Page 53 of Neap & Spring

Because it is ridiculous. All of it. I got pulled into the cold ocean by a fish. A fish that is now somewhere down there, completely fine, probably telling all its fish friends about the idiot it just dunked. Roman is never going to let me live this down. I’m going to be eighty years old, and he’s going to bring this up at my funeral.

“That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen.” Roman gasps between laughs. “You went full cartoon character. Just —” He makes a gesture, miming someone getting yanked overboard. “Right over the side. Didn’t even have time to let go of the rod.”

“I wasn’t letting that fish win.”

“Cal.” He looks at me with genuine sympathy. “The fish definitely won, man.”

Wesley goes below deck and reappears with a towel, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” I’m shaking so hard I can barely hold the towel. My fingers are numb. My lips are probably blue. “Freezing. But fine.”

I strip off my soaked jacket, my flannel, and my t-shirt. Everything is drenched and heavy with seawater. I towel off as best I can, but my jeans are still plastered to my legs like a second skin.

“We should probably head back,” Wesley says. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

Always the big brother.

“No way.” I’m still shivering hard enough that my teeth are clattering, but I mean it. I’ll warm up eventually. “We’ve got at least four more hours. I’m not going back empty-handed.”

“You’re soaked.”

“I’ll dry.” I wring out my t-shirt over the side, watching the water stream out. “Besides, I have a reputation to restore. I can’t let that fish have the last word. I won’t be able to live with myself.”

Roman grins. “That’s the spirit.”

Wesley shakes his head, but he’s smiling. He disappears below deck again and comes back with a dry hoodie. “Here. It’s gonna be big on you.”

Wesley’s got at least four inches on me, but it’s warm and dry, and I pull it on without a single complaint.

I hang my wet clothes over the side of the boat to drip, but I keep my jeans on. I’ve lost enough dignity for one day. Then grab my rod and bait a new hook with trembling hands. It takes me four attempts. Roman watches with barely contained glee.

“Ready?” I ask.

“You’re crazy,” Roman says, but he’s already moving back to his own rod.

The adrenaline is fading now, leaving me loose and almost giddy, and I realize I can’t remember the last time I laughed like that. Not the tired exhale I pass off as laughing at the end of a long day. When was the last time something was just stupid and ridiculous and genuinely funny?

We settle back into fishing. The water is choppy, white caps forming on the waves, but Wesley navigates it easily, moving us to a different spot directly in the sun.

Roman catches a lingcod. Wesley pulls in two more rockfish. I catch nothing, but I keep trying, my line going out and coming back empty.

We spend the next few hours in comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional comment about a catch or a joke from Roman. The sun climbs higher, warming my back through Wesley’s hoodie.

By early afternoon, my jeans are mostly dry, my mood is lighter, and the cooler is respectably full.

Wesley checks his watch. “We should start heading back. Got that halibut you wanted to prep for tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” I’d almost forgotten about the restaurant and everything waiting for me back on land.

But right now, I’m not ready to let go of this feeling. I feel light and happy for the first time in a while. This was a reminder that I have people who show up for me and pull me back into the boat when I fall overboard. People who sit with me in the cold and let me work through my shit without judgment.

“Thanks,” I say as Wesley starts the engine. “For today. For getting me out here.”

“Anytime,” Wesley says simply.

“Yeah,” Roman adds, moving to help coil the lines. “Though next time, maybe we leave the dramatic swimming to the fish.”

“Not funny.”