At the end of the day, the result is the same.
I can’t look at him. “You’re a good friend,” I tell him, avoiding the truth. I clamber out of the canoe without his help, narrowly avoiding another dunk in the river, and step onto solid ground.
The hand Eitan held out drops slowly, and fists at his side as he walks away.
There’s another campsite here, similar to the one we left this morning. Thank God our stuff is in Bessie and not sacrificed to the capricious gods of this river.
Skip sits at the campsite already, dry and cozy, already getting a fire going. I could kiss him. I trudge straight toward it and sit so close it feels like my skin is actually getting singed.
Eitan passes behind me about five minutes later without a word, stepping up to the edge of the woods. I’m watching him unconsciously until I become very conscious of the fact that he’s whipping his shirt off and wringing it between his hands. The planes of his back ripple and tense with the movement. Sunlight sneaks through small peepholes between the leaves to dapple his flawless, taut skin. Always managing to find him.
Something touches the corner of my mouth. I startle and look to the side to see Andres, smirking at me like he knows something that I don’t. “Just wiping up some of that drool.”
I clear my throat. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
He shrugs, cocky and knowing. “Does Eitan know you ogle him like a piece of meat when he’s not looking?”
I stutter, unable to string together a coherent reply.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” Andres says before he knocks my shoulder.
“There is no secret,” I settle on.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
A fraternity brother’s mating call pings through the air. “Sun’s out!” Steve yells. “Time to take the tarp off.” He rips his shirt off one-handed and begins flexing.
Penelope marches toward the fire, Josh following her. “How am I supposed to document this?” she shrieks. “I need content! I’ve been hyping up this trip formonths!”
Based on the fact that she’s also damp, I’m guessing Eitan and I weren’t the only ones who capsized.
“Oh my God.” Pen’s eyes widen. “What if I’m not able to recover my notes? I had, like, three new poems in there.”
I’m also guessing Pen’s phone wasn’t lucky enough to survive the swim.
“It’s going to be fine,” Josh assures. “We will get you a new one as soon as we’re back. You can use mine until then.”
“I. Am. Not. Happy,” Pen hisses, poking Josh’s chest between each word.
“What did I miss?” Eitan asks from over my shoulder. His shirt is back on (thank God) but it’s sticking indecently to the trim definition of his pecs and abs. I gulp and avert my gaze before it sends any misleading and deeply unhelpful signals to my brain.
“You might want to steer clear of Penelope for a while. Sounds like her phone became one with the Au Sable.”
“No issues there,” Eitan says darkly.
Skip gracefully ignores Pen’s meltdown, his positivity encased in kevlar. Dinner tonight is—you guessed it—campfire tacos.
The sun sets slowly, the temperature dropping with it. I pup our tent and layer up with flannel and sweatpants. Once camp is set up again, we stuff our faces with well-deserved tacos. I haven’t seen Calliope yet, but I assume she will be back soon.
To wash down the canned black bean tacos, the drinks flow generously.
“Here, here.” Eitan stands up, holding out his sparkling water. “A toast. To Penelope and Josh.” He tips his drink toward them. “And a lifetime of happiness together.”
“Cheers!” the group echoes, knocking the glass necks of their beers together.
“Now.” Eitan puts down his drink to clap his hands together. “We wanted to give everyone a chance to tell a story about Pen or Josh or both of them. I’ll go first. It’s hard to condense seventeen years of friendship into one story, but I’m gonna try.” Eitan closes his eyes and swallows, girding himself. When he opens his eyes, they’re shining. “I don’t talk about this much, but lately, I’ve been feeling braver.” His eyes find mine, and we lock like fishing hooks. “My dad died four years ago.” Eitan doesn’t pause for the noises of sympathy. “He was sick for a long time, and in a lot of ways, death was a relief. He was no longer in pain. The year leading up to that was the hardest year of my life. It was isolating, living at home, after almost everyone I knew had moved on.
“But Josh never let me feel alone. He flew back to New York to visit us every couple months. A lot of people wouldn’t do that. I mean, I had some friends in New York City who only took the train a couple times to come visit. Josh has this way of knowing what you need, even if you don’t know it yourself.”
