previously: wouldn’t we be the sweetest thing to ever not work out?
Okay, maybe it was for the best that you didn’t fall in love with this. There were a whole lot of people back in Wisconsin who would prefer that this didn’t work out.
The first week of classes, Jordan might have easily said to hell with it. He was ready to call it quits and crawl back to his family in utter shame, because this wasn’t working. It was harder than he thought it would be. His arms felt like jello. He felt his muscles burn in places where he didn’t know muscles existed. His fingers gripped rock after rock until they could only tremble. To top it all off, he looked like such a shrimp next to these other beefy guys.
“But let me tell you a secret,” Maya told him, “We have less body weight to pull up. Just focus on your technique. Newbies always slip a few times. That’s why we have you on the short wall.”
Maya was five-foot-six and 135 pounds at most. She was motivating and encouraging, and he appreciated that, but it didn’t make the hard falls and slips any easier. He’d only been training for a few days, but they trained hard. He paid for these sessions and he was going to get his money’s worth. They climbed in the morning before the sun was high and hot, and they climbed in the evenings, too.
He wished he could say the effort was working.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Maya said. “People train for years before they ever attempt Komorebi. Did you think you’d master it in two weeks?”
No, that would have been silly. Two months? Well, he couldn’t say he didn’t hope.
“But Jack?” Jordan pointed at his fellow newbie flying up the wall. “He’s Spider-Man!”
He and Jack were the only two newbies in the class, but one look at Jack and you’d never assume this was his first time. He knew the handholds by instinct, he flew up the rock face with strength and precision. He would definitely have this mastered in two weeks.
Even Maya glanced at Jack, nodding with approval and surprise, then she turned to Jordan with a grimace. She was trying so hard to convince him not to throw in the towel, and he felt bad for her. He should probably just quit the class so she didn’t have to try with him anymore.
“Jack is different,” she said. “Jack is, I don’t know, touched by God or something. He’ll be teaching this class next year. That’s not normal. Most of my students have been training seriously for a year and they’re still mastering the medium wall. I’ve been climbing for three years, and this winter will be my first time attempting the summit. It was slow to start. You’ll get there in your own time.”
But Jordan wasn’t sure he had enough time to get there in his own time.
“One more thing,” Maya added, pointing at him directly. “You. Sunscreen. We’re pasty people in the desert, and those rocks reflect the sun. We fry out here.”
Jordan felt fried, mentally and emotionally, but he didn’t know about his skin. He shrugged. “I don’t know, I think it’s probably fine.”
But no, it wasn’t fine. By the end of the day, he felt it. His skin was warm and pink, and this was gonna hurt.
“But let me tell you a secret,” Maya told him, “We have less body weight to pull up. Just focus on your technique. Newbies always slip a few times. That’s why we have you on the short wall.”
Maya was five-foot-six and 135 pounds at most. She was motivating and encouraging, and he appreciated that, but it didn’t make the hard falls and slips any easier. He’d only been training for a few days, but they trained hard. He paid for these sessions and he was going to get his money’s worth. They climbed in the morning before the sun was high and hot, and they climbed in the evenings, too.
He wished he could say the effort was working.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Maya said. “People train for years before they ever attempt Komorebi. Did you think you’d master it in two weeks?”
No, that would have been silly. Two months? Well, he couldn’t say he didn’t hope.
“But Jack?” Jordan pointed at his fellow newbie flying up the wall. “He’s Spider-Man!”
He and Jack were the only two newbies in the class, but one look at Jack and you’d never assume this was his first time. He knew the handholds by instinct, he flew up the rock face with strength and precision. He would definitely have this mastered in two weeks.
Even Maya glanced at Jack, nodding with approval and surprise, then she turned to Jordan with a grimace. She was trying so hard to convince him not to throw in the towel, and he felt bad for her. He should probably just quit the class so she didn’t have to try with him anymore.
“Jack is different,” she said. “Jack is, I don’t know, touched by God or something. He’ll be teaching this class next year. That’s not normal. Most of my students have been training seriously for a year and they’re still mastering the medium wall. I’ve been climbing for three years, and this winter will be my first time attempting the summit. It was slow to start. You’ll get there in your own time.”
But Jordan wasn’t sure he had enough time to get there in his own time.
“One more thing,” Maya added, pointing at him directly. “You. Sunscreen. We’re pasty people in the desert, and those rocks reflect the sun. We fry out here.”
Jordan felt fried, mentally and emotionally, but he didn’t know about his skin. He shrugged. “I don’t know, I think it’s probably fine.”
But no, it wasn’t fine. By the end of the day, he felt it. His skin was warm and pink, and this was gonna hurt.
