The Perfect Trip

Beatrice's POV

"What? Your mom want to come with us on the road trip? Marcus! This is our fifth wedding anniversary!"

The words came out way harsher than I meant them to, but I didn't give a damn. I just stared at my husband standing there in the doorway with his phone still in his hand, and I could feel this white-hot rage building up in my chest.

An hour ago, I was sitting at this exact same laptop, going through my checklist one last time with that amazing feeling you get when you've planned something absolutely perfect. The Yellowstone reservation was all set. I had our hiking trails mapped out. I'd even packed that little gift box with the baby shoes and hidden it in my suitcase, picturing Marcus's reaction when I finally told him we could start trying for a baby.

An hour ago, I was over the moon.

But now? I felt like someone had just dunked me in freezing cold water.

Marcus and I had been together since college. We'd met freshman year in an economics lecture neither of us wanted to be in, bonded over our shared hatred of eight a.m. classes, and somehow never separated after that. We got married right after graduation, young and stupid and convinced we could take on the world together.

My parents had set up a trust fund for me when I turned eighteen. It was supposed to be my safety net, the thing that would catch me if I ever fell. But when Marcus came to me with his business idea, eyes bright with possibility and hands sketching out profit margins on a napkin, I'd cashed it out without a second thought.

"We're going to build something amazing together," he'd said, pulling me into his arms. "I promise you, Bea. We're going to make this company into something huge, and then we'll have everything we ever wanted."

That was five years ago. Five years of pouring everything I had into a business that was supposed to be "ours" but somehow became mine to manage while Marcus figured out his role. Five years of pushing back the conversation about kids because "the company needs us right now" and "maybe when we're more stable" and "just one more year."

But we were stable now. The company was profitable. Our bank account was healthy. And next week was our fifth anniversary, the perfect time to finally move forward with the life I'd been patient about for so long.

I'd started planning this trip a month ago. Just the two of us, the open road, a week of nothing but each other and the kind of freedom we hadn't had since before the company consumed our lives. I'd researched campgrounds and hiking trails, packed our favorite snacks, even bought new camping gear because I wanted everything to be perfect.

And I'd bought those baby shoes. Soft white leather, tiny enough to fit in the palm of my hand. I was going to give them to Marcus under the stars and tell him I was ready. That we were ready.

But then he'd gotten a phone call.

"Babe, my mom called."

When I looked up from my laptop where I'd been doing one final review of our itinerary. Marcus stood in the doorway of our living room, phone still in his hand, wearing that apologetic smile. The smile that meant he'd already made a decision and was just waiting for me to accept it.

"She said she hasn't seen us in a while and wants to join us for Yellowstone."

My fingers stopped moving on the keyboard. "What? Are you kidding me? Your mom want to tag along on our anniversary trip?"

"Yeah, you know how she gets." He walked over and sat on the armrest of my chair. "She's been lonely since Dad passed, and it's just a week, right?"

I felt my chest tighten. This was supposed to be our trip. The trip I'd been planning for a month, the trip I'd been looking forward.

"Marcus, this is our fifth anniversary trip. We talked about this being just us."

"I know, but she's family." He squeezed my shoulder. "Plus, the RV's huge. There's plenty of room for everyone."

There was never plenty of room when it came to Diane. She took up space the way some people breathed air, naturally and without thinking about who else might need it.

Before I could form a response that wouldn't sound bitter, his phone buzzed again. He glanced at the screen, and I already knew what was coming.

"Ashley wants to bring the twins too. She says they've been begging to see wildlife."

Of course she did. Ashley had never met a family event she couldn't insert herself into.

I gave in eventually. I didn't want to make Marcus choose sides, and after five years of this, I guess I'm just used to backing down. So I spent the next week having to work them into our itinerary and helping them pack.

I stood in the pharmacy aisle reading labels on motion sickness medication, trying to remember if Diane did better with the drowsy kind or the non-drowsy kind. She got carsick on anything longer than a twenty-minute drive. I'd learned that on our last mandatory family trip to Lake Tahoe, when she'd spent six hours moaning in the passenger seat and somehow made it my fault for suggesting we take the scenic route.

At Target, I loaded a cart with entertainment options for seven-year-old twin boys who had the attention span of goldfish. Gaming devices they could use without wifi. Snacks that wouldn't create a crumb apocalypse in the RV. The kind of preparation Ashley never bothered with because other people always picked up her slack.

Every item I added to the cart felt like I was packing away a piece of what this trip was supposed to be. I wasn't buying champagne and the lingerie I'd bookmarked online. I was buying Dramamine and juice boxes and portable chargers for devices that would keep other people's children occupied while I tried to have a romantic moment with my own husband.

The night before we left, I sat on our bedroom floor reorganizing my suitcase for the third time. The gift box lay next to me, those impossibly small shoes peeking out from the tissue paper.

I picked up one shoe, turned it over in my hands. It weighed almost nothing. How could something so light carry so much hope?

Maybe this could still work. Maybe after everyone went to bed, I could ask Marcus to take a walk with me. We could find some privacy under the stars, and I could still have my moment. It wouldn't be perfect, but when had anything with his family ever been perfect?

I buried the box at the bottom of my suitcase under three layers of carefully folded clothes and told myself I was being flexible. Being understanding. Being a good wife who knew how to compromise.

"You've waited five years," I said to my reflection in the dresser mirror. "You can handle one week with Diane and Ashley. You've survived worse."

But when I rolled out the last bag at 7 AM this morning, I was still disappointed.

The car was completely stuffed with people and their stuff, and every decent seat was gone..