Pedernales Rising Ch. 03: The Falls

After Inez, I try every hint and innuendo in the book, but to my surprise, Travis doesn't seem interested in us spending the night together, either at his place or mine. Not that night, or the nights that follow. I'm confounded by this. Here, we had enjoyed a variety of dates together, and experienced mind-bogglingly hot sex that pushed the envelope of decency. What's the big deal about sharing a bed at night?

Travis is perfectly nice about it, excusing himself because of plans early in the morning, sparing me the embarrassment of a flatly rejected invitation. But after all we shared together, I begin to feel a little overextended and decide to pull back and give the man some space. The approaching holidays allow for a natural cooling off period to quench the fire of Inez. Scheduling time during Christmas season is virtually impossible even when both parties try earnestly to make it happen. Nevertheless, we do manage to book one innocuous get-together three days before Christmas--brunch at Leona's Place, a lovely, upscale casual restaurant off of South Lamar.

I arrive early (again), and I'm shown through the restaurant to a small two-person table in what was once Leona's living room, the centerpiece of which is a beautiful brick fireplace, pregnant with a stack of low-burning logs despite the 70 degree weather. I shrug off my purse and slide into the seat facing the hearth. The restaurant has a quaint elegance thanks to the good bones of the converted arts-and-crafts home. While the proprietors had tastefully added on to accommodate their growing patronage, somehow they managed to retain a wonderfully warm, welcoming vibe throughout. If Leona has cozy ambiance year-round, she has really outdone herself for the season. Aromatic live garland, tinkling silver bells and warm white strings of lights abound. Christmas is draped over every architectural detail of the establishment. Even the art on the walls has been replaced by vintage Norman Rockwell depictions of holiday scenes--rosy-nosed children on ice skates; a man stealing a kiss from his blushing blonde wife under the mistletoe; toddlers slumped together in a sleeping heap like puppies on a large wingback chair, waiting for Santa.

As I wait for Travis to arrive, I remember bittersweet Christmases past. An only child, Christmas was a relatively lonely time for me, the third wheel among two grownups divorced from their own childhood families, and who fully despised one another by the time I was ten. To this day, I question why they stayed together as long as they did, but the answer is always there, waiting for me: For you, Erin, duh. This makes me feel worse. We always had the music, food, tree, and gifts, but the holiday always failed to connect on the emotional level. Looking around, I compared Rockwell's depictions to my reality. I craved the Rockwell Christmas.

Reaching into my bag, I bring out a small package about the size and shape of a few CD cases stacked together, and set it on the white tablecloth before me. Nervous that offering a gift after just a few dates is overly sentimental, I've deliberately downplayed the wrapping, using simple brown butcher paper tied with red and white twine. Attached at the center are some sprigs of rosemary and a cinnamon stick. It's artful, but not over the top.

As I fondle my gift, I feel a hand on my shoulder. "Merry Christmas," Travis says as he leans over to kiss my cheek. I motion to stand, but he insists "don't get up" as he slides into his seat across from me.

Travis opens the small talk, seemingly unaware of the brown package I discreetly slide to the side of the table behind a little vase of poinsettia.

"I'm glad we could make this happen. I know it's a crazy time of year."

"It is, but the crazy is part of the fun, right? I have the kids this year at my dad's. His place is really too small for the chaos they generate but that's part of the charm. It's nice having them underfoot and over-sugared for a few days. You're headed to your brother's right?"

"Yeah. I got the kids for Thanksgiving, so it's an adults-only Christmas for me this year." Travis looks a little wistful, very briefly, but then his eyes regain a steely quality that I've come to recognize as a "do not enter" sign.

"I'm sorry," is all I offer.

"It's ok. Seeing my brother in Colorado will be good for me--clear my head. Getting out on the slopes is always invigorating."

Clear his head of what? I wonder.

A plump waitress approaches with a glass pitcher of ice water and two mason jar drinking glasses, which she skillfully fills.

"Have you two had a moment to consider the menu?" Her Texan drawl is thick like honey.

We had not, but the question prods us to do so. Everything on the small paper menu sounds delicious--crepes with blueberry drizzle, eggs benedict, french toast topped with fresh cream and berries, field greens salad with goat cheese. When the waitress returns, I order the benedict, Travis the croque madame.