—
In the morning, Jordan put some aloe on his sunburn. It was time to get back to the grind.
The morning session went as well as it ever did, which was not to say he made much progress. There were no notable falls to mention, and nothing actually broke, but the sunburn made every movement torture. So he ducked out of the session a little early and went to hide.
He already had a favorite spot in the adventure park. It was a small rock ledge that was flat enough for sitting, covered by the shade of a lone tree, and had a spectacular view. He paid a hefty price tag for these classes, so he would rest when the climbing got the best of his bruised body and ego. The best part—this was the only spot in the park where he got a good cell connection.
He checked his texts. Maria had sent a picture and an emoji kiss. 😘
The emoji was sweet, but it left him wanting. Her pictures left him speechless, but also filled him with ache. He knew the real thing, and nothing less would do. Not anymore, not after six weeks apart. He wanted her real lips on his, her warm skin under his fingertips, he wanted to squeeze her supple thighs and wrap her legs around his hips.
As it turned out, they both wanted dates on the calendar.
He called her back.
“I have good news,” Maria said. “I mean, I hope you’ll think it’s good news. I can have five days off on November 5th. Steph said she’d cover some of my shifts after Justin finished his exams. Or else a weekend on October 22nd.”
“Really? That’s next weekend.”
“But the train ride is almost ten hours each way, so I’ll only get to see you for about… twenty-four hours?”
“I would absolutely pay good money to be able to touch you for twenty-four hours.”
“It would be cheaper if I can get someone to watch Johanna.”
“And more time for touching,” he said. “A better bang for my buck.”
“Hmmm,” she mused, “Why does this sound like hiring a prostitute?”
“Ha, I’m in Nevada,” he said. “It’s totally legal here.”
She giggled. “Can you afford that? The train tickets, I mean, not the prostitute.”
“Well, I mean, I could probably afford it once,” he said.
“Once,” she repeated somberly.
“Or both? I’ll pick up some jobs. We can do both.”
“No, you don’t have to,” she said. “I mean, I can pay for one of them.”
“Then both?” He felt unreasonably excited. She could be here so soon, and that was more optimistic than he’d felt about anything in weeks. Just ten more days. “What do you think? Then I can see you next week… But, I guess, only for twenty-four hours.”
“Oh, God, it sounds awful when you say it like that,” she said. “Would you be okay with that? I don’t know if I can do that. Twenty-four hours together and then just, like, going home? How can we do that?”
Then, as if to torture him, the morning sun moved over the lone tree and blasted down its midday rays on his burnt skin. His favorite spot in the park now felt like the fires of hell.
“Wait, please try,” he pleaded. “Please? We’ll have so much fun, you won’t even think about it. And It’ll get easier. In December, training breaks for the winter, and I can come to Wisconsin for a bit.”
“How long is a bit?”
“Longer than five days, I promise.”
“And then? After that?” she wondered. “Weekends here and there. Twenty-four hours at a time. It’s not even really about the money. I don’t know if I can keep taking long weekends and vacations. Unless I quit my job.”
“I would never ask you to do that.”
“You wouldn’t?”
Somehow that must have been the exact wrong answer, because she went quiet in the way she did when she was trying not to cry. He knew the difference; he’d unfortunately been the reason for her crying a few times now.
“Maria? What is it?”
She was silent for seconds more, but he could hear her breathing, shaky and slow. Then she said, “It does feel like putting it back on the shelf. It’s going to feel that way every time.”
“I know,” he said. “And I’m so sorry. But are you still gonna come? You can think about it. If you want, we can just do the November week when you can stay longer. I don’t want you to be sad.”
“Well, now I’ll be sad if I don’t come, too,” she said.
“Okay, then come,” he said. “You won’t regret it, I promise.”
He knew she wouldn’t be okay with this. He knew it before they even started. But he’d been hopeful when she wanted to convince him otherwise. Now there was a growing realization of what this would feel like long-term. It wasn’t the carefree dream life he imagined.
—
After that conversation, Jordan just felt defeated all around. He decided to call it a day at the adventure park and retreat to his humble home on wheels to finish a few modifications. He was building bunks in the back bedroom for the kids.
He texted his boys independently of Colette. He wanted them to know that they could come any time, that they were not forgotten. He was naive, maybe, to think that Colette would work with him on this. He hoped they might have been allowed to visit for a weekend by now.
These climbing classes ran through November. That was another six weeks on top of the six he’d already been away, and that wasn’t soon enough for nine-year-olds. He felt like he was doing so much wrong. But what was the alternative?
