Slate gets extra bedtime treats for being my wingman and distracting her.
We’re almost ready to head out. I’ve got Slate in his bag, on my back, with water for both of us. Since I’m hiking with Slate, I packed a bag for Ivy to carry.
It felt familiar to pack one of Hazel’s old bags last night—an activity equivalent of a cozy, warm blanket. She loved being outside and would always bring a pack, but was notorious for forgetting essentials, like water. Even when we were older, I made it a point to check the pack and make sure she had everything she needed.
“Since I’m going to have to carry Slate for most of the hike, do you think you can carry this?” I hold the bag out to her. “I want to make sure you’ll be comfortable.”
Ivy eyes light up. “It’s pink!” Her face drops as she puts the pack on. “I can’t imagine this cute pink bag is yours. Did you scrounge through your dating lost and found?”
I don’t even know what she’s talking about.
“What the hell is adating lost and found?”
“You know—all the stuff women you’ve dated have left behind.” She’s waiting for the lightbulb to turn on. “You either don’t see them again to return or it’s too painful.” She mimics stabbing herself in the stomach. It catches me off guard and I scoff.
“No dating lost and found here.” I’m hoping she leaves it at that. “Let me get those,” I say as I step close and adjust the straps. I find myself almost holding my breath.
Ivy goes to situate the bag on her back. Before my hands are off, our fingers touch. I hope I don’t visibly jump but the air could crackle with energy.
“Good? Not too heavy?” I grumble, acting like I’m not wondering what it’d be like to touch other places.
“Yes. It’s fine,” Ivy says, seemingly unfazed. “I can definitely handle this.”
I don’t doubt that. Her leggings give away all her muscles and curves. Ivy might not hike but she does something to keep her body like that.
“Sunscreen?” She gestures to the bag.
“Yes.”
“First aid kit?” she quickly retorts.
She wasn’t kidding about wanting to be prepared. She’s going through her own mental checklist of what we should bring hiking, even though this is her first time.
“Yes.”
“Water?” She’s not being critical and I can’t help but smile at her.
“Yes. And before you keep going, I promise we’re prepared.” Her shoulders sink a little. I can’t tell if she’s relieved or a bit defeated. “The weather will be clear. We have everything we need for a few hours and I know this trail like it’s in my backyard.” I give her a side-eye, trying to belight. I’m not good at this.
Ivy smiles at me, getting the joke. I must be better at this than I think.
“Okay, okay. I trust you.”
She has no idea the weight those words hold.
The first twenty minutes hold nothing but silence. The trailhead is fifteen minutes from my place, so I usually tack it onto the beginning of the hike. I notice her staring at Slate in his pack several times.
Even though we’re walking, Ivy looks like she can’t move enough. She swings her arms back and forth, occasionally pressing them together and cracking her knuckles. Every few minutes, she turns to look behind her, and then back at me to see if I saw her. I act like I don’t but can see her out of my peripheral vision.
This hike starts with a slight incline but it’s a solid beginner spot. I don’t ask if she’s okay—she seems like the kind who would let me know otherwise. She’s slightly behind me until I feel her pick up the pace.
I’m surprised when she lightly touches my arm. “Did you know Slate is sleeping right now?” she quietly asks; her face close to mine, clearly not wanting to wake him up.
“That sounds about right. Hard life.” I give her a sarcastic eye roll.
“Is he able to walk any of this trail?”
“Yeah. This breed isn’t meant for long stretches of activity. He doesn’t do so hot with the inclines. We’ll put him on a leash once it levels out.”