There's a lull in the conversation as the waitress waddles off, the space between us filled with an seasonal piano tune wafting through the space.

Travis breaks the quiet. "Hey--I meant to tell you before, but I wasn't sure... I hope I didn't make you too uncomfortable at Inez."

"Uncomfortable? No. I was very, very comfortable, trust me." I don't want Travis to think I regret anything.

"Well... I know that sort of pushed the bounds for you, at least. I was acting on impulse. It felt right at the time, but if you--"

"Travis, it's fine," I interrupt. "Really. It was crazy, and definitely new territory for me, but... crazy is part of the fun, right?" I ask with a sweet smile.

Travis chuckles under his breath, looking down at the tablecloth. "I suppose you're right."

What is going on in his head?

Our waitress returns with our meal, and as I cut into my perfectly over-easy egg, watching the golden yolk ooze sensuously over the plate, I can't help but feel Inez was just a dream. Sitting here, across a tidy tablecloth from Travis, drenched in Leona's wholesomeness, the thought of the raunchy abandon of being brought to orgasm in public... in front of a stranger... with a stranger makes me blush like a sinner in church. And yet, inside my underwear, my body remembers the evening, and responds.

We delight in our meals, and each others' company. My heart skips a beat when Travis reaches across the table to wipe a bit of yolk from the corner of my mouth with his thumb, brings it to his own mouth, and licks it off suggestively before wiping the remainder on his napkin.

When the table is cleared, I gather the courage to offer my gift.

"So. I know it's early, but I got you a little something," I say primly, sliding the brown package across the table. "Merry Christmas."

Travis looks surprised. "Oh. Wow. You didn't have to do that." It takes him a moment to touch the package, like it's hot out of the oven.

"It's just a ho-ho, so don't get your hopes up." I give him a "go ahead" look. Travis admires the package, and brings it to his face to smell the rosemary while his eyes ask quizzically, "What could it be?" He pulls a Swiss army knife from his pocket and with a quick flick, cuts the twine.

Travis unfolds the brown paper and reveals a 7" square slab of wood, on which is painted in delicate, exquisite detail the head and torso of a little anoll lizard peeking up from the bottom edge of the block, looking alive with the textured iridescence of its skin and glossy eyes. The sky in the background--the negative space surrounding the reptile--is equally central to the artwork. The nuanced periwinkle dawn is tangible, complimenting the delicate, dragonfruit-like color and texture of the creature's dewlap. I wish I could say the talent is my own, but it's not. The painting is by Matt Adrian, who I commissioned years ago to create the artwork featured in a major ad campaign for a household-name outdoor brand, from which he profited wildly. That is to say, he owed me one, and I called in a favor. Birds are usually his thing, but I twisted his arm for the lizard. I offered to compensate him for it, but he insisted it was on the house. On the back of the block, in silver ink, I've penned "To conquering fears."

Travis takes in the piece, feeling the wood edges with his fingertips, reading the inscription on the back.

Watching him, I hoped that he wouldn't take offense to the attention pointed at his hilarious and irrational fear of small lizards, which he confessed to me on one of our first dates. It was meant in a playful way. But also, I hoped he'd understand the deeper meaning--the hopeful message that together, perhaps we could tear down barriers and fears of other varieties, as we started to do alongside the highway, and at Inez.

That's a lot to get across with a lizard painting, I think, feeling regret creep in.

Travis looks at me, his hands still exploring the artwork. "It's beautiful," he says, but his voice has a certain coldness to it. I didn't think he would do backflips or anything, but this isn't the reaction I expected. I wasn't sure what I expected, in fact.

I try to gloss over it. "I'm glad you like it. I wish I could say I painted it myself, but it's by a friend."

"Well, thank you. To you and your friend." Travis's words are taut as he carefully wraps the artwork in the brown paper whence it came, and sets it down on the booth beside him.

A little wounded, I check my phone and mutter some excuse that I need to get home and knock out some last minute shopping and wrapping. When we get the bill, I insist on splitting it. I don't want him feeling like he owes me anything.