A phone call broke his work. It wasn’t Maria. It wasn’t Colette, either. It was Milo.
“Hey, buddy.”
“Sorry, Dad.”
“What are you sorry for?”
“I wanted to tell you before Mom does. I got a detention.”
“Oh, okay. Do you want to tell me about it?”
“It’s just because my homework, and—”
“Hang up,” Colette demanded, storming into the room.
“He doesn’t have to hang up,” Jordan said, but she couldn’t hear him, and Milo couldn’t hear, either. She’d already swiped the phone. And then she hung up.
Colette regretted letting the boys have phones. It didn’t seem a choice these days—all the kids had them—but she didn’t feel wrong for regulating their usage on her own terms.
“Go downstairs and start that homework,” she ordered. “I want to see progress when I come down.”
Jordan redialed, and the call went straight to voicemail. She must have turned the phone off. All Jordan could do was sit there in the dust and fume.
He didn’t think she’d be so obstinate. And maybe that made him a fool, because of course Colette intended to be as obstinate as possible. She allowed him to take the boys backpacking in Canada, but now she won’t let them come out to Nevada for a weekend? Because she was mad and she could.
He was pretty sure he had some rights, but he’d need a lawyer to find out what those rights were. And lawyers cost money, which he was quickly running out of.
Colette took her time walking across the short hallway to her own bedroom. She sat on her bed and called Jordan back.
“He got a detention, you know. He isn’t doing his homework anymore. It’s weeks behind. Seems like he thinks his father is okay with ditching his responsibilities, so that’s what he’ll do, too.”
“Give his phone back. Let him call me.”
“It’s too late,” Colette said. “It’s a school night and he doesn’t have his homework done.”
“So he needs his homework done to talk to his dad?”
“You’re not here, you don’t make the rules. Stop undermining me.”
“Stop making this so difficult,” Jordan said.
“I’m making this difficult?! You fucking left! You left us—them, you left them.”
“It’s not like that,” Jordan said. “I’ll have them any time. I’d have them now, this weekend, whenever. They get a break for Thanksgiving, and they get another long weekend at the end of the month. Sierra Nova has a direct connection from Chicago. I’ll buy the tickets.”
“Damn right, you will.”
“Okay, fine, then let them come out.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” Colette said. “Get an apartment. Get custody. Then, when that’s done, you can pay for the train tickets and you can have them.”
“It’s up to you, you know,” Jordan said, his teeth gritted. “It’s entirely your fault they’re not out here. We could cooperate. Plenty of people co-parent and cooperate without making it a huge war. Or you can just have it your way like you always do.”
Yes, actually, she did intend to have it her way. Should she feel sorry about that?
“I’m going on a date, by the way,” Colette said, with a smug grin. “He’s a doctor. An emergency trauma surgeon. He sounds very successful.”
“Is it important for me to know that he’s a doctor, or are you just being as mean as possible?”
“If you feel bad about him being a doctor, then that’s your problem.”
She hung up on him, unwilling to let him have the last word.
Colette took her time walking across the short hallway to her own bedroom. She sat on her bed and called Jordan back.
“He got a detention, you know. He isn’t doing his homework anymore. It’s weeks behind. Seems like he thinks his father is okay with ditching his responsibilities, so that’s what he’ll do, too.”
“Give his phone back. Let him call me.”
“It’s too late,” Colette said. “It’s a school night and he doesn’t have his homework done.”
“So he needs his homework done to talk to his dad?”
“You’re not here, you don’t make the rules. Stop undermining me.”
“Stop making this so difficult,” Jordan said.
“I’m making this difficult?! You fucking left! You left us—them, you left them.”
“It’s not like that,” Jordan said. “I’ll have them any time. I’d have them now, this weekend, whenever. They get a break for Thanksgiving, and they get another long weekend at the end of the month. Sierra Nova has a direct connection from Chicago. I’ll buy the tickets.”
“Damn right, you will.”
“Okay, fine, then let them come out.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” Colette said. “Get an apartment. Get custody. Then, when that’s done, you can pay for the train tickets and you can have them.”
“It’s up to you, you know,” Jordan said, his teeth gritted. “It’s entirely your fault they’re not out here. We could cooperate. Plenty of people co-parent and cooperate without making it a huge war. Or you can just have it your way like you always do.”
Yes, actually, she did intend to have it her way. Should she feel sorry about that?
“I’m going on a date, by the way,” Colette said, with a smug grin. “He’s a doctor. An emergency trauma surgeon. He sounds very successful.”
“Is it important for me to know that he’s a doctor, or are you just being as mean as possible?”
“If you feel bad about him being a doctor, then that’s your problem.”
