TODAY
“PLEASE TELL me you’re wearing the slutty one.”
My younger sister, Honey, glanced at me from over her phone as I chewed my lip, looking back and forth between the two dresses hanging and the one I was trying on.
I looked at myself in the mirror from each angle. “I don’t know. This one seems a little more me, ya know?”
“You mean boring.”
I rolled my eyes at her. “No, just . . . less likely my boobs are going to have a mind of their own and pop out when I reach for the salad. Besides, it’s comfortable.”
Now Honey rolled her eyes at me. “Really? Comfortable? C’mon. You were the one who said that you wanted to look hot. Change it up a little! Isn’t this some big party for Travis’s work? Let him show you off a little.”
“Yeah . . . it’s their annual end-of-tax-season party or something. He says it’s a big deal.” I turned again, frowning at the long, loose dress on my body. It was sort of shapeless now that I was looking at it . . . and brown. Not great. I wanted to be comfortable, to look like me, but Honey was right. I also wanted to look good for Travis and his work friends. Was it the color? Maybe the hem?
Honey crossed her legs, clicked her phone off, and stared right at me. “Look, if you want to get Travis to sit up and beg, you gotta throw him a bone.” She pointed at the green dress. “That one. Trust me.” She went right back to her phone.
I touched the silk green fabric of the dress hanging on the back of the dressing room wall. It was gorgeous—an emerald-green silk wrap dress that
had flowy cap sleeves and small flutter hem that landed mid-calf. It wasn’t too revealing but definitely hugged my curves, and between the plunge of the wrap and the slit up the side, it was so far out of my norm that I had to admit, it was pretty perfect.
“Besides the fact that you look smokin’ hot in that, you can’t show up in boots and field pants.”
“I wasn’t going to wear boots . . .” I grumbled. But she wasn’t wrong. My preference leaned toward comfortable hiking boots, field guide pants, and T-shirts. I liked to think it was because they were practical. I was a fishing guide, and that line of work wouldn’t really jive with Honey’s preferred dresses and pencil skirts. Her marketing and public relations job meant she was kicking ass and taking names, all in her Louboutins.
While she was back on her phone texting, I eyed my younger sister. Even though she was only two years younger than me, she definitely always had a leg up when it came to looks and fashion. She had always been polished.
In fact, sometimes I thought she didn’t even realize how different we were. My mind still lingering on all the ways I wasn’t like my sister, I asked her, “Do you remember Michael Drake? From high school?”
“Uhh . . . I guess. Baseball team, right? I’m pretty sure we went to a dance together.”
“You did. My prom. When he came up to me after chem class, I thought he was going to ask me. Did I ever tell you that?”
“Stop it! You did not!” I had her attention now.
“I did—we’d been chem partners and I’d helped him with his labs a few times. We got along, and when he came up to me after class looking all nervous, I thought he might ask me to be his date to prom.”
Honey just looked at me, her eyebrows moving up, making her look a little uncomfortable. “Anyway,” I continued, “I was wrong. He was really nervous, but it was just because he was afraid to ask me for your number so he could take you to the dance.”
I looked away, not sure why I’d just told her that story. I wasn’t jealous of Honey. Not all the time, at least. But there were times when softness and femininity came so easily to her—it was just who she was.
Everything, including her name, exuded sexiness—blond hair, long thin limbs, bright blue eyes . . . She was always put together, but that was just Honey. I, on the other hand, had always felt out of place with my not-really-
blond but not-really-brown hair, muddled green-gray eyes, and a body that was strong from years of hiking. I was fit but didn’t have any of Honey’s softness. The only thing we seemed to have in common was the inheritance of grandma Nana’s boobs. They were literally the only thing that felt feminine about me, and they were mostly in the way.
“Well, now I feel like an asshole,” Honey said as she wrapped her arms around my shoulders and leaned her head against mine.
“You’re not an asshole. Besides, who cares about Michael Drake? He kind of smelled like baby powder anyway.”
That got her. She burst out laughing. “Oh my god, you’re right! I’d totally forgotten about that. Maybe he had sweaty balls . . .”
