I nod solemnly. “I’m on it, Sarah. Trust me. It’s not going to be like in La Paz—”
“I WAS TWELVE!” Tate pretend shouts, and we all laugh.
It’s best that we laugh instead of thinking of what could happen. Like Dad, Sarah has never understood our climbs, but unlike Dad, she’s never really been okay with it. Whenever we first get back from a trip, she clutches Tate like he’s going to disappear. Now he’s eighteen and off on the trip of a lifetime, so she’s doing the best she can to suck it up. But I can see the fear in her eyes.
Mami is still smiling big and wide, her dark eyes crinkled up. She looks so happy for us, but what is it like for her, to watch the rest of us head off to live her dream? She swears up and down she can’t wait to meet us in Kathmandu when it’s all over, that she’s fine. And I try so hard to believe it. But my capital-D Dread, so enormous and gut-churning and constant, isn’t easy to dismiss. It waits until I’m relaxing in my room or half-asleep in my bed. Then it tries to swallow me whole.
I push it away and hold up my phone. “Let’s get a group shot, okay? Mami, I promise you, I’m going to send so many photos and videos and texts that you’ll practically be there with us!”
“You’ll have all the sights, none of the smells—so none of Rosie’s high-altitude crop dusters! What could be better?” Tate says, and we laugh. Mami laughs loudest of all.
She grabs me in one last hug. “I am so excited for you,” she says, her voice strong. “You, my love, are the most thoughtful, deliberate climber I’ve ever had the privilege of climbing with.”
She looks at me with such intensity that I’m surprised flames don’t crackle out from her eyes. “Savor every moment, Rosalita. I hope it is magical.”
There’s no judgment in her voice, no resentment. But I can’t help thinking about every time I bitched about training or complained about missing too much school. I wanted this…but never as much as Mami. I can’t help thinking that she should be doing this, not me.
I look more like my dad—a seriously tall, skinny white guy with blue eyes—than Mami, who is pretty short for a climber and has darker skin and deep, brown eyes. We’re different enough that when I was a baby, people thought she was the nanny. But looking into her face is like looking into my own. Our connection is so strong it’s like a rope strung between us. After staring into my eyes, she squeezes me once more, then lets go.
She turns and gives Jordan a quick hug, then swats him. “Jordan! Scram! The last thing I want to hear is a phone call once we get home and back into bed that you’ve missed the plane. Remember that time in Chile—”
“Again, I was TWELVE!” Tate says, and Mami laughs and hugs him.
“I know, I know. I’m teasing. You’re an excellent climber, Tate. Just remember to take care of yourself the way you take care of Rose and you’ll be fine.” She pauses. “Take such care. We need you, my friend. Okay?”
Tate nods and hugs her tight, dwarfing her until she disappears in his arms.
We have one more round of hugs, and there’s an attempt to actually head to security, but then we’re delayed by a frantic realization that someone (Tate) forgot his e-reader in his mother’s purse, followed by another round of hugs, and then we’re off.
* * *
—
Twenty hours into our trip, I think Tate and I are the only ones awake. Jordan popped an Ambien the minute our second flight took off, and by the snores coming out of her, so did the woman in front of me. I keep turning around and around in my seat as though there were even the remotest chance of getting comfortable.
“Will you stop!” Tate whacks me on the arm. “It’s like sitting next to a rotisserie chicken!”
I sigh. “Sorry! Sorry, sorry. I’m so tired. But I can’t sleep.”
He cracks his neck, then winces at the popping sound. “No, I’m sorry. I’m just edgy. Can’t sleep, can’t read, can’t watch any more TV…”
“There are BBC channels. You can watch the baking show,” I point out, my voice muffled. I’ve dropped the tray table and have face-planted on it, my head resting on a sweatshirt. “Will you draw pictures on my back?”
This is what we do in the tiny tents on climbing expeditions, where we get into our sleeping bags as soon as the cold bites. Depending on the climb and who else from our larger group is with us, I share a tent with either Tate or Mami. He snores way less than Mami, though I swear in high altitude it’s like a contest to see which of our farts are worse. As an only child, I’ve always been fairly private, but sharing tents with Tate gives me some taste of what it might be like to have a brother. Even as we grew up, and the boy-girl thing could have been weird, we somehow managed to keep our friendship normal. Not that our friends at school totally believed it. Anyway, we have a deal: one night I tickle his arm until he falls asleep, the next he draws pictures on my back.
“ ’Course,” he says, and starts to draw. I’m supposed to guess the pictures, but it’s too hard to pay attention when I’m half-asleep and hypnotized by his light touch. The Dread falls asleep too. At least while he’s drawing. This time he doesn’t ask me to guess. He draws shapes that might be mountains, or waves, or rocket ships…with Tate, it could be anything.
“So, you okay? Saying goodbye to your mom and all?” he says finally.
I shrug, and he adds an accidental zigzag to whatever he’s drawing. “It sucked. But…I mean, she’s counting on me to go and totally live the experience, and I will. I’m not kidding that I’ll send so many photos and stuff that she’ll have a—I don’t know—virtual reality version of the trip. So that makes it easier.” I sigh. “I can’t believe we’re actually on our way. Do you realize we’re done with high school? Hello, ‘independent study!’ But it’s over. All our friends, and all that work…Honors Calculus, History…done.” I sigh into my sweatshirt. “It feels weird, don’t you think? We’re going to miss all the fun senior spring stuff.”
He laughs softly. “Yeah, I’m not real nostalgic for high school. Maybe in twenty years. I’ll take a trip to Nepal over sitting in those crappy chairs for six hours a day, anytime.” He sighs. “You have no idea how pumped I am to be out of that place.”
I snort. “It’s not exactly a vacation. You know we’ll be trying to stay alive in the death zone on Everest, right?”
His hands stop moving for a second, then start up again. “Yeah. I remember.”
I sigh. “But I guess it’s easy for you. You’re the toughest of us all. Who barely gets jet lag? Who’s the least sick from altitude? Who’s the only one who made it up Engelhorn without puking? Also, was that a boat?” I ask, trying to stay awake.