Chapter 7

Adam

Iwash up and wipe the condensation off the mirror, catching my reflection and noting several scrapes on my taut muscles. I dab on antibiotic cream and cover them with bandages. My chest and shoulders are broader, my arms thicker after back-to-back climbs. I do a chest wiggle. The ladies wouldn't be able to contain themselves.

Yeah, right.

The only available women I have seen at Yosemite Sam's are the seventy-year-old twins who volunteer for the park service. The pickings are slim out here in the wild.

But hope springs eternal and I have an unexpected second wind. Skipping the actual shaving part, I pat on my father's aftershave, glad I swiped it during my last visit home.

I ruffle through my closet, making a mental note to call the cleaning service as I find a clean pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, donning them carefully as to not to jostle the bandages. My body aches but it's a good ache. From a day spent on the mountain, pushing myself to the limit. Now I need to decompress.

I've spent the last five years ignoring the judgmental comments of people asking how I can be outside all day climbing mountains rather than making a proper living.

Never mind that I spent a decade developing a tracking app that was acquired by a multi-billion-dollar company and used by every driver on the European continent. I am set for life. Financially, anyway.

I recall the jaw-dropping moment when the purchase fee came through. I decided right then and there that I wouldn't change. I look around at what I refer to as my ‘cabin,' and laugh to myself.

Okay, at least I haven't changed, mentally.

The sprawling home set amid a copse of California black oak is nestled within one of Yosemite National Park's three private communities. It boasts soaring wood-beamed ceilings, state-of-the-art appliances, and a luxurious décor. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of the surrounding mountains.

I know I am blessed.

The one possession I've kept the same is my car. I still drive my ten-year-old Honda and will until it dies on me. It's a reminder of how quickly life can change. It keeps me humble.

I am still a kid from Denver, still an inner geek and adventure seeker. The two character traits are rarely found in the same man but I've never been typical.

As far as my mother and sister are concerned the only thing left for me to conquer is a meaningful relationship.

Where once their comments were veiled as innocent inquiries, in recent years they have become more blatant.

You're too picky. Will anyone ever be good enough? You've become too big for your britches.

What the heck are britches, anyway?

They have me pegged all wrong. I want a partner, someone to travel with, to hike the world with, to grow old with. I just haven't found her yet. In all fairness, I spent many years either holed up in a room with a computer surrounded by tech-obsessed nerds or alone on a rocky mountain. It doesn't make for meeting compatible women.

I should feel guilty for lying to my family about being engaged but it's the first reprieve I've had in years. Sadly, my goose is now cooked, the chickens about to come home to roost.

The fowl metaphors remind me that I am famished.

I grab my brown leather jacket and head out. Zane will be waiting for me at the billiards table in the back of Yosemite Sam's. I pat my jeans pocket, glad I have some cash. If history is any indication, I will be paying my buddy a bundle by night's end.