun. That’s not really how I want to live my life, and I don’t want to be shamed into thinking I’m some uptight monster.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Biz says.

“You just did.”

“I wasn’t the one who wanted to pick a random spot in the desert to sleep. Please don’t put that on me.” Biz has a point. This was my idea.

“You’re right. But I’m constantly feeling all this pressure from you to do something outrageous like that so...”

“When have I ever said I want you to be outrageous?”

“You haven’t. It’s just always implied. You make me feel like I’m the parent sometimes.”

“And you make me feel like I’m a kid.”

“Maybe because you’re acting like one.” I’m seething. “With you losing your job and not even telling me about it—”

“I tried to tell you and there was never a right time,” Biz says.

“Again, all I ask for is transparency in this relationship.”

“Says the guy who isn’t exactly the best communicator,” Biz comes back at me.

“You really don’t understand how all the pressure is on me now. I’m going to have to take so many shitty directing jobs and I’ll never see our baby,” I say. “I honestly think sometimes you just don’t want to be a dad.”

We stare at each other for a moment. Neither one of us backs down.

Biz stands. He limps barefoot, crossing through the dogs, and sits on the car’s back fender. I watch as he struggles to slip his medical boot back on, tightening the Velcro straps.

He throws on a single sneaker, a pair of shorts and pops on a T-shirt.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Leaving. You can have the rest of my Dasani.”

A laugh slips out before I realize he’s serious. “Wait—what? You’re taking the car and leaving us out here? I don’t think that’s—”

“No. You take the car. I’ll walk.” Biz kneels down to pet the dogs. They wag their tails and lick his face in unconditional loyalty. I can’t hear what he whispers into their ears but I know it’s something like love. I imagine Biz is waiting for me to call his bluff.

Wiping the fresh dog slobber off his face, Biz stands and slowly, comically, limps away toward the horizon. He’s awkwardly getting nowhere fast. And he’s not looking back.

I raise an eyebrow, watching him, incredulous, half amused. The farther Biz walks away, the more my stomach pools with a mix of dread, anxiety and that familiar fear of abandonment.

There’s no way he could actually leave. Can he?

“Biz?!” I call after him. “C’mon. You just can’t limp all the way to civilization from here. Can you stop so we can talk?!”

One minute in and I can see Biz is already out of breath from the rising heat. Now he has to commit to walking away to maintain his pride.

“You’re just going to walk out on your unborn baby?!?” I shout at him, going for the jugular.

“You said you don’t think I want to be a dad, so...” Biz shouts back.

I immediately regret my words.

He’s going to prove a point to me, even if it means dying of heat exhaustion.

I think of running after him as the dogs sit on their hind legs and whimper, wondering where their other daddy is going. But he surely can’t get far on one good foot.

When Biz disappears behind a clump of ancient Joshua trees, my uncertainty grows.

I let out a long-winded, frustrated sigh.

It would be the biggest mistake of my life to let the love of my life walk out. Especially now. I can’t let Biz wander through the desert only to get torn limb from limb by wild jaguars or leopards or coyotes or lions. Okay, I have no idea what kind of animals are out there in the desert, but I’m pretty sure they might be lions.

I throw on some clothes and hop into Virginia Woolf with the dogs. The car seats are boiling hot, even for cloth. Just as I’m about to start the car, somehow my phone has reception and I get a call. It’s Flora.

I keep my eyes focused on the horizon in search of Biz as I swipe to answer it.

“Flora! How are ya?!” I arrange the tone of my voice to sound casual and upbeat, because my boyfriend definitely didn’t just leave me stranded in the middle of the desert. We’ve been waiting to hear from her so it’s good she’s finally calling.

“Hi, Wyatt. It’s me,” Gabrielle says. Flora’s wife. I tense up. It’s not normal for Gabrielle to call us. In fact, she’s never called or texted us alone before.

“Oh hi, Gabrielle.” I start to freak out but want to project a level of calmness.

“You guys are harder than shit to get a hold of. We left you five thousand messages.”

I look at my phone and don’t see one message. I’m hanging by one teeny-tiny bar of service. “We’ve been on the road and service is spotty out here. Sorry about that.”

“Okay, don’t freak the fuck out...” Gabrielle does not have a way with words or with people. Her tactless, devil-may-care approach brings with it a certain charm though. “Shit’s going down.” Maybe not charming exactly.

“What do you mean? What’s happening? Is Flora okay? How’s the baby?” I’m done with being calm.

“You need to relax, dude, but here’s the scoop. We’re with the doctor now, and she’s saying the baby’s not getting any bigger so they need to induce her early.”

“Induce labor early?” I ask. “Flora said the doctor decided against that.”

“The doctor changed her tune. The baby’s not getting enough nutrients inside the womb so we can’t wait,” Gabrielle says.

“The baby’s due in three and a half weeks. How early are they thinking?”

“Today.”

I stop breathing. My jaw clenches. I scream inside.

The dogs look at me and whimper. They sense stress and it makes them uncomfortable.

“I know you guys are driving cross-country or some shit, so Flora wanted me to call you. The baby could be here this morning.”