Scrunching my face, I said, “Ew! Now I can never think about Michael Drake without thinking about his nasty, sweaty balls.” I shook my head. “So gross . . .”
I looked at Honey through the mirror and squeezed her arms again. She could be my polar opposite, but she was my sister and it never mattered to her how different we were. She never asked me to change, or when I was going to finally settle into a routine, move off the couch in her apartment into my own place, have a family, a life. Thinking about all that made me frown.
With a breath, I decided it was too nice of a day to think about the things I wanted but didn’t have, so I brought my attention back to the Big Dress Decision.
“Jesus, do you want Travis to stop treating you like one of the guys or not? Weren’t you saying he wasn’t very adventurous? With that dress,” she pointed at the green dress again, “you’ll be lucky if he doesn’t haul you off into a closet and fuck you right in the middle of dinner.” Honey looked at me, and all I could do was grin. The green dress, definitely.
I whipped the brown bag dress off my body. “You’re totally right. A sexy party dress is perfect. I feel really good in it and want him to be excited to have me with him. I think this can do it . . . and I definitely wouldn’t mind a little closet sex.”
“WOO! Get it, girl!” We both dissolved into a fit of giggles.
I put back on my jeans and sweater (and fine, boots), so we could finish our girls’ day together.
“All right, next up, midday margaritas!” Laughing and tossing my newly purchased man-grabbing dress (and the sky-high black stiletto heels
Honey insisted I buy to go along with it) over my shoulder, I looped my arm through Honey’s, and we set off for an afternoon of tacos and tequila.
WHAT THE HELL am I thinking?
In the last week since shopping with Honey, I’d tried on the party dress every day, and every day I became more and more unsure of my choice. Looking at myself with the curve-hugging green dress and heels felt good, really good, but . . . I was uneasy. Like an imposter. The nerves building in my stomach fluttered, and I put a hand to my belly to calm them.
This soft, feminine side of me wasn’t something I was used to letting peek through for people to see. As the only female fishing guide in the county, I was known for my no-nonsense, shoot-it-straight approach with people. Only a handful that I let in saw the other sides of me. This tits-out, showstopper, while definitely a more fun part of me, was a part I’d had to shove down and hide, keeping it only to myself in order to have even a small chance of being respected out in the field.
“What do you think, Bud? Can I pull this off?” My red heeler, Bud, cocked his head and looked at me, and his tongue lolled out of his head into a goofy grin.
“You’re right, it’s great, we’re fine.” I smiled, rubbing his fur between the ears.
Glancing at the clock, I realized Travis was already nine minutes late . . . No text either. A cold prickle ran up my arms and I rubbed them, chasing away the thought, This isn’t like him.
A sharp rap at the door to the apartment had Bud jumping to attention and snapped me out of my nerves. I crossed the living room and opened the door.
Travis stood, looking down as I moved aside, inviting him in. He stepped in without even looking at me. “Hey!” I said, arms open, ready for our typical greeting hug.
Travis leaned forward, gave me a quick peck on the cheek and a side hug. Bud stood alert at my side and eyed him with a low, throaty growl.
What the fuck?
“Bud, enough.” My dog looked at me and sighed as he curled back up in his bed by the couch.
Travis ran a hand through his neatly styled blond hair and breathed out. He was dressed in a simple but excellently tailored black suit, light blue shirt, black tie. The thought that he looked exactly like the accountant he was flipped through my mind. Simple, safe.
“Um, everything all good?” I asked, trying not to feel hurt that he still hadn’t noticed my outfit.
“Yeah . . .” He looked up, surprise taking over the stressed expression on his face. “Wow.”
Giddy over the small approval, I gave a little twirl to show off the dress, but it was short-lived. His shoulders hung and his head was down, but his eyes shot over to me as he simply said, “Nice.”
I could feel my good mood slowly deflating. “What’s up? You seem . . .off. Are you sure everything’s ok?”