She hung up on him, unwilling to let him have the last word.
—
When Colette made it down to the kitchen, she was pleased to see homework books open and being worked on. One less thing to stress about. Dinner though. She called in an order for takeout. Colette didn’t cook. Actually, that was another thing Jordan left them to deal with on their own. As it turned out, he cooked more than she did. And even when he didn’t cook, he often brought leftovers home from the hotel kitchen or brought the boys in after school for dinner.
So much for that. But Colette wasn’t broke, and they would eat somehow.
“We can go on the train,” Milo suggested after she’d hung up the phone. “We can ride it by ourselves. You don’t even have to take us.”
“No,” Colette said. “You can’t, actually. Not until you’re ten. And I’m not sending you to live in a camper. But since you all love to go behind my back, why don’t you tell your dad to get a real place to live? He doesn’t even have electricity—did he tell you that? Could you live without all your video games for even a weekend? Just finish some of that homework. I do not want another email from your teacher. C’s are not acceptable. And I hate your hair like that, it’s too long.”
“God, Mom, chill,” Felix said. “Maybe if you weren’t so crazy all the time, Dad wouldn’t’ve left.”
She felt that one like a dagger in her gut.
Milo didn’t chime in, but he didn’t defend her honor, either.
Those boys would never know how close they’d come to seeing their beloved game console spiked through the center with the sharp heel of her pump, shattered into pieces, then scooped up in a dustpan and thrown into the bay.
But she didn’t do that, because she was a grown-up. She was the one who held everything together and cleaned up everyone else’s messes.
To hell with both of them. To hell with everything and everyone.
She closed her eyes, balled her fists so tight that her fingernails made crescent-shaped indents in her palms. “I’m having a bath,” she said. “That homework will be finished by the time I’m done or God help me, I will throw your games into fucking bay! And if you don’t think I can throw that far from here, I dare you to try me.”
There was tension in her shoulders that she needed someone to pound out. She could also use a good pounding, but she couldn’t begin to imagine how to make that happen now. Jordan had been good at giving both, once upon a time. Shame he had to fail her in absolutely every other possible way.
She had her yearly checkup that morning.
Your blood pressure is high. Are you getting any exercise? Eating fresh fruits and veggies? Making time for self-care?
Please. Her children’s father fucked off to the wilderness on a journey of enlightenment or some bullshit and excuse me, fucking self-care? Can you just get the exam over with and get me out of this paper gown?
Colette didn’t have any date to go on. She did match with a trauma surgeon on her dating app, and he did sound very successful. She had been hopeful that he could administer a good pounding, or at the very least, maybe he could help with her high blood pressure. But she didn’t have a babysitter for the boys, because their father was a flake.
The boys were asleep and their homework books were stacked by the time her bath was finished. She wasn’t going to check the homework. She knew there was no possible way Milo could complete his fifteen missing assignments in one night.
They had eaten the takeout she ordered, and she didn’t order anything for herself. She would eat rice crackers from a paper bowl.
Self-care? She cleaned a whole man out of her house, and maybe that was her self-care.
What few things he left here she threw in the trash—a toothbrush, a small pile of dirty work clothes, a pair of muddy boots. As it turned out, she never let him keep much here in the first place.
But the couch smelled like him, like orange soap and wood chips and campfire smoke. So she trashed that, too. And she bought another one. She spent a whole paycheck on it, and she framed the whole room around it. This wasn’t the kind of couch anyone would ever sleep on. The leather was cold and hard, the angles sharp, the color was an eye-searing fuchsia, and the design was exquisite. It was like a piece of art.
She bought a flamboyant vase for a very fake plant. She bought a thin bookcase for books she wouldn’t read. The room felt beautiful and hollow.
Since there was nothing to do about any of it, Jordan finished his stewing in the dust and went back to work on the bunks, fighting for time as the day slipped away from him. By nightfall, he had them assembled.
He stopped at Walmart to pick up some affordable sheets, a couple of toys, a break-resistant travel mirror, and some string lights that wouldn’t work until he fixed the electricity. He did plan to have electricity in here, by the way. Eventually. It was on his list of things to do. But first, he needed to replace the faulty electric panel and install a solar battery system. And well, that took money. Quite a lot of it.
He’d get there in his own time. But life didn’t seem to be interested in waiting for him to get there in his own time.
He was glad to see this day over. So he took his tired body and trampled soul to bed.
The camper was too big for him alone. There were bunks for children here, but no children to sleep in them. There was a double bed big enough to be filled with love, but his lover was two thousand miles away. And he had it all to himself.
This is what you asked for, you stupid fool.
