Then my mind drifts to a dangerous thought:What would Ethan do?
“I need a platonic Wet Ted,” I say, pushing out the image of Ethan and me as partners before it can have a chance to settle into the recesses of my brain. I don’t need to corruptsomething fun and low stakes by turning it into my disaster evacuation strategy.
“It wouldnotbe platonic with me and Theodore,” Harlow muses, licking her lips as though she’s prepared to eat that sexy woodsman alive. “I’d haveallhis apocalypse babies. It wouldn’t be right to establish a new society that didn’t have access to that man’s bone structure.”
I nearly spit out my Coke. “Should we call Ted and see when he gets off work?”
“Way ahead of you, Char.” Laurel’s already scrolling her contacts. She hops off her stool and heads in the direction of the exit with her phone to her ear.
“Oh, that reminds me…” Harlow sets her beer on the bar and grabs a mini tablet from her bag. “Gotta steal some Wi-Fi while I can.”
“Ooh. Good call.” I pull out my phone but stop myself before opening my work email. Boundaries are normal. Healthy, even. Surely nothing catastrophic will happen if I don’t open my work email again today.
Instead, I distract myself by leaning over for a closer look at Harlow’s tablet. I glimpse the footage she’s uploading: sweeping overhead views of lush forests and lakes sparkling in the dawn light.
“Is this all from that little drone?” I ask, recalling the tiny black thing I spotted at camp.
“My baby is small but mighty. These scenic videos are my first love, but my ‘day in the life’ vlogs on being an adventure photographer get more ad revenue than my actual photography. Which used to bum me out, but, hey, the goal is the lifestyle, andAthletic Greenspays.”
“Adventure photography? I had no idea that was a thing.I’m so curious about how people find their niche in creative fields. My dad was a filmmaker.”
“Well, I don’t know how most people do it, but about two years ago I quit my corporate marketing job and moved into a pop-up camper I hitched to my SUV. Andmydad is a forensic accountant, so at the time, he wasn’t exactly thrilled…” Her laugh indicates that maybe she and her dad have gotten past this wrinkle in their relationship. “But I had to do it, you know. I never had time or energy for my art. It was soul crushing. But back then, I did have a lot more money. The money was nice.”
“Money’s like that sometimes,” I agree, lifting my mini-Coke in salute.
She types on her screen for another minute. When she slips it back into her bag, her work seems to disappear, as though her income stream and sense of self are genuinely separate, and it is possibly the most unrelatable thing about this woman who already seems like a Free People ad come to life.
Harlow notices me noticing her and asks, “So you and Ethan…?” She trails off.
In a humiliating twist, my body responds to the mere mention of Ethan. “Me and Ethan? We’re not…We’ve only…” My head jerks in about six directions without permission. “We’ve been friends for years. Same as Petey and Laurel, but without the, uh, romantic undertones.”
Or so I thought.
She pushes out her bottom lip. “With his Heath Ledger dimples and bedroom eyes? Those don’t factor in at all for you?”
“I’m going through a divorce. Or just finished going through it, I guess. It’s probably not smart to jump into anything.”
She nods, unconvinced. “That makes sense.”
I sip on my fresh shot glass of Coke. Memories of Ethan’slips against mine and my hands in his hair burst in my brain like fireworks.
It’s at the moment when I’m imagining Ethan emerge from a lake—full Colin Firth—that Laurel bounces back to our bar stools. “Good news, bad news. So Wet Ted’s waiting for a camper with a nine p.m. reservation…”
I shake my head. “That won’t work. We need to be back at the campsite or we’ll be hiking in the dark.”
She grins. “That’s where the good news comes in. He needs to stay in for equipment pickup later tonight, but…we can bring snacks and come hang out with him and all of his hot friends, then lure them back to the campsite with us.”
I cringe a little. “He told you his friends were ‘hot’?”
She dismisses my skepticism with a wave of her hand. “Of course not, but hot people have a way of finding each other. I texted Peter, and Jonah is out of urgent care and checked into a motel. The rest of the guys can meet us at Ted’s. It’s perfect.”
“Ooh. I love a joint bachelor-bachelorette party,” Harlow adds gamely. “And one of them might be ordained!” She flags down the bartender to close out, and I try to conceal whatever the memory of a particular bachelorette party (and accompanying penis straw) does to my face.
—
“So you lived in Peru and you never did Santa Cruz?” Wet Ted’s travel buddy Russell asks while handing me a LaCroix.
“ ‘Lived’ is a stretch,” I respond. “I think I was two.”
