My current dating life consists of one feverish kiss in an alley that will haunt me for the rest of my days. “Not much to share,” I say slowly. I should have known Virgil was too sexy to start with. Maybe I should discuss the cultural history of the mop.
“Then tell me about Grant.” Eitan veers subjects quickly. “What happened there?”
My hands are fuzzy and my heart speeds up. It’s embarrassing telling this story to a stranger, let alone someoneelsewho doesn’t see me as long-term-partner material. This is exactly why it’s dangerous being trapped in a canoe with someone you’ve kissed. They should put warning labels on these things.
“It’s a tale as old as time,” I say, keeping my tone as light as possible. “Girl meets boy, they fall in love, everything goes perfect—they even plan to move in together—then girl is diagnosed with cancer. Girl recovers, but relationship never does.”
“That doesn’t sound like a tale I’m familiar with.”
I squirm. “We just fell out of love. Who can blame him, really. It’s hard to stay in love with a walking corpse.”
Even I fell out of love with myself.
Eitan scoffs. “That’s bullshit and you know it. It’s not a burden to take care of someone you love.”
I snort, pointedly. The conversation is approaching quicksand. “Coming from someone who describes himself as ‘not a relationship guy,’ that doesn’t mean much.”
Eitan sets down his paddle with a hollow thud. “That’s not—I didn’t—” He takes one fuming breath. “That’s not why I said what I said that night.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I rush to dismiss this entire moment. “I got the message, and I’m okay with it.”
“I haven’t been able to imagine being in a relationship for years. But—” His voice sputters out. Restarts. “I haven’t met anyone who makes me feel like this. I—I’m flying blind.”
The words are what I wanted to hear for two weeks, but they’re sturdy as sandcastles. When I actually gave Eitan the chance to act on them, when I asked for more, he had nothing to give me.
I shake my head, looking up at the turquoise blue sky. “You’re confusing some fucked up sense of duty you feel toward me with romantic feelings. Don’t worry—give it a few weeks—it will pass.” I pick my oar back up. “You can’t be attracted to someone you pity. It doesn’t count.” I begin paddling, my movements haphazard and nonsensical.
“Ruby—stop paddling?—”
“You should have taken the canoe with Skip. You and him could have talked about water sports for hours.”
“I don’t think water sports means what you think it does?—”
“The point is, you’ve had this hero complex since we met. I mean, you wanted to be mycoachfor godsakes. And you need to know that I’m fine. I can take care of myself.” I paddle furiously, wanting to escape this conversation, and we begin spinning.
Sometimes I feel like Roadrunner, always aimed in the wrong direction.
Eitan paddles hard, trying to counteract my strokes and stop our whorl. “Just—wait,” he huffs. “That’snothow it is. Your perspective is—” Eitan grunts under the exertion. “Warped.”
A word pops into my mind.Capsize.That’s a thing that can happen to boats, right?
“Trust me,” I say, my own words beginning to sound exerted. We’re spinning faster. “I’m sparing you.”
“I know what you’re doing,” Eitan says, his voice rough like a knife on a whetstone.
“What am I doing?” I attempt to stick my paddle into the river bed and hold us in one place.
“Acting like it’s unacceptable to lean on other people.” Eitan’s breaths have become pants.
Well, when I try to lean on them, I end up falling. “I don’t need to lean on anyone.I’M FINE.” I shout convincingly.
“You sound exactly like me.” Eitan mutters from the back of the canoe. “Ruby?—”
We’re paddling to nowhere, and because we’ve been facing backwards, neither of us clocked a fallen tree blockading the left half of the river. And we’re heading straight for it.
“Shit!” I squeal once I see it.
“Paddle left forward—hard,” Eitan grunts.
