Page 77 of River Wild

“It was the least funny joke I’ve ever heard,” I say quietly before I turn on my heel and walk back toward River, who is standing exactly where I left him.

I’m kind of feeling bad that I got him to come tonight.

I thought it would be fun.

But he looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

“Ready?” I ask as I reach him.

We start walking further out, a small distance away from the hustle of people. I notice River keeps to my left, partially shielding himself from people. His shoulders are turned in. Like he’s trying to make himself smaller, which is impossible because the man is huge.

I push my hands into my pockets and kick a small rock out of the way. “So, the baby’s the size of a green olive at the moment,” I tell him, measuring the size out with my finger and thumb. Not because he’s ever asked or showed any interest in the development of my baby, but because of a want to say something, anything, and to get him talking. “And it weighs about three grams. I follow this website that charts the baby’s growth in comparison to fruit.”

“Fruit?”

“Yep.”

“And you’re currently pregnant with an olive.”

“A baby olive.”

“Olives are vile.”

“I know, right?” I chuckle, and so does he.

“So, what size will the fruit baby be next week?”

“A fig.”

“Also gross.”

“True.” I laugh again.

“So, when will the baby actually be the size of a decent fruit?”

“Hmm … well, it’ll be apple-sized at fifteen weeks.”

“Apples are okay as fruit goes. They taste better juiced though.”

“Again, true.”

“Are we actually having a fucking conversation about fruit right now?”

“Yep.” I giggle.

“You’re so odd.”

“Hey! You were talking fruit, too.”

“Humoring you, Red. I was humoring you.”

“Sure you were.” I roll my eyes.

All this talk of fruit has gotten me hungry—and also the smell of a vendor selling corn dogs. Not that it takes much nowadays to get me eating.

I start drifting in a bit, toward people and the corn-dog-selling vendor. “You hungry?” I ask him. “Because I could really go for a corn dog right now. My treat, for dragging you here?”

He gives me a look. “You’re not buying me a corn dog, Red. I’ll get them.”