Chapter 18 Mischa
That was, by far, the strangest interaction I’ve ever experienced.
I don’t know what the fuck that was. I think I spooked Austen.
He said the safe word, Isobelle came to his rescue and.
.. tried to... hoo-hoo like an owl and..
. threw up, sang in French... and squeezed her tits and tried to. .. have emergency sex with him?
No, I don’t get it, but I feel awful. He was shaking and looked terrified.
We set out into the forest. He assures me we are taking a shortcut. I am quiet through the thick jungle. We reach a mossy clearing around which only shorter, thinner trees grow. Here, I stumble upon one of the great moments of my life. I take it in