CHAPTER ONE
Naomi's beaten-up Subaru honked twice in my driveway. I gave my pack one final check over even though I'd already gone through everything a hundred times over the past few days. Naomi and I had done countless multi-week hikes before, but that didn't make it any less nerve-wracking to think about accidentally leaving behind the bear spray, headlamp, or extra socks. We'd be stopping through a handful of trail towns as we made our way through the Appalachians, thankfully, but it was still a major annoyance to forget anything important.
I quickly made sure all the lights were off, windows closed, and doors locked, before heading out the front to Naomi's old blue car that I'd helped her pick out for her high school graduation. She was standing outside of it, opening the trunk and making room for my gear. We wore nearly identical outfits: Black bike shorts, sports bras, oversized sweaters tied around our waists, and our matching hiking boots. She preferred bright colors while I wore muted neutrals.
At 22, I could still remember the pimpled, lanky versions of us that had met back in middle school. Now, I'd filled out into feminine curves while she'd toned into lean willowy muscles. It was spring break of our senior year at UPenn, which meant one precious week we could spend together before graduation. In a few months, for the first time, Naomi and I wouldn't be living up the street from each other. She'd scored a position at a law firm in downtown New York and I was heading out to California to start as a production assistant for a new streaming service show. Not much, but a stepping stone into the industry I wanted to work in.
With us about to head onto vastly different paths, it felt fitting to hike a literal path through the woods together. I knew, logically, it wouldn't be the last time. That we'd meet up for vacations and weddings and birthdays. But this was the end of one life and the start of another. It felt important.
I shoved my heavy pack into the trunk and wrapped Naomi up in a hug. Like always, she smelled like the white citrus body mist she'd been wearing since her first boyfriend gifted it to her years ago. She leaned into my shoulder and we took a deep breath together. It had been a tough semester, and a tough winter before that, and so on and so on. This would be a much-needed, hopefully meditative, adventure through the hills and mountains.
She pulled back and held my shoulders. Her brown eyes, warm like a summer creek, searched mine. "We're really doing this, aren't we?"
I gave her a little shove. "It's not like we haven't before. Remember the John Muir Trail? You were peeling off that sunburn for weeks after we got home. And that month on the Pacific Crest?"
She snorted and shut the trunk. "Yeah, I really thought you were going to lose that toenail like Reese Witherspoon did in that movie."
"Not our best work," I snickered in agreement. We walked to our respective doors and slid into the car. As she checked her mirrors and pulled back onto the street, I added, "Compared to those, this is going to be a piece of cake."
"You're right, you're right."
"As usual."
We settled into light conversation under the brilliant blue early April sky, heading from our childhood homes in Philly's suburbs north. We'd drive all day today to New Hampshire's Appalachian ridge edge, where we'd park at her aunt's place, sleep together in a twin bed, and then head out early in the morning. It was ambitious, but we wanted to hike the whole roughly 90-mile trail across the state through the rolling hills and cliffs. Border to border. It was an intense schedule for six days, but doable for us. We both stayed pretty fit and snuck in as many hikes as possible during the year between bigger projects that we planned through fervent texts and late-night abandoned study sessions.
Being with Naomi was easy, even packed into the Subaru with our gear for 12 hours between fast food meals and roadside pee breaks. We'd been best friends for more than a decade, and it was more like we were family -- without all the fighting. With both of us being only children, our parents were more than happy to let us romp off together whenever we wanted as long as they knew what we were getting up to. Of course, we didn't always tell them what we were getting up to, but they never seemed to mind much.
As the miles rolled by, we watched the scenery change from our simple suburb to the open highway lined with green hills. She rolled down the windows as the air turned crisp. We took turns picking out songs from an old mix CD we made years ago when we lost cell service. Eventually, the conversation tapered off, giving way to a comfortable silence. The anticipation of the adventure ahead hung in the air and we both processed our mix of nerves and excitement in our own minds.
As the sky transitioned from blue to hues of orange and pink, Naomi finally spoke, breaking the silence. "We're almost there," she said, her voice filled with a mix of thrill and exhaustion.
I glanced at the GPS, confirming that our destination was just a few miles away. We turned off the main road and onto a smaller, winding path that led us deeper into the New England woods. Aunt Lydia's house emerged from the trees, a quaint cabin that exuded warmth and familiarity. I'd been here a couple times on weekend trips with Naomi's family. The air was filled with the scent of sweet pine and spring flowers as we got out of the car, stretching our limbs after the long drive.
We walked up to the front porch, the dusty yellow light welcoming us for the evening. I pulled in a deep breath, preparing myself for the overwhelming attention of one of Naomi's many eccentric relatives. Naomi knocked on the door and pushed it open.
"Aunt Lydia!" She called out into the small house, "We're here!"
Lydia's excited shriek sounded from the nearby kitchen. "Yay!"
She emerged around the corner, frizzy white hair tied up in a messy bun and peasant skirt brushing the faded wooden floor. Lydia squeezed us both at the same time. "Naomi, Van, it's so good to see you, even if I only get a few hours in."