Rubbing the back of his neck he finally looked at me. “Yeah . . . Jo, I think we need to talk. Can we sit down?” As he sighed, I smelled a hint of booze. Probably vodka—he wasn’t usually a big drinker, and vodka martinis or cranberry vodkas were the only hard liquor I’d ever seen him drink.
Panic crept up my spine. Talk? We need to talk? Was there a worse phrase in the history of the world? Nothing good ever came from “we need to talk,” especially if the someone you had to talk to had also been drinking.
I stared at Travis blankly. He stood in front of me, his lean arms at his sides.
In the six months we’d been dating, I was surprised that things hadn’t really gotten any more serious. Sure, our relationship wasn’t exactly exciting, but he was kind, sort of funny, and we’d gotten along just fine.
Just fine. That was the problem. Honey would have died if I told her that’s how I was describing my current relationship.
She felt like any relationship, especially someone who was seeing you naked, shouldn’t be anything less than live-wire electric. Sure, a fun and spontaneous relationship was something I would love in my life, but that hadn’t been my experience. I wasn’t the girl a guy thought of when he wanted to spend an afternoon with his face between someone’s legs. Certainly not Travis. He’d never even tried to go down on me.
Our relationship included rounds of planned Thursday or Saturday night sex, if I happened to be in town. Even then, that meant some small kisses, him on top for a few minutes, finishing, and rolling off before he gave a second thought to whether or not I was close to enjoying it too. I liked sex, I really did, and I hated to admit that even though I was dating Travis, my vibrator was getting just as much use as before we met. With him, it never was the mind-blowing, multiple-orgasm sex that Honey claimed was every woman’s god-given right.
“All right, then let’s talk,” I said, crossing my arms and lifting my chin. I could feel my walls going up, and I needed to cover myself in this ridiculous dress. I felt my right eyebrow tip up, my unintentional Resting Bitch Face on full display.
“I just think that maybe we’re better off as friends.”
“Friends? We are friends. I don’t think I understand,” I offered.
“JoJo, we are. But I think that’s maybe all we are, you know?” He offered a sheepish smile, looking down at me like I was his little sister and he hadn’t seen my tits the night before last.
It slowly occurred to me that he was more uncomfortable than normal standing in my living room. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him entirely self- assured, but the nervous energy rolling off him was filling my apartment. He was hiding something. I should have been sympathetic, but all I could feel was anger.
“Are you kidding me right now? I wouldn’t say we’re just friends . . . We had sex twice this week! This is just occurring to you now? What about the party tonight?” The words tumbled out of me as I word- vomited all over him.
“Well, yeah. I have to get to the event, but I think it’s best if I go alone tonight. You understand.” He wasn’t asking, just a simple statement of fact. Well, fuck that.
“Help me out here, Travis. What changed? This seems really out of the blue for me.”
He looked around and started rattling his car keys between two fingers. Instead of rambling more, I pinned him with my gaze, unwilling to let him leave me hanging.
“Fine. I met someone . . .” He breathed out a breath I didn’t realize he’d been holding. A weight seemed to lift from his hunched shoulders as he
straightened. “Her name is Heather. We met at the coffee shop on Park and Main, and we’re in love.”
No words. A thousand questions ran through my head, but no words came out. I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off. “Besides, you don’t really have time for me. You’re always gone looking for new places to take people hunting or fishing. I don’t understand your need to be gone all of the time. You spend all of your free time dreaming of a business that’s never going to happen.”
That was it. Gloves off. I was done. Uncontrolled annoyance radiated through me, and I ground my teeth together. This asshole was breaking up with me, telling me he’d been seeing “Heather” long enough to fall in love, and then had the balls to act like me wanting a fulfilling life was the reason we couldn’t be together? Well, fuck that.
“You mean my career? Yes, I’m busy, but you knew that when we met. I have to work twice as hard as any man in this business to get half the respect. Do you know how hard it is to get someone to sign up and pay for a woman to guide them? Plus, I invite you to come with me all the time. I’m sorry that you didn’t want to go with me, but—”
He held up his hand, cutting me off, making my eyes flare with fury.