I swallow and try to regain composure.

“We’ll be there,” I say, not knowing if this is true or not.

“Where are you?” Gabrielle asks.

“Currently? Mojave Desert.”

“Oh, killer. Wait—what? Don’t answer that. Just meet us at the hospital asap.”

“We’re in the car as we speak. Thanks for letting us know.”

“See you soon I hope,” she says.

She hangs up.

I exhale sharply three times like I’m the one having a baby, and now I have to find Biz. I pack everything up, slam the car door shut and quickly turn the keys in the ignition.

The engine sounds like a chainsaw. I shake it off and try again. Same thing—chainsaw. The dogs cower under the strange noise.

“Oh, come on,” I say out loud.

I try again to turn on the engine. Chainsaw. Virginia Woolf has met yet another tragic end for herself.

We’re not going to the hospital anytime soon.

My phone has no signal. I start running to find Biz. I’m panicked. There’s no way in hell we drove all the way out here only to miss the birth of our baby. We’ve spent a lifetime building up to this moment. And I need to tell Biz how I feel about him.

Sprinting through unknown terrain, I pass one Joshua tree so quirky and beautiful that I briefly think about stopping to take a picture. I make a quick mental note to shoot an athletic shoe commercial on location here.

A flicker of some kind of prayer crosses my mind, hoping Matilda and Pancake will stay tied to the tree I knotted their leashes around.

The only sounds I hear are my heavy breathing and the pitter-patter of my shoes hitting the cracked earth. I run fast but my thighs feel heavy, my core blobby and bloated and my calf muscles could cramp at any moment. Stuffed in a car, driving cross-country while eating fast food is not the training I need to run a half-marathon through the desert.

Did Biz hitchhike a ride from a stranger? Fall into a well? Is that brown thing on the ground a stick or a snake?

After several minutes of running, my momentum slows when I spot an old two-story house that I don’t remember on our way in. I head toward it instinctively, needing shade. I also need to hydrate. The house could have a water fountain or hose, or at the very worst, a bottle of Dasani. It’s a weathered homestead cabin that looks like it’s been baking under the sun for three hundred years. No sign of life anywhere.

I sit on the ground, out of breath, cradling my knees to my chest. I fill with despair.

Maybe it’s the heat but I stare into the sky and vividly imagine a conversation with our future sixteen-year-old. After graduating from Harvard early, where our little genius majored in climate change and minored in saving the planet, they would hop in a self-flying car:

Dad: Congrats, kid. I’m so proud of you. Your other dad would’ve been proud too.

Kid: Yeah... about that... were you guys there for my birth?

Dad: No. Sorry, kiddo.

Kid: Why not?

Dad: Well, we got into a fight and I never saw him again.

Kid: I hate you.

Snapping out of my daydream slash hallucination, I stand and focus, staring at the house. My phone repeatedly chirps and I’m now getting full service. Twenty-six text messages appear on my screen along with four voicemails, all from Flora.

One second later, my phone powers down, out of battery.

“Hey!” It’s the sound of someone shouting.

I wipe sweat off my forehead with my bare arm, spin around and spot Biz sitting behind a cement wall inside a patio around the back of the house. He pierces me with a deeply disappointed look in his green eyes.

I hurry onto the patio to find a glistening swimming pool and a bubbling hot tub. A heavenly oasis. Next to Biz appears a smiling twenty-something couple wearing matching denim rompers. They have identical long stringy hair down to their butts and both look like Jared Leto.

“There you are! We have to go!” I say, trying to convey urgency in my voice.

Biz gives me a condescending look. “Okay, rude. Wyatt, I’d like to introduce you to our hosts first,” Biz calmly says, not aware of any urgency.

“Biz—seriously...” I can’t get the words out quick enough without Biz interrupting me.

“This is Plum and Cosmo. Plum and Cosmo, I’d like you to meet Wyatt.” Biz speaks way too slow and I’m losing patience. “Plum and Cosmo are on a silent retreat for two months so they can’t speak out loud right now.”

I look at both of them, unsure of who’s who. “Nice to meet you both,” I say, rushed.

As advertised, the couple doesn’t speak and just solemnly bows their heads, making a prayer gesture with their hands. After way too long, they finally raise their heads with enlightened grins like they’ve been tickled by their god of choice.

“Okay, great. Biz—”

“They just asked if I wanted a sound bath and a prickly pear margarita,” Biz says.

I glower at Biz. “I thought you said they couldn’t talk.”

“They wrote it down.” Biz looks around. “Wait—where are the dogs?”

“They’re fine. They’re leashed to a tree,” I say. Off Biz’s confused look, I can’t hold it in anymore. “Flora called and they’re inducing her. She’s having the baby early!”

“What?!” Biz is full of shock and excitement.

“The car’s broken. It doesn’t work. That idiot mechanic must’ve been talking too much because he didn’t fix it properly. It’s too far to walk back to the dogs, then walk out of here. My phone died so we need to call a cab or something,” I say.

“A cab to drive us all the way to Baker? That’s like three hours from here. And my phone died too,” Biz says.

We both turn to the couple.