“I’ve heard that about Frenchies. It surprised me when you said you had one.”
She’s right. Slate isn’t a great breed for this type of environment. He was a gift when I was living in the city. A low-energy dog was the responsible choice. I wanted a dog that would be comfortable in my apartment andokay with the limited time I’d have to take longer walks. It’s ironic because Slate never spent a single night in my city apartment.
I clench my jaw, the typical response for when I think back to a different lifetime. And what pulled me from it. Instead of getting into the real details, I do what I always do when it comes up. I lie.
“I’ve always wanted one. Just couldn’t resist.” I put on my fakest of collected expressions. The one I’ve worked on and perfected throughout the years. It looks easygoing and honest, but really, it feels like my skin is tight and doesn’t belong on my bones.
Ivy seems convinced when she doesn’t ask for any more details.
We’re at a good spot for Slate to walk. We wake him up, get him on a leash, and keep going, leaving the story of Slate behind.
The sun is out but the air is still refreshing and crisp. A breeze moves through the trees and reminds me of one of my favorite hiking perks. The smell of the outdoors. Petrichor. Hazel taught me what that word meant. Basically, it’s the smell after rain hits dry soil.
I hated the smell of the rain back in the city. Gone was the richness of dirt and grass and replaced with garbage and car exhaust. Instead of rustling leaves and raindrops hitting the lake, it was screeching tires and people screaming about traffic.
Never thought I’d miss the smell of dirt and rain but I did. When you’re chasing the corporate city job, no one tells you about things like this.
We’re coming up on a shallow stream. One of Slate’s favorite stops.
“Ready for a break?”
I peer over at Ivy. Her cheeks are flushed and she’s sweating a little. She looks up and nods. Honestly, this is going much better than I anticipated. I put Slate’s pack and my light jacket down on a patch of grass—anotherreason why this is a perfect stopping point.
“Slate loves water. Want to see?”
Ivy answers with an emphatic nod.
I keep him on the leash, but we walk right up to the edge of the stream. He’s getting restless so I give him some slack, which is the green light to enter the stream. Immediately, he’s splashing and doing what resembles a hop. He doesn’t ever want to go far, but loves his feet in the water.
“Stop. This is so cute,” she croons. “Do you mind if I take a video and send it to Vivian?”
I shrug, letting her continue.
Ivy kneels and says his name, so he’ll look at her. She makes kissing noises and Slate tilts his head. She laughs and he runs to her, putting wet paws all over her. Instead of pushing him away, she holds him to her chest and lays back. Slate licks her face and Ivy continues to laugh.
There’s that sound again. Her laugh.
Her phone is on the ground next to her. I pick it up, stop the recording, and then pull Slate back to the water and off Ivy. I’m laughing now too.
“Come on, Slate. No tackling.” I pull him back towards the water where he’s happy to be back in the stream.
Ivy stands, wipes the dirt off the back of her legs. She catches me watching her and the eye contact reminds me how long it’s been since I’ve felt like this. An easy day with someone else, not much stress and not forcing myself to do something I pretend to like. It’s not bad.
“For never doing this before, you’re a natural. It’s nice to see you’ve mastered the stream tackle,” I joke as I sit down next to her in the grass.
“Well, I must thank my good friend, Google. I did some research before the hike.” I wait for the punchline, but there isn’t one.
“Research?” I ask like I don’t know she’s serious.
“Yeah, I wanted to know what to expect. Things to watch out for. And I read a little bit about this area.” She glances down at her shoes. “Kind of like when I look at menus before I go somewhere new. It makes me feelbetter. Prepared.”
The vision of her scolding herself comes to me. This makes more and more sense. An unchecked box on her many lists, stresses her out. She likes a plan. Damn, this week must be a nightmare for her.
“I know, it’s not normal.” She sucks in a deep breath. Her eyes are glued to the ground while her hands fidget. Her voice is a touch faster than usual.
“My parents always told me there’s no such thing as normal.” It wasn’t my parents; it was actually Hazel. Another white lie.
“That’s a nice way to grow up.”
