Fable of Happiness

Gemma

MY MOM ALWAYS TOLD ME I was blessed.

Even if her voice dripped with sarcasm and her compliments were hollow, I couldn’t help but agree with her.

I was blessed.

I was a summer baby, I loved to learn, and my childhood was filled with joy. That is, until my dad died suddenly from a stroke, leaving me and my little brother, Joshua, in the care of our fragile mother. She used bitterness as a bandage for her deep-seated grief.

But, being the blessed one, as soon as Joshua turned eighteen and moved out with some friends, I followed suit. I promised my mom that I’d always be there for her. That I’d always pick up the phone and always be her daughter, even if she couldn’t comprehend why life seemed, in her words, “to favor me and not her.”

By favor me, she meant that by the time I was twenty-three, I’d left my job as a travel agent and was no longer part of the nine-to-five grind. I was a self-made millionaire.

All thanks to a passion that began in school and blossomed into a career that not only paid the bills for my charming lavender-painted house, but also filled my retirement fund and allowed for a luxurious lifestyle, if I wanted it.

Too bad I preferred the simple things.

I didn’t drink or smoke. I didn’t party or splurge on expensive dresses or makeup. Sure, I had the latest video recording and laptop software, but those items, along with new carabiners, rope, and chalk, were all tax deductible because of my career.

A career that my mom couldn’t grasp. That my old school friends scoffed at, and that my peers eyed with envy.

I was one of the few female climbers who’d struck gold on YouTube.

A girl with the strength in her fingers and the flexibility in her body to conquer complex boulders, cliff faces, and technical mountains.

At first, it was just the sponsorships. The free climbing shoes and workout leggings as I won more local and regional contests.

Then came the appearances. The brief reviews I was asked to give on climbing gyms across the USA led to larger companies flying me overseas to sample their routes and walls. Magazines quoted me, dubbing me “The Girl Gravity Can’t See.”

As my fame grew, so did the prize money. I had the chance to train with the best and enter contests reserved for champions.

I loved all aspects of competition. I enjoyed indoor climbing as well as outdoor challenges. But my favorite was climbing alone. No spotter. No belayer. No one to catch me if I fell.

One afternoon, I left the city behind to find a waterfall I’d seen mentioned on a few climbing forums. For four hours, I climbed its treacherous rocks. I almost fell. I made a few mistakes and triumphed on a few challenges. I truly felt like the girl gravity couldn’t see.

I loved the experience so much, I created an online profile and posted the recording from my camera that I’d set at the bottom of the waterfall. Just a simple recap showing the route I’d taken, the cuts I’d endured, and the time-lapse journey of me scaling moss-covered rocks while water soaked me.

The light was perfect on the cascade. The rainbows were stunning. The colors were magical. I wanted to immortalize the experience by uploading it.

I tagged a few climbing friends, labeled the video “Swimming in the Sky,” and then went to bed.

I woke up to a viral sensation.

And the rest was history.

Now, at twenty-six, I had over three million subscribers, a nest egg that made my bank manager green with envy, and I got to do what I loved for a living.

I was blessed.

In everything but love.

With a sigh, I looked over the profile I’d just filled out for a dating site. Active Souls promised to match sporty individuals with other successful athletes.

I’d tried traditional dating. I’d been on a few blind dates set up by friends. I’d agreed to a few drinks with men I’d met at the gym. I’d even had dinner with a man who’d done a double take at the gas station as I filled up my sand-colored Jeep Wrangler.

He’d asked if it was my boyfriend’s car, eyeing the off-road tires, well-earned dents, and light bar. He’d been skeptical when I said she was mine, followed by instant sexual interest.

I needed such a car.

My work, my videos, required me to explore backroads in search of boulders that no one had climbed yet, of waterfalls too tricky for others to attempt. I wasn’t afraid of crawling over riverbeds or creeping up hillsides with my Wrangler for the perfect video that would hit a million views in just a few days.

The guy at the gas station—who’d been intrigued instead of intimidated—had asked for my number. He’d seemed sane enough, so I’d given it to him. We’d gone out. He’d said all the right things.

I hadn’t been with anyone in years, so, feeling reckless, I invited him back to my home, and we slept together. The sex was okay. I got more thrills from climbing a piece of sandstone, if I was honest, but it was nice to have company.

However, the next morning, he announced he and his wife had seen my channel, and he found me hot. Hot enough to cheat on his wife and turn me off men altogether.

Who would have thought that at twenty-six, the majority of single people came with such heavy baggage already? Most had a child, sometimes two. Some were still living at home with their parents. Some were embroiled in a messy divorce. Some openly sought affairs. And the majority? The majority were overweight, didn’t exercise, and their personal ambition was drinking on the weekend with their workmates.

Why are you doing this?

I rolled my eyes at my profile again.

Because I’m stupid, that’s why.

Name: Gemma Ashcroft

Age: Twenty-six

Appearance: Blonde, hazel eyes, curvy but athletic

Ethnicity: Half American, half Norwegian.