Ever the gentleman, Travis walks me to my car. His kiss goodbye lights me up like the Rockefeller Christmas tree, full of sincerity and desire and... something else. When he breaks our kiss, he looks into my eyes as if searching for something. I'd give him anything he asks for, if he'd just ask for it already. But he doesn't. He just opens the driver's side door of my Volkswagen, closes it after me once I've slipped behind the wheel, and waves goodbye with one hand in his pocket as I pull away. Glancing in the rear view, though, I see him pull the brown parcel from the interior of his jacket and examine it tenderly before turning on his heel.

Of course, I think of Travis over the holiday, but resist the urge to reach out, except to exchange a quick "Merry Christmas!" text. I sense he needs space, but I honestly don't know anymore with the mixed signals. One minute we are co-conspirators in a naughty and dangerous game--Bonnie and Clyde, together to the end. The next, I'm an old pal kept at a safe arms distance. I'm getting frustrated. Are we turning up the heat or cooling it off? I wish Travis would keep his hands off the thermostat.

We stay in touch over the week that Travis is in Colorado with his brother. I receive a selfie or two from the slopes. He looks particularly handsome in a rugged way, backed by snow covered pines. The environment suits him. I return the favor with a selfie featuring a comically zen expression alongside a glass of spiked eggnog as my kids tear my dad's house apart behind me.

"Trade you?" I tease.

"Any day of the week," he responds. I'm a little surprised by this sentimental side of him. I didn't think it was possible to like him more, but I do nonetheless. Damnit, I think, as I set my phone and feelings aside.

On New Years Eve, I fall asleep in my daughter's bed around 10, fallen victim to one too many moscatos and the overexertion of keeping up with excited children. Waking up to a new year, I find a text from Travis, that reads simply "xx" sent at exactly 12:00am. So. He's thinking of me too.

I put my pride aside and respond.

"Thanks for your note last night. I didn't make it to midnight before turning into a pumpkin... want to get together on Saturday? Maybe a hike?"

The hike is a well-considered suggestion. Not only would I like to see more of his rugged look, but I'm tired of restaurants. Without booze or attractive waiters or food to distract us, I think the time and space of the outdoors might be what I need to get some clarity on about where we are going.

"Sure. Where do you have in mind?" he writes back with characteristic brevity.

"Pedernales? It's a little cool out to splash around but we can stay on the rocks and trails. Shouldn't be too crowded this time of year."

"Pedernales sounds perfect." With his reply, I circle the date on the calendar. Clarity Day.

- - -

Saturday comes around, and I'm very much looking forward to the day ahead. I don't plan on mentioning it to him, but I've missed Travis. Looking at the weather, I'm afraid we may get rained out, but the radar says the storm should miss us.

I write to my date, "Weather looks a little dicey, but should hold out. We still on for this morning?"

"Roger that. Pick you up at 9."

At 9:00, I duck into Travis' car, a little giddy. I give him a kiss but don't linger too long, trying to keep things light after the weight of my Christmas gift.

It's ridiculously warm for this time of year. I wear a pair of light blue running shorts made of a parachute-like material, with a sports bra and lightweight black tee, topped with a long-sleeved Lycra zip up. Best to have layers in case the weather turns. My hair is thrown into a flattering stack of auburn waves on the crown of my head that doesn't betray the amount of time spent on it. A select few strawberry blonde tendrils are strategically loosed to frame my face. Travis is in a pair of sporty utility shorts, a long-sleeved waffle weave tee, an olive colored vest, and hiking boots. He's far better outfitted than I am.

Great. I'm dressed for spin class, and he looks like he's going to take down a bear.

I'm not a really the outdoorsy type. In fact, I'm most definitely not at all the outdoorsy type. I hate bugs, especially ones with wings and stingers, and I bore easily of walking aimlessly without a destination or a challenge. But Pedernales State Park is the exception, and one of my favorite spots in the hill country surrounding Austin. There, a winding descent down a gravel trail opens up to reveal a natural playground of huge, smooth boulders where the kid in me can climb and jump and throw rocks and hop streams. I've spent countless summers sunbathing on the natural slabs and breaking the park rules to take a dip when the Texas sun makes the heat unbearable. I've never visited in the winter, now that I think about it.

The tires of Travis' sedan crunch the gravel as we pull up to the checkpoint kiosk and pay the teenager inside for entry to the park. "You know the rules?" the teen mutters absently. We say yes, but he rattles them off anyway in one long monotone stream without looking up from his phone, "No off-leash dogs no littering no glass no swimming stay off the rocks park closes at 6pm any questions." We don't bother answering, because it wasn't a question, and pull into the relatively empty lot. Still, I'm surprised by the number of cars that are here--I thought we'd mostly have the park to ourselves, but it looks like others had the same idea.

