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“Uh,” Oakley looks between the two of us, and notices the puke-covered garment bags. She takes them from Kalon. “I’ll just replace these garment bags for you real quick. We have a small bathroom if you’d like to clean up,” she says to Kalon. He’s watching me closely, and I don’t know why.

He doesn’t look away from me as he tells Oakley, “That’s okay. I have clean clothes in the car.” Oakley nods and disappears inside while Kalon opens his back door, and takes his shirt off. Lord, I miss that body. And all that ink. He slips a plain blue t-shirt on, shuts the door, and turns just as Oakley bustles back outside.

“Here you go.” She hands him the new garment bags, and he gives her a polite smile before hanging them in the car. When he goes to check on Tala, I make my escape into the safety of the studio. When I look down, I realize I also puked on myself, and start crying all over again. The tears, the puking, seeing Kalon, why does the Universe hate me so much? I’m in the bathroom cleaning myself up when Oakley calls my name.

“In here!” I reply, my voice shaky. I’m trying to clean my shirt, but it’s no use. It’s stained, and it smells, and why is my body fucking with me right now? Is it payback for what happened with Jamie? Of course the Universe would smite me in front of the man I started having feelings for, and then dumped, even though it was meant to be casual.

“What happened outside?” Oakley asks, squeezing herself into the bathroom with me.

“Obviously, I bumped into Tala and Kalon.”

“Seeing him made you throw up?”

“No, obviously not, it was the garbage truck that drove past. The smell made me sick, and, well, you saw the rest. God, this week can go fuck itself.” Really. Like up-the-bum-no-babies kind of fuck itself.

“It’ll get better, we have your birthday this weekend,” Oakley says.

“Ugh, don’t remind me. If being thirty is anything like this, I want to pass and go straight to thirty-one.”

“Hey! I’m thirty, and it’s awesome.”

I face her, soaked shirt and all. “That’s because you have Bash, and your business is thriving, and you didn’t puke on a guy you met through Tinder. You’re living life through rose-colored glasses right now.”

“And you’re living life through pee-colored glasses, Channing.” Okay, that’s gross, but I get the analogy. “Change into something from the closet, and if you need to go home because you’re not feeling well, that’s fine, but we’re going to have a kick-ass fucking weekend, and you’re going to love being thirty. Trust me.”

Against my better judgement, I decide to trust Oakley. But I also decide to go home because I’m scared I might get sick again and would rather not risk it.

When Friday afternoon rolls around, my suitcases are packed for a girls’ weekend away to celebrate my birthday. I’m not even close to being excited to celebrate this year, but Oakley and Holland are, and they’ve both gone through a lot of effort for me this year. We load up Holland’s Mini Cooper S hatchback, and drive just over an hour out of the city until we get to Bear Mountain Inn. It’s one of the many resorts Oakley’s father owns, so we’re staying and using the spa facilities for free for the weekend. The valet takes Holland’s keys, and a porter takes our luggage while we check in at the concierge. I’m dragging my feet when we’re shown to our individual stone cottages and try to muster up some enthusiasm. The saving grace is that I’m staying alone so Oakley can’t try and pep me up when I’m just not feeling it. I’ve barely had a chance to arrange my luggage when Holland and Oakley arrive.

“We’ve decided to order in tonight,” Oakley announces. “This place’s food is off-the-charts yum.”

I plaster a fake smile on my face. “Sounds good.”

“But we’re first going on a hike,” Holland announces. That’s when I take in hers and Oakley’s attire. Hiking gear from head to toe. Explains why I had to order the same attire online, even though I've never hiked a day in my life. My ass is evidence of that. “So you need to change.”

“Why can’t you guys go without me?” I whine. “I’d rather soak in the tub, and take a fucking nap.”

“Don’t be a party pooper, Channing,” Oakley admonishes. “A hike will be,” she hesitates when Holland looks at her, “fun.” Right. Because she’s like me and hikes on the regular. Not. This will be as painful for her, as it will be for me. I’m sure I can find some comfort in her discomfort.

“Let me go change,” I sigh. “The sooner we get going, the sooner we can get back.” Whoever invented hiking was obviously high as a fucking kite when they did it. Who thought walking between trees, and bushes, while trying to spot birds was fun? It’s not. Holland only makes it worse when she starts spouting statistics about how many people die from bear attacks, or from falling off a cliff.

“Holland, are we lost?” I eventually ask. I feel like I’ve seen that tree before, and that bush looks real familiar. Holland looks back at me, and then at the map in her hands. She’s the self-appointed guide on this expedition to hell, and now she has no clue where the damn exit is. I’m sweating, and I want a shower, food, and my bed. In that order.

“Holl,” Oakley says, “Just map the inn on your phone so we can get out of here, please? It’s getting dark, and I doubt the park rangers will be out at this time.”

“We’re not lost!” Holland insists, though she keeps turning the map this way and that. I don’t even bother trying to look at it because it’s like math and geography all rolled into one. Hard pass. I fan my face. “Please, Holland. I want to go back to the inn.”

We’ve been walking for over five miles already, and only Jesus knows where we are because He has a bird’s eye view.

“I’ve got it!” Holland shouts. The sound echoes around us and sends a flock of birds careening from the treetops.

“You’d better,” Oakley says, “because my watch keeps saying ‘rerouting, rerouting.’”

“We must go this way.” Holland stabs the map with her finger, and then points ahead. She’s no longer coping with the pressure of getting us out of here. Breaking out some sage advice about staying calm under stressful circumstances is imminent. I trudge along behind Oakley, who’s behind Holland, and almost weep when we reach the clearing between the start of the trail and the inn. I’ve never been so happy to see a fucking building in my life before.

“I’m not Catholic, but thank the fucking pope,” Oakley says, resting her hands on her knees while trying to kill Holland with her eyes. I’m not about to get in the middle of that. We made it back, that’s all I care about.

“I’m going to shower,” I tell them. “Whose cottage are we eating in?”