…them about a mile upstream, but the sight waiting for me was the absolute last thing I expected.
I had been pushing through brush and scrambling over slippery rocks, genuinely worried that one of them had twisted an ankle or gotten swept into a rough patch of water. My hangover was pounding behind my eyes, my stomach was growling, and my anxiety was peaking.
Then, I heard laughter. Loud, obnoxious, booming laughter echoing through the trees.
I pushed through a final thicket of bushes into a wide clearing by the riverbank, and there they were. They weren’t injured. They weren’t lost. Nate and his friend had somehow stumbled upon a massive campsite where a large group of people were throwing a riverside barbecue.
Not only were they perfectly safe, but they were sitting comfortably in fold-out camping chairs, holding fresh beers, and laughing hysterically with a bunch of strangers. A grill was smoking in the background, and Nate was holding a half-eaten hot dog.
My jaw actually dropped. I had been sitting alone, hungover, starving, and increasingly panicked for an hour and a half, while my boyfriend was out here crashing a party without a single thought about the girlfriend he left waiting.
I marched right up to the group, completely out of breath and furious. Nate caught my eye, his face lighting up with oblivious joy.
“Babe! You found us!” he grinned, gesturing with his hot dog. “Come grab a burger, these guys are awesome! They just offered us some food.”
I didn’t yell—I didn’t want to make a scene in front of these strangers who were just trying to be hospitable to two wandering idiots. I just looked at him, completely deadpan, and said, “I told you I was tired and hungry an hour and a half ago. I have been searching the woods for you for thirty minutes because I thought you were hurt. We are leaving. Now.”
The mood in the circle instantly evaporated. Nate’s friend immediately put his beer down on the grass, looking deeply embarrassed, and started gathering his towel. Nate tried to argue, whining a little bit about how they were just about to eat, but the absolute death glare I shot him shut that down immediately.
I turned to the campers, forced a polite smile, and said, “Thank you for looking after them, but it’s time for us to go.”
I turned around and started the long trek back to the car. I didn’t look back once, but I could hear them trailing silently behind me the entire way like scolded puppies.
The hour-long drive back to the city was dead silent. I refused to turn on the radio, letting the awkwardness fill the car. Every time Nate tried to whisper an apology or justify it by saying they “just lost track of time,” I reminded him who was providing the transportation, who drove them an hour out of the way while hungover, and who was left completely alone while they partied.
By the time I dropped his friend off and pulled up to Nate’s house, I unlocked the doors and told him I was going home alone. We ended up having a massive conversation the next day about basic respect, communication, and consideration for my time. He apologized profusely and made it up to me with a massive dinner (that he paid for), but a serious boundary was set that weekend.
We are still together, but let’s just say my days of playing the designated driver and wilderness guide for their “hangover recoveries” are officially over.
