“Don’t worry—I’ll keep your secret. Also, I’m not surprised you have a secret wedding plan with cake. Cake is like your soul mate,” River says.
I pat my flat stomach. “Cake is also why I go to the gym.”
He hums, a sexy little sound. “Is that so? Then I’ll feed you some cake.”
“So I can go to the gym?”
“Well, the gym is very, very good to you,” he says, letting go of the wheel to wave his right hand at me. It’s a gym-approving wave, I think.
“Thanks,” I say, trying not to let on how much I enjoy that he’s noticed the gym effect as a result of the cake obsession. “I’ll have to ponder what unanswered cake questions I might have. So let me keep this in my back pocket.” I flip to the next one, then gasp. “Holy fuck! Are you serious? When did this podcast start?”
“Just last week,” River says, his tone pleased. “I heard about it in The New York Times recommendations. See? My news consumption pays off for you.”
“I love Discovery Prism. It’s one of my favorite shows on Webflix.”
“I know,” he says, smiling big too.
“I had no idea it had a podcast.”
He squeezes my shoulder, sending a zip of pleasure down my left arm before he lets go. “That’s what I’m here for. To find things to make your life fabulous,” he says, then makes a rolling gesture with his hand. “Want to pick an episode? There are only seven, since it just launched, but we can get started.”
I hunt through the list, reading the titles. Discovery Prism highlights quirky, weird, and just plain unusual spots all around the globe—a burning hole in the earth in Turkmenistan, a museum in Poland that’s home to centuries-old timepieces, an underwater sculpture park in Indonesia. I pick that one to start, settling in as the host takes us on a tour of a man-made coral park.
When we’re done, River takes a deep breath, then asks, “Did you like it?”
“I did. Very much so,” I say.
“Want another?” he asks, sounding hopeful.
“Sure.”
He hits play on another ten-minute episode, interrupting to weigh in, “I want to go to the burning hole in Turkmenistan.” Then adding, “Please say we can go next year, please, please, please.”
When it ends, I shoot him an incredulous look. “You’d really want to go to Turkmenistan to check out a burning hole?”
“Yes. Definitely. Sign me up. I want to see the underwater sculpture park too. And anything and everything,” he says, words piling up, his energy skyrocketing. It’s infectious, the way he latches onto ideas, how he digs into them, rolls around in them. His curiosity is one of the many things I find wildly attractive about him.
We slide into a discussion on off-the-beaten-path trips we’d want to take around the globe—I’d love to see the street art in Santa Fe, Maritime lore in Nova Scotia, and River wants to experience wilderness immersion in Maine.
As we pull off the highway in Petaluma, I grab my phone and click on my text app.
“I’ll let Nisha know we’re about four hours away now. She’s like a mom sometimes. She likes updates.”
“Perfect. And tell her I’ve become addicted to her company’s body wash and shampoo.”
I scoff. “How about you tell her that in person?”
“Excellent point,” he says.
After a few turns, we wind down the road to his sister’s home.
When we pull into the driveway, the door swings open and Echo steps onto the porch.
River cuts the engine, and the three of us get out of the car, Delilah bounding to the porch to bestow kisses on River’s sister.
“Awww, are you ready to be spoiled, girly girl?” Echo asks, hugging the dog, her purple hair spilling in waves down her shoulders.
“Hate to break it to you but River already spoils her,” I say.
“I do not. I instill appropriate boundaries,” River says, then bends to give the dog a kiss on her furry face. She licks his cheek in response, whimpering a goodbye to her person.
“And he gives her gourmet treats from the organic dog food bakery,” I add.
Echo shrugs happily. “Where else would you buy treats for a dog? Anyway, be on your way, guys,” she says, shooing us back out, then wrapping her arms around herself. “It’s cold. I need to get inside, crank some heat, blast some Beyoncé, and love on my dog niece for the next forty-eight hours while we watch chick flicks.”
“You two better have the best time. But it sounds like you will.” River hauls his sister in for an embrace. “Love you buckets.”
“Love you too,” she replies, then hugs me too. “And you, Owen. Obviously.”
“Same, same,” I say, relaxing briefly, but only briefly, into the hug, then adjusting my glasses when we separate.
I don’t come from a family of huggers, like River does. His mom, dad, and sister are all uber-affectionate, hippie, happy, lovey people. My parents? Not so much. They’re both remarried, and have been since I was in high school. But they remarried people who are just like their first spouses. Mom married a guy who’s distant and works too much. Dad married a woman who’s unhappy with him.