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Jess: I’m a little shaky

Priya: thank you

how much do you guys actually remember, I typed.

Priya: like

Priya: the table I remember

Priya: the writing I remember

Priya: the fire bits I have but they’re weird. the thing at the beach was super weird

weird how, I typed.

Priya: like remembering a film someone described to me

yes, I typed. that’s it.

Priya: so we’re both missing stuff. which means it’s the cacao

can we google this when we get home, I asked.

Priya: yes

Priya: but also no

yeah, I wrote. also no.

There was a pause in the chat, and I thought about mentioning the goat, but we were all raw enough. Then three dots bounced again.

Priya: ok genuine question. did anyone else see

[Priya is typing... typing... ]

Priya: never mind it’s nothing

Priya, I typed.

Priya: it’s nothing. I’m being insane. it was the cacao

ok, I wrote, because I felt Damian’s attention on me, and this wasn’t the place to debate anything.

Jess: it was the cacao

It was the cacao, I conceded, and we lived with that fake consensus for a while.

The jeep suddenly felt too warm. I glanced at the temperature controls. Damian reached and turned it down before the request had left my mouth.

We had miles of rocky, unpaved road ahead of us, and for a few more minutes, we listened to the groan and grind of the jeep bouncing over the narrow stretch of dirt.

Damian took a steep, hairpin switchback that threw us both forward. His arm reached out, instinctively, and pinned me to the seat.

“Sorry,” he murmured.

There were questions that wanted to leave my lips. How many times have you done this drive was the one that almost did. Damian’s hand shifted on the wheel, as if he’d prepared himself to answer it. When the question didn’t come, his hand settled.

When we reached a solid stretch of road flanked by redwoods, I relaxed my shoulders and allowed myself to look at him, carefully, from the periphery of my vision. At his hands on the wheel, the twitch of his forearms, the tattoo on the paler side of one. The faint green veins under his skin and the hurried roll of his shirt cuffs.