It’s friggin’ weird exchanging pleasantries with him now, instead of barbs. Though, I think we made some headway after the airing of our grievances last night. Do I think either of us are ready to start doing a deep dive on the pros and cons of throupledom yet? Hell fuckin’ no. But will it be nice to not be walking on eggshells around him all damn day? Ayuht, as the Mainers up here like to say by means of an affirmative.
He studies me briefly, his expression unreadable, before shifting into reverse and backing out. We sit in silence on the way there, and I’ve got to say, it’s oppressive. I’m not used to it with him. Granted, a lot can change in the years we’ve spent apart—proof positive of that is his voice box injury—but the lack of background noise, the eighties music that forever used to be a running soundtrack, is unnerving.
God, we used to sing together, just for the hell of it, all the damn time. It was like a competition between us just to see who remembered more lyrics. I may have recalled more of them, but his singing was decidedly much better.
It’s not like we have very far to go to get down to the marina, but I can’t stand the silence anymore. I reach over and turn the radio on. Caleb side-eyes me doing so, before quickly averting his attention out his driver’s side window when the music starts playing.
Like some sort of cosmic fuckery is at work playing DJ this morning,Eye of the Tigerby Survivor is playing. This particular song always made me laugh because Caleb is forever being told he looks like Dean Winchester. Caleb used to reenact the iconic scene where the actor lip-syncs it from his Impala, except Caleb had a beat up Honda Civic back then (which, in my humble opinion, made it even funnier.)
The glow of the streetlights illuminates a tear streaking down Caleb’s cheek when I spare a glance in his direction. I quickly turn the music back off, clearing my throat. “I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head before swiping away the tear and replacing his hand on the wheel. The faux-leather cracks in his grip. The rest of the way down to the docks, we let the heavy silence fester even more—churning tides of a past swept from us, leaving us struggling to break free from an undertow of unspoken memories.
Of course, it’s no help that when we get there, Gannett hasn’t arrived yet. He’s chronically late, always having some excuse or another. Nine times out of ten, he just looks hungover.
Caleb and I set to work getting things ready anyway. Wordlessly we go about our tasks of making sure the bait well is filled with the smelliest fuckin’ lifeless fish I have ever caught a whiff of. I set to work organizing the rest of our gear, checking fuel and oil levels, and clearing out the bilge.
I’m stacking some of our catch crates when Caleb stops me. “About what Lauren said last night, I just want to let you know, that I”—he pauses and wrings his hands nervously—“I’m going to need more time to think about it.”
I nod. “I’m kind of in the same boat. I mean, literallyandfiguratively.”
His lips twitch, a hint of a smile smothered too quickly for my liking. “I get that we had a really good talk last night, but there’s still a lot you don’t know yet. Stuff I’m not sure I’m willing to share with you at this time. If ever at all.”
I agree with him. “And if we try too hard to make something like this work for her, it’ll eventually just feel forced. I get it. Just because we have history, doesn’t mean we can just reopen things and there won't be any wounds still waiting for us to pour salt all over.”
“Exactly.” He nods.
“I say we both just be there for her. We focus squarely on her, the two of us. For what it’s worth, you do make her really happy. Have you slapped a label on it yet?”
“No, but I want to. I’m just not sure she’s ready, so I’m waiting for her to initiate that discussion. And she is quite in love with you,” he signs. “Like, I don’t see how I can honestly hold a candle to the way she feels about you.”
My heart bubbles with pride, having him share that with me.
“So it’s settled then,” I hum. “Want any insider trading secrets? Like, what’s her favorite food, or what she—”
He cuts me off, shaking his head. “No. That feels like I’m either cheating the system or I’m infringing on what you two have. It feels imbalanced. I just want things between her and I to form on its own foundation, not one you’ve started to build for us.”
I nod, pressing my lips together. “That’s fair…”
“Sorry I’m late! Burnt the last of my frozen waffles!” Gannett shouts, running down the docks. He jumps onto the boat with a practiced flourish. “Stopped and got us all breakfast though. You kids like Dunks? Got us a fuckton of Munchkins.”
I snort and accept the carton of donut holes from him. Caleb signs, “Thank you.”
“Ooh!” Gannett gasps, pointing at Caleb. “I know that one! Little odd, but—uh— kinda sweet too? I guess? I should be clear though: I like Munchkins as well, but they’re, like, a peace offering and not a request for a date or whatever. Sorry.”
I huff out a little laugh, scrubbing my hand down my face. “That wasn’t a blown kiss, Gannett. That was him saying ‘thank you.’”
“Oh.” Gannett blinks at Caleb. “Totally. Uh, well then never mind! Still a peace offering for being late anyway. We all ready to head out?Supposed to be a friggin’ gorgeous day today…” He gets himself settled up by the engine controllers while Caleb and I untie the boat from the cleats and haul up the anchor.
From there, we have an hour or so ride out to get to the buoy lines. The thick tension that was between Caleb and I on the ride over—hell, the last couple of weeks—eventually lifts, like fog burning off of the vast surface of the seemingly endless expanse of ocean ahead of us. Probably due in part to the stinky vat of herring used as bait, we’re followed by a raucous gaggle of seagulls.
Those fuckin’ beach bandits are wild. They will steal an entire bag of chips right out from under you, if your sandy-day snacks aren’t well hidden when you spend a day on the coast here. Just ask Brody, he’ll vouch that these winged ninjas are a fierce bunch.
“You ever stop and think what it would be like if you could tame one of those fuckers?” Gannett asks, nodding up at the shrilly shrieking birds.
Caleb shakes his head.
I scoff. “Says the guy who has a petskunkrunning around his house…”
