In the parking lot, we organize gear beside the van. I like this, I like all of this. Living together out of a van, walking side-by-side across the landscape

I lead a climb up an intimidating wall. The climb is thin, and my fingers cling to small crimps that fail to extend to my first knuckle. The wall is near a hiking trail, and people stop to watch my journey up the rock face.

After two hikers pass, Russell calls up, “Those guys just commented on how well you are climbing.”

I enter the crux. I am high above my last bolt. My muscles are beginning to shake, and I begin to make small noises of panic.

“You’ve got this,” he calls up. “Don’t stop. Trust yourself.”

I see what looks like a good hold above me. I take a risk. I make a small but controlled movement towards the hold and move my arm around in a graceful arc, hoping to god that the hold is what I’m expecting.

My fingers touch the hold. I can work with it. Two moves later, and I’m at the next bolt.

In that moment, a large butterfly circles my head and lands on my pink helmet. Its wings flex back and forth. A slight breeze, warm and dry against my face. My breath coming hard and fast.

I take in the moment. Look out across at the sparkling lake, the hills a patchwork of orderly vineyards. Clouds puffed in the blue sky. An amorous cricket chirps from a crack in the rock beside me.

The butterfly lifts off from my helmet and is carried away in the wind.

I continue up the wall, successfully completing one of the most challenging leads I’ve ever attempted.

***

A few days later. He is putting on his shoes. I stand in my living room, not wanting him to leave but knowing that it’s a healthy decision.

“Thanks for coming over for dinner,” I tell him.

“Thank you for being my girlfriend. You’re the best. You’re the best girlfriend I’ve ever had. By a million miles.”

My insides blossom and heat gathers around my heart. No anxiety. All calm.