Bud immediately tensed at our loud voices. His hackles raised as he stalked forward, putting himself between Travis and me. I put my hand down to calm him.
That’s right, pal. Fuck this guy.
“Look, you’re a nice girl, beautiful and driven, and I thought we had enough in common to make this work, but the truth is, we’re twenty-six already and I just need someone more . . . girly. You know what I mean,” he said, gesturing toward me.
Out of steam, I sighed, rubbed my eyes. “Yeah, sure.”
I choked back tears because I knew exactly what he meant. Travis had always been looking for me to be more soft, feminine, polished. A woman who lunches with other women, who he could bring to all of his corporate events and show off on his arm. A woman who didn’t prefer to sleep in a tent rather than her sister’s apartment. My ears burned with embarrassment, but I’d heard it all before.
JoJo, you’re such a tomboy. Jo, you’re one of the guys. It’s so cool— you’re like a dude with great tits!
Clearing my throat, I just looked at him. I refused to cry in front of him. If he didn’t think I was feminine enough, I damn sure wasn’t going to prove him wrong by crying all over him.
He reached out, placed his hand softly on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, JoJo. I mean it—we can be friends. But we’re almost thirty, I need a woman I can see myself marrying.” And with that he turned, as I stared at his shiny black shoes, and left my apartment with a soft click of the door’s latch.
I stood like an idiot in the middle of my own living room for longer than I’m proud of. Bud sat at my feet, looking up at me with those sweet, brown eyes of his. I tried to get a handle on what the fuck just happened. Travis dumped me. Travis, who Honey said was “blander than a banana,” dumped me.
I didn’t love Travis, not even close, but it still cut deeply to feel rejected. I wasn’t woman enough for him. He had found someone else who could be. I wasn’t someone you brought home to meet your mom. I wasn’t marriage material. I was just one of the guys. Again.
Gathering my resolve, I slipped off my black heels and threw them across the living room with a raw yell. They smacked the back wall, rattling a frame from the shelf, sending it crashing to the floor. I let the tears fall in the quiet safety of the apartment as I tore at my green dress. It felt like every hidden part of myself that I was trying to share but couldn’t. The moment I opened myself up and let someone in, my femininity was thrown back in my face. The soft silk against my skin was more than I could stand. Balling the remains of the torn dress, I tossed it away.
Is Travis right about me?
Grabbing my phone, I considered texting Honey and catching her up on the drama that was my life, but just didn’t have the energy. Besides, she was probably working late at her PR firm. We could be angry together over her amazing pancakes in the morning.
I fiddled with the phone. I didn’t want to sulk alone, but calling my mother also seemed like a bad idea. Against my better judgment, I tapped her name, and my fingernail toyed with the skin on my thumb.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, who is this?” Seriously?
“Mom, It’s Jo. Do you have a minute?” I sniffed, and she didn’t seem to notice.
“I suppose, dear. Daddy and I are about to leave for book club.” It wasn’t surprising that Friday night book club took precedence over a phone call from me.
I cleared my throat, trying to clear the lump that had formed there. “I’m just having a bad day. Travis broke up with me.”
The phone was quiet for a moment and then she started with a hmm. “That’s a shame, JoJo. He was a catch. Did you do something to upset him?”
“He met someone else.” The words burned in my throat as I fought back tears of embarrassment.
“Well, hun, to be honest, I’m not sure you two were a great match. Travis was looking to settle down, and you’re always bopping around from place to place. You spend all of your time with other men in the middle of the woods. I’m actually surprised he didn’t have an issue with it earlier.”
I was stunned into silence. The only sound that escaped me was a small croak. I knew what she meant—and that made the burn in my chest so much worse. I was in the back half of my twenties and spent a lot of time traveling the state, sometimes even farther west, taking groups hiking and fishing on public lands most weeks in the year.
“Wow,” I said, anger and disbelief bubbling up to the surface. But why should I make the effort to change when it seemed like everyone had already made up their minds about me? “I am not spending time with other men. You know that guiding is my job, Mother.”
