“A few times a year, is all.”
The talking stilled as we both stared expectantly at the worm in my hand.
Summoned to the guillotine, I raised my head high and set my fishing pole on the ground. I had to do this. I slid my fingers along the fishing line until I held the hook. All romantic thoughts about the woods and this lake I had earlier, fled.
Nature was a cruel, dark place.
I put the hook next to the worm, took a deep breath, and—speared him.
And then I turned gracefully away and dry heaved for a solid ten seconds.
* * *
We caught three fish. Not we.
I.
Me.
As in, I caught three fish. Chase caught none. While I didn’t sing, ‘We are the Champions,’ I definitely hummed the song as we packed up. Chase was quiet. A suspicious quiet. Almost as if he was suppressing a laugh, but beyond an occasional side-eye, I paid him no mind. I was on cloud nine. My first time fishing, I speared a disgusting worm four times and caught three fish. Maybe I was cut out for this wilderness life. It was only while gliding home that I was brought back down to earth with one perfectly timed comment. He had let me have my moment, but it was all a rouse.
“Well, that’s great, you can eat your fish and I’ll just eat my own food today, since I didn’t catch anything.”
My heart dropped. “Oh no, I’m happy to share.”
“No. I know how much you love fish, so go ahead and eat your catch today, I’ll try again tomorrow.”
I was going to starve on this trip.
“Doesn’t it feel good to survive off the land?”
By this time, we had reached the cabin door. He opened the door and held it for me to walk in before him. I glanced up and found a challenging glint in his eyes, lurking behind the laughter. My heart had stooped so low, I couldn’t even say anything as I passed through the threshold.
“And just think, now you get to skin and clean the fish for lunch.”
That did it. I stopped, my shoulders drooped and sagging. The pole and camp chair I carried clattered to the floor as I turned back to face him. He had broken me.
“Okay, you win. I can’t do this. I hate fish. I’d never even been fishing before but felt like I had to and… and I can’t gut it and clean it. Please.” It was pathetic. A new lowest of the low. And then he started clapping, slowly.
“Well, you lasted a lot longer than I thought you would.”
“What?”
He cocked his head to one disbelieving side, as he leaned closer to me. “You put on a good show. And really, for catching three fish when you’re not trying to, is pretty impressive.”
“Please don’t make me eat them.”
He stared at me for a second, pondering. “I’ll skin and clean the fish, and I’ll show you how to cook it. But you have to eat it, I’m not letting you eat all my food in two days’ time.”
I was about to complain, but wisely refrained. This was Survivor, and Chase Riley was my food source. Well, I probably wouldn’t eat him if it came to that, but he was the one who could provide me with food. It pained me to even think those thoughts.
“Deal,” I said, as I moved to my room. Maybe I could try the old clothespin on the nose trick. Or maybe, the fish would taste better caught fresh in the mountains.
For the record. They did not taste better.
* * *
Two nights later, I opened my door a tiny crack and peeked out into the hallway. The clock on my phone said 1am. The house was pitch black and all signs pointed to Chase being in his bed, asleep. I shot past the doorway like a graceful gazelle and bounded into the bathroom, shutting the door gently. With the heater on in my room, there was no need or desire to sleep in my jeans, which meant I wore my tank top and the most unattractive, gray panties I owned. Every stitch of my rear end was completely covered, and then some. I was not proud of this, but I was supposed to be alone in a cabin by myself for a week, so I packed a week’s worth. Too bad the other six days of panties sat frozen and stuck in my car. But no matter, earlier that night, I washed them in the sink and left them on the floor heater in my room to dry. It had only taken them about fifteen minutes.