“Just in case we die here,” she says snapping a selfie of the two of us.
“We aren’t going to die here, Drama,” I say as I strategically place my suitcase on the dresser instead of the floor.
“We may die of asphyxiation,” Alice says while holding her nose and setting her suitcase next to mine.
“It does smell pretty fucking rank in here.”
Opening my suitcase, I grab a few things and head to the bathroom to get ready for bed. When I finish, I find Alice already in bed, and since there’s only one bed, I squeeze in next to her. Both of us are thin, so I can only imagine what it would be like to share this bed with her if we weren’t.
As soon as I pull the sheets up, an odor wafts over both of us and Alice starts laughing.
“What?” I ask and she’s now laughing even harder.
“It smells like Grandma Ruth’s house,” she says in between giggles. “Like cigarettes, newspaper, shit and wintergreen Canada mints.”
“It totes does,” I respond, now laughing just as hard as Alice is.
Grandma Ruth was our mom’s mom and she was nothing like our mother. She was crass and vulgar, she didn’t like kids and she smoked like a chimney. Actually, at the rate Alice is going she’ll be the next Grandma Ruth.
“I’m gonna end up like Grandma Ruth if I don’t get my shit together soon,” Alice says, but this time there’s less humor to her tone.
“Nah,” I answer, because I can’t keep beating Alice down. I’m no better. The fact I’ve spent twelve years searching for a guy makes us even, especially since I lead a relatively normal life besides this. “And if you do, can you at least put out better candy? Those mints are fucking gross.”
“I’ll put out some kind of anise flavored shit,” she says, and I burst out laughing. “Either that or something clove flavored. All that shit tastes like a funeral parlor smells.”
We laugh together for at least an hour, reminiscing about our grandma and her smelly house, which leads to discussing in detail the smell in this B&B and then to why the woman who owns it has so many cats. The discussion keeps us both laughing and at some points, we are both in tears.
I never realized it, but I miss interacting with people while I’m on this trip. Mostly it’s spent in silence with me following a set agenda. I’m having a great time with Alice here.
“Hey, Alice?” I ask when the room falls silent.
“Yeah.”
“Thanks for coming with me,” I say, but I feel myself get choked up.
“No problem.”
The next morning Alice and I head over to the university and after reviewing this Elliot’s class schedule online, we duck into his eight a.m. lecture, taking a seat in the last row in the back.
While his lecture on art history is quite entertaining, and he is extremely handsome, it’s not my Elliot. As I listen to him speak, I find myself coming to terms with the fact that I need to end what it is that I’m doing. I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.
The countless people I’ve tracked down only to find they are not who I’m looking for. It’s getting old and usually at this moment I feel defeated and let down, but sitting in this lecture hall I’m suddenly okay with the fact that this is not who I’m looking for.
“You ready?” Alice asks, running her hand down my arm in a manner that is meant to be reassuring.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
We head back to the B&B, checking out and loading our suitcases into the car. As we toss our bags in the trunk, Alice jokes about how we’ll have to fumigate everything before our next stop and I can’t help but agree.
We are heading to Astoria, Oregon next and it’s at least a two day drive; something neither of us are looking forward to. Before leaving the B&B, I adjusted the schedule and changed the hotel reservation in Astoria to be a few days later than planned.
“You wanna see Mt. Rushmore?” I ask Alice as we pull out of the parking lot, leaving behind that dreadful stay but not the stench.
“You fucking know I do,” she says sounding far too excited about something so mundane.
“Let’s do it then,” I respond smiling at Alice as she beams back at me.
A few seconds later, Alice connects her phone and The Beatles “Rocky Raccoon” is playing in the car while we sing along, accentuating the Black Hills of South Dakota line and laughing as we both sing loudly and off-key.
After spending the day sightseeing with Alice, we decide to check into a rather rustic looking lodge that has some beautiful views of the mountains and Mt. Rushmore. Despite our earlier experience with rustic accommodations, this place is quite stunning. The view from our room is breathtaking and Alice spends at least an hour on the balcony taking pictures and later leaves to walk the grounds of the lodge with her camera.
I’m already in bed when Alice returns. The room is shrouded in darkness and the silence is nearly deafening. It drags on, as Alice says nothing to me, assuming I’m asleep. But there’s something about the silence that doesn’t feel right, almost tense or awkward.
She climbs into bed and a few seconds later she lets out a muffled sob. I can tell her face is pressed into the pillow, trying to hide the fact that she’s crying.
“Alice?” I ask, through the quiet and it seems to echo throughout the room. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she says in a whisper, but I know she’s anything but okay.
“What’s going on? Why are you crying?”
“I don’t know,” she answers back, but this time her voice rings out clearly.
I let the silence wash back over us, not sure how to respond to her. There are so many things Alice could be upset over and I can’t even begin to rifle through them. I also don’t want to push her to share anything she doesn’t want to.
“Do you ever wonder if Mom dying fucked us up?” Alice asks as if the thought has been weighing heavy on her for years.
“No,” I answer back immediately with a firm tone and I can instantly tell I’ve upset Alice.
“You don’t wonder if she’s the reason you’re still searching for Elliot after all this time? Someone who could very well have forgotten all about you since he left you on that beach.”
“No, Alice,” I respond indignantly. “And I’m not going to let you blame Mom for your fucked up choices. That’s pretty fucking low of you.”
“I’m not blaming her and for you to sit there and act like what you’re doing isn’t totally fucked up is just as shitty,” Alice answers and now she’s purposely trying to be mean. “And all I was saying was that maybe I’m trying to replace something in my life that was lost. Trying to find something that makes me feel like I did when Mom was alive.” Alice lets out a stifled cry. “Thanks for making me feel like shit.”
I hear the rustling of sheets and I know Alice has turned away from me. She’s not going to make me feel sorry for her. She’s the one who brought it up, whether she meant it to sound accusing or not, that’s exactly how it came across.
“Grow up, Alice,” I shoot back. “Maybe you are trying to replace that feeling or whatever, but it doesn’t matter. Mom died years ago and you’re the one who ran off and decided not to grieve. Maybe if you had stuck around and dealt with your feelings back then, you’d be a productive adult.” My words come out in a rush and as soon as they leave my mouth, I regret them. They’re too harsh and it’s not my place to tell Alice how to live her life. While I don’t feel sorry for her, I don’t need to be spiteful.