The work it took to build trust with the farmers, landowners, and other outfitters was hard. I just couldn’t imagine giving up my dream of finding a great piece of property and transforming it into a full-service resort that helped people connect with nature. I’d take them to the best spots, feed them amazing food, teach them about the land and the animals—help them see the beauty in all of it. But that dream left very little time for things like romance, weddings, and babies.
“I’m sorry, dear, I guess I just don’t understand why you feel the need to traipse around the state—”
“You know that in order to get on Forest Service land, I would have to buy out another outfitter or be given the land!” Yelling at my mother was rare, but I was steaming. “I have been saving every penny. You know this is my dream, and if that means that I have to scour public lands for spots that aren’t already overrun or overfished, then so be it!”
“Joanna!” My mother’s voice was laced with indignation. “Young lady, you will not raise your voice at me. You chose this life for yourself. Daddy and I wanted you to go to MSU, but you wasted your time at a community college in Chikalu Falls.”
In my anger, I burned a path across my living room floor. As I paced, my eye landed on the fallen frame. An ache formed behind my eyes, and I pinched my nose to keep from crying. Losing steam, I slid down to sit against the wall. I sighed as Bud nestled his head on my lap.
“I know, Mother. But me being a teacher was your dream, not mine.”
In the cracked frame, Pop’s thick arm was around a nine-year-old me as I held up a fishing pole and my first “big bass.” I couldn’t help but laugh through my tears as I touched Pop’s proud grin.
“I miss Pop.” My voice thickened in my throat.
Pop had been gone since my freshman year of college, and his absence stung every single day. He was my rock. Visits to Pop and Gram in Chikalu Falls were the happiest moments of my childhood.
“I know you do, sweetheart. You two were bonded. He understood you in ways I never will.”
It was a sad truth that stung to hear aloud. I suddenly wanted nothing more than to get off the phone with her. I was looking for comfort that she couldn’t give.
“I’ll let you go, Mom. I’m sorry I called and upset you. I’ll be fine.” “Ok, dear. Let’s talk soon.”
The phone disconnected, and I sat in silence.
Pop was the only person who never treated me like I was just a girl— like I couldn’t do everything the boys in town could. He taught me to fish, hike, trap, hunt. I’d shot my first rifle with him when I was eight. It took me six shots before I even hit the old pumpkin, but he wouldn’t let me give up.
When Honey and I would visit, she would peel off with Gram, learning to sew and bake and garden, and my lessons were shockingly similar. Pop showed me how to patch a tent, different ways to cook the fish we’d caught along the river, and which plants were safe to eat. He never once made me feel like I was lesser, just because I was a girl.
I traced a fingertip over the fading photo and felt the void his absence created.
In high school, I’d spend entire summers with him and Gram in their rural home near the base of the Kootenai National Forest. Their land
stretched across ninety acres with access to streams for fishing, mountains for hiking, and valleys for glassing animals from across the ridge. I grew comfortable in my own skin in the silence that stretched between us—he’d encouraged me to sit and just listen. I could lay my head against his shoulder and breathe in the mountain air. I never had to be anyone other than myself in those moments.
After deciding on the community college, I took my car to visit Pop, and when he’d heard the news, he patted my leg and simply said, “Good girl. You can do this. You can do anything you set that mind to. Don’t ever let anyone tell you, even your parents, that your dreams aren’t good enough. You’re special, little one.”
Thinking back on the man who shaped so much of my life, I gently placed the cracked frame back on the shelf. I was not a wallower. I needed to stop feeling sorry for myself.
With a deep breath, I gathered my messy emotions and stuffed them back down a little. I might not be someone’s arm candy tonight, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to sit alone in my apartment in my underwear and cry about it.
I resigned myself to Netflix, grabbed a bottle of the expensive Syrah that Honey always bought, and curled up on the couch. I tossed a dirty look to the rumpled heap of green silk. With a pat from me, Bud hopped up, plopping his stocky body right next to mine with a deep, hearty sigh.
“I hear ya,” I said to him, smoothing his fur back behind his ears. More disappointed than sad, I tried not to think about whether any man would ever see me as more than just one of the guys.