Looking for: A man who loves the outdoors. Single. Loves to travel. Doesn’t mind camping and exploring off the beaten track. Trustworthy. Kind. Passionate. Intelligent—

“Ugh.” I hit delete. “Just quit, Gem. Get a dog to accompany you on your backcountry adventures and accept that you’re a success in business, but a failure in love.”

Nodding at my own advice, I was about to close the site when a sudden surge of defiance made me type:

Seeking: A man who’s dominant and dangerous, yet not intimidated by a woman who’s likely more successful than he is. A man who knows how to give pleasure without thinking he’s God’s gift to women. A man who can cook and clean without needing a girlfriend to play maid. A man who doesn’t have a string of exes, a couple of kids, a beer belly, and can’t handle a screwdriver. A man who…is a man. A traditional man who’s rough around the edges but sweet. Who’s gruff but kind. A man who will sweep me off my feet yet let me soar, all while making me come alive beneath his touch.

“You are such a fool.” I chuckled to myself as I deleted the whole thing, closed the window, and prepared to shut down my laptop. “No more daydreaming about imaginary men.”

A blinking notification caught my attention, signaling a new post in Climbers Anon. I reopened my screen. I’d been following that online group for a few years. The group’s tagline promised untouched routes, hidden boulders, and unexplored mountains.

In all the years I’d been following them, they hadn’t posted a single adventure that I hadn’t already done or heard about.

Until now.

As I clicked on the link and studied the blurry photo of a boulder cluster covered in weeds and debris, my heart started to race.

Kentucky Khaleesi

Discovered two days ago deep within Mammoth Cave National Park. Overgrown. Hidden in a ravine that seems impossible to cross. I’ve marked the trail with yellow ribbon. Didn’t climb down as I had no gear. 4WD required, followed by a steep descent on foot. Whoever gets there first can name the route. Climbing grade? Fucking hard.

My heart pounded as I glanced at my dirty, well-worn backpack tossed by the front door. It had been a few months since I’d found a thrilling climb. Still, I kept my bag packed with food and camping essentials, and my Jeep was always loaded with a tent, bedroll, ropes, gear, and filming equipment.

I could leave in a few minutes.

I could be the first.

I could claim it.

Zooming in on the photo, I squinted at the size and shape. Fog had settled in the valley where it was hidden, blurring the lines. Weeds made it hard to distinguish between rock and plant, and twilight shadows concealed most of its secrets.

I couldn’t tell if it would be a worthwhile journey from just the picture. But I could see it was big. A massive rock compared to the trees below. Untouched by human hands. It was beckoning me to climb.

What else do you have going on?

I had no competitions for the rest of the year. No lunches with girlfriends. No dinners with potential suitors. I didn’t even have a dog to walk. I was successful, healthy, and had secured my financial future. But…I was alone, and I didn’t like the void of not having a challenge to conquer.

Look at what a few idle days have done to you.

I’d sunk low enough to fill out a profile for an online dating site. I didn’t care if all my old school friends had found their spouses that way. I didn’t buy into the claim that online dating was safer and more effective than searching parks, bars, and coffee shops for that perfect other half.

It was time I accepted that my love affair was with granite, quartz, and feldspar, not someone with a heartbeat.

And you know what? I’m totally okay with that.

Stone couldn’t deceive you or toy with you. It couldn’t pretend to be interested because of your wealth or lie about being single and sane.

Stone was clinical, cold, and didn’t care if you conquered it. Because if you didn’t, it conquered you by throwing you to the ground—broken bones and all.

I’m going.

I stood up, closed my laptop, put it in its travel case, and packed the solar chargers for my phone, camera, and other tech gear I’d bring with me. After triple checking that my backpack still had enough supplies, I grabbed my personal locator beacon from the side table by the window and headed out the front door with purpose.

After tossing my gear into the back of the Jeep, I pulled up my brother’s number.

My life might consist of spontaneous trips and chasing granite playgrounds, but it didn’t mean I was reckless. If I ever got seriously injured and needed to be airlifted out, I had a location beacon. I had a GPS tracker on my car in case it ever got stolen while I was up a cliff somewhere. And I always texted my brother where my next spontaneous adventure was taking me.

He replied almost immediately.

With a smile on my face and excitement bubbling in my heart, I tossed my phone onto the passenger seat, inserted my key, and started the Wrangler’s grumpy engine. My trusty Jeep groaned and grumbled, used to me waking it up in the middle of the night for some boulder hunt.

Shifting gears, I glanced back at my house. My little piece of suburbia in the heart of Michigan.

I sighed with contentment.

God, I was so incredibly lucky.

I wasn’t good with gardens, so the flower beds were wild, and the lawn needed a trim, but the exterior was freshly painted a cheerful lavender, and I’d had the roof redone in a dark charcoal.

The privacy offered by the three-bedroom place made up for all the lonely nights I might have endured. I loved it. I loved that it was mortgage-free and always there waiting for me. I loved that it wasn’t just a house but my confidant that sheltered and protected me.

See you in a few days, house!

If only I’d known I was lying that night.

I wouldn't see it again in a few days.

I would never see it again.