Self-care? She cleaned a whole man out of her house, and maybe that was her self-care.
What few things he left here she threw in the trash—a toothbrush, a small pile of dirty work clothes, a pair of muddy boots. As it turned out, she never let him keep much here in the first place.
But the couch smelled like him, like orange soap and wood chips and campfire smoke. So she trashed that, too. And she bought another one. She spent a whole paycheck on it, and she framed the whole room around it. This wasn’t the kind of couch anyone would ever sleep on. The leather was cold and hard, the angles sharp, the color was an eye-searing fuchsia, and the design was exquisite. It was like a piece of art.
She bought a flamboyant vase for a very fake plant. She bought a thin bookcase for books she wouldn’t read. The room felt beautiful and hollow.
—
Since there was nothing to do about any of it, Jordan finished his stewing in the dust and went back to work on the bunks, fighting for time as the day slipped away from him. By nightfall, he had them assembled.
He stopped at Walmart to pick up some affordable sheets, a couple of toys, a break-resistant travel mirror, and some string lights that wouldn’t work until he fixed the electricity. He did plan to have electricity in here, by the way. Eventually. It was on his list of things to do. But first, he needed to replace the faulty electric panel and install a solar battery system. And well, that took money. Quite a lot of it.
He’d get there in his own time. But life didn’t seem to be interested in waiting for him to get there in his own time.
He was glad to see this day over. So he took his tired body and trampled soul to bed.
The camper was too big for him alone. There were bunks for children here, but no children to sleep in them. There was a double bed big enough to be filled with love, but his lover was two thousand miles away. And he had it all to himself.
This is what you asked for, you stupid fool.
“And you’re only just getting started,” Maya said.
“It could take years,” she said.
Years.
He’d only been gone for weeks and already his whole life was in shambles. What would be left of it next year?
—
Because this is a fringe lifestyle that I’m a little obsessed with, lol! Legally, in the USA, it’s 100% fine to house your kids in a camper, even full-time. When public schools get involved, it’s a little more complicated, which is why most nomadic families choose to homeschool their kids. On principle though, Colette is just being a stinker. I’m not a lawyer, of course, but from my handy-dandy internet research, the way it works with custody is that two parents can cooperate and decide whatever they want for their kids if they agree with each other. And plenty of parents do that all the time without lawyers and courts. Maybe Jordan was a little naive to hope that he and Colette might be one of those ex-couples who can have a civilized conversation and compromise.
And I have a little confession to make.
I have slower skilling mods in my game. And rock climbing, in TS4, is a notoriously slow skill to master already. So I’ve known for months before writing this chapter that Jordan wouldn’t be ready to attempt this winter’s summit in two weeks, or even two or three months. No amount of skill boosts and stacking moodlets could get him to level six that fast (unless you’re Jack).
But I let him go anyway, because character development. 🤣
Am I a cruel sim-god? What if all the shit we go through as humans is because our god is pushing us around as sims, amused by our character development?
Well, anyway.
This is not the first or the last time I will let this man make a mess of his own life when he insists on it. I couldn’t write him genuinely and also make better choices on his behalf. Sorry, not trying to be cruel, but he sure does make it easy! 😂🤣😂
I love him, obviously, or he wouldn’t be the main character of my story.
Wisdom from Kurt Vonnegut, master storyteller:
“We have to continually be jumping off cliffs and developing our wings on the way down.”
Jump first, figure it out later.
Also this one fits:
“Be a sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them in order that the reader may see what they are made of.”
Except Jordan does an excellent job making awful things happen to his own life. I, as his writer, don’t have to do a damn thing, lol!
Oof, poor Jordan - big romantic dreams are great, but the reality is often very different. And Colette... wow. She and Jordan remind me a bit of how I imagined my Sharla and Cory to be when they were married, just really toxic and bad for each other.
ReplyDeleteOne of the things I love about writing sims stories is that the characters do indeed mess up their own lives, in ways I would never imagine if I were just writing a story. They want stuff they can't have and relationships that are doomed and things that are just a really bad idea. Like real people.
I'm really looking forward to seeing how this works out for them all.
Some couples are an absolute dumpster fire together! I had hopes that these two might salvage a bit of friendship before they were done, but I don’t know. Colette seems dead set on driving them into the ground. She’s just so angry. And being cruel and angry is a bad combination for her. 🫤
DeleteYes! It’s such a fun mode of storytelling. You let go of a lot of control, but also the characters surprise you in ways you never saw coming. It’s like, you’re writing the story, but also the story is writing itself and telling itself to you. Been doing this for almost two decades now and I can’t stop, lol!