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“Oat milk? Aren’t there enough kinds of milk in the world?” Still, he takes it.
“But I like this. It’s really creamy. It sort of makes you feel like you’re drinking something bad for you when you’re really not.”
“Why not just drink something bad for you?” He takes a sip anyway. It warms me inside. Like I won a tiny victory.
And it gives me the courage to keep talking. “It’s pretty early in the morning to be out. Were you going on a run?”
I can practically feel him closing himself off. He sets the coffee down between us before rubbing his palms over his thighs. “I was going for a walk,” I explain when he doesn’t speak. “I’ve been staying in a hotel with my family for a little while now, and it gets claustrophobic. I’m tired of breathing all that hotel air, you know? But the windows don’t open. I guess they don’t want people jumping.”
Ouch. Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say, since he sort of looked like he wanted to jump when I first found him. But he only snorts, shrugging a little. “Probably.”
I sigh, looking out over the water. “You know, mornings like this remind me of when I was little. It always felt kind of, I don’t know, special to be up this early. The sun is just coming up, and most people are still sleeping. Everything is so still. You can hear the birds waking up.”
He responds grudgingly. “I guess so. I never really paid attention.”
“I used to love when my dad would take me fishing. That’s when I would get up early, you know? We would head out, and it would still be dark when we left the house.” I swing my legs back and forth. I’m glad I wore tennis shoes this morning instead of my slides. I’d be too afraid one would fall off and drop into the water.
“Did you used to go a lot?” he asks in a flat voice. I can’t tell if he’s interested or if he only wants a distraction. Either way, I don’t mind.
“Only sometimes. Usually in the summer. He had more time for me in the summer. We’d go out and get in the little boat, and he would take us out to the middle of the lake.”
“Which lake?”
“I don’t remember. I don’t even think he ever told me the name of it. And I was too little to care. He always put the worm on the hook for me. I would sit there and hold my pole, and he’d, you know…” I mime reeling the little crank thingy to bring the fish in.
“What kind of fish did you catch? Were you any good?”
I bite my lip. “I don’t remember the names.”
“Probably minnows. They’re easy to catch. Did you used to eat them?”
“Sure. He’d pull all the guts out and stuff.”
“Minnows aren’t fish you eat. They’re too small.”
“Then I must’ve gotten the name wrong. What difference does it make?”
He’s quiet for a second. The only sound I hear is his breathing. “You know what I think?”
“No, what?”
“I don’t think you’ve ever been fishing. Not even once in your life.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Just a guess.” He raises his eyebrow like he’s daring me to argue.
I shrug. “Fine. You got me. I’ve never been fishing.”
“Why did you make that up?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Now, yeah. I do. It’s a random thing to pull out of your ass.” He picks up the coffee and takes another sip.
“Because all I’ve ever been able to do about my father is make things up. Because I don’t know who he was. I never met him.”
It surprises me when his face falls. “That sucks.”
“It kind of does sometimes. And again, maybe it doesn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m just saying, what if he’s really an asshole? I mean, between you and me, my mom doesn’t have the best taste in men. I’d probably fall over dead from shock if she actually picked a good one for once.”
He snorts. “Yeah. I know that feeling.”
“Does your mom date losers, too?”
His jaw works again, and the light leaves his eyes before he looks down at his dangling feet. “In my case, it’s my father.” He heaves a sigh that sounds like it comes all the way from down in his toes. Something is really bothering him, something deep and painful. How can I know that when we’ve only just met? I don’t even know his name.
“Are your parents divorced?”
“Why are we talking about this?” His head snaps up. Now his piercing blue eyes are hard and flashing. His lip curls in a sneer. “It’s none of your fucking business.”
“Okay. That’s all you have to say.”
“Fine.”
“But I’m sorry you’re going through that. I know how hard it is when you see a parent making stupid decisions, and you can’t do anything about it.”
