Kat:I’m trying not to get fired!
Me:They’ve already decided whether they’re going to fire you or not. A little food poisoning won’t change their minds.
I feel a little guilty about talking her into this, but I know I’m right. I also know that another eight hours in a room with her ex today isn’t going to do her anxiety any favors.
Me:You’ve been stressed. It’ll be fun. Come on.
Me:Please?
There’s a long, long pause. Dots appear, then disappear.
“I think I won,” I tell Beast, who doesn’t even look at me. There’s a bird outside.
Kat:Fine. What are we doing?
“Told you,” I say to Beast, who still doesn’t acknowledge me.
Me:Wear sturdy shoes.
Kat:For WHAT
I look at my phone and, for a moment, debate telling her. Then I decide against it.
Kat:FOR WHAT, SILAS
I send her a single winking emoji.
* * *
Kat is standing nextto me on the riverbank and looking at me like I’ve just told her she’ll be jumping to the moon.
“On foot?” she asks, incredulous. “Over rocks. On foot.”
“Yes, you’ve grasped the nature of our expedition,” I say.
“You had me call in sick to work to cross a whole river on foot. Over rocks.”
I glance at the Chillacouth River, in case I’ve somehow missed that it’s forty feet high or a mile across, but it’s not. It’s the same pretty mountain river it’s always been, low in the late summer, a veritable rock causeway stretching to the opposite bank.
“I can try giving you a piggyback ride, but you’re more likely to fall in that way,” I offer, because I’m a gentleman.
“Are you at least going to tell me why we’re crossing a river on rocks when there’s probably a bridge somewhere?” she asks. This on rocks thing is really getting to her, and it’s getting harder not to laugh.
“Because I want to show you something.”
Kat’s been acting strange since she left my house Sunday night. Unusually strange, I mean; formal and brittle when we’re together, at our appointed dates, like she didn’t fuck my brains out over the weekend. More anxious than usual.
Then she showed up Wednesday night, fucked my brains out again, and didn’t want to stay over. I think she needs to get out of her head, so here we are. On an adventure, and she’s taking it super well.
Right now, she’s frowning at the river, like it’s displeased her personally. I do my best not to roll my eyes, because it’s not even a big river, and she’s acting like I want her to scale El Capitan.
“I’ll go first so you know where to walk,” I tell her. “This time of year, it’s maybe two feet deep in the middle. Worst that’ll happen is you get a wet knee.”
“The worst that happens is my glasses fall off and break in the middle of a river,” she says.
“I promise not to leave you stranded.”
“Is this even legal?”