Travis cuts the ignition and tosses his phone and keys into a metal box with a large magnet on the lid, which he snaps casually to the underside of the vehicle. Smart. He's done this more than a couple of times, probably for hunting trips. I have my phone in the pocket of my zip-up, with my license, house key, and a single credit card slipped into the thin sleeve built into the silicone case. I thought it wise to travel light. And indeed it is somewhat liberating to walk into nature with Travis unencumbered with stuff.

After a rocky downhill hike for about a mile, we arrive at the wide, peaceful beauty of the Pedernales river laid before us. Normally a view that flatters the vast blue of the big Texas sky, today a cotton blanket of low gray-white clouds drags itself lazily along overhead, its milky uniformity giving the whole landscape a disorienting surrealism. Warm humidity hangs in the air, and smells like rain though not a drop has fallen.

I reach for Travis' hand as we take in the surroundings. "I love it here."

"Yeah? You don't strike me as the hiking sort."

"I'm not, but I love the rocks. There's so much to explore. Little surprises over every boulder. Tiny caves to discover. Little fish stranded in island pools. I'll tolerate a wasp or two in exchange. Besides, this time of year, there aren't many anyway."

We walk along the gravely bank and talk easily about nothing and everything--the holidays, plans for the new year, the outdoors, Travis' hunting trips and camping memories. We laugh about my stupid aversion to flying bugs, especially when a dragonfly zooms by and I nearly knock Travis into the brush leaping out of its path. We wave politely at a passing couple. I note that there are indeed a number of other pairs and groups out at the park today despite the weather--some older couples strolling slowly; some college kids smoking weed; a large Latinx family with a puzzling kid-to-adult ratio.

When the small talk subsides, it's remarkably quiet, the river acting as white noise like a fan in an empty room at night.

"It's nice to be out here with you." I say into the quiet.

"Yeah." A pause. "You too." Travis clams up.

I'm stumped. It's like the second I express real interest in him, he closes off. He doesn't seem like a commitmentphobe, but if not, what the hell is this?

I look to break the tension, and with a mischievous tone, ask "Want to play a game?"

Travis breaks a smile. "Truth or dare again?" he asks.

"No--tag. You're it! Give me a fifteen second lead." His smile widens the tiniest bit in concession.

I whip around and take off onto the rocks, listening to his fifteen second countdown fade as I put distance between us. Formally, the park rules clearly state that nobody should venture out onto the boulders that comprise the rolling falls. Something about flash flood danger. Informally, nobody pays that rule any mind. What's the point of a place like this if you can't explore it?

I'm parkouring my way up, over, and around the large smooth rocks, moving upstream, trying to find a path that'll challenge Travis and give me a good lead. I peek behind me just in time to hear him say "zero." Though it's just a game, I let out a startled shriek as he lurches into motion with a determined smile. I the hare, he the hound.

I'm an agile, lithe mover, which I'm grateful for, because Travis is strong and fast. I may not be able to outrun him but I can scramble up embankments and squeeze between crannies to keep him guessing.

Panting, I find myself quite far upstream, where the hulking ivory outcroppings give way to lower, smoother swaths of rock and ever-wider rivulets flowing between them. Travis is close behind. I hear him call "You're in trouble now!" and indeed I am because he's so near I can hear the squeak of his rubber soles on the rocks. There's really nowhere to go but across. Hoping my agility will save me, I take a series of running leaps across the river with Travis in pursuit. Almost mid-river I hear him right behind me, and squeal with fear and excitement as I desperately grande-jete across an especially wide and deep section of river, aiming for the upward slope or rock rising gently on the other side. Mid-leap, I realize I'm not going to make it. I land on my front leg and my hands go down in front of me to catch my weight. My back leg lands splashing in the frigid water, and my poor planning comes back to bite me as my prissy tennis shoes slip on the wet rocks, the entirety of my lower body sliding into the frigid water. I'm laughing wildly as Travis' form sails past me, landing easily on the limestone lilypad thanks to his superior height, and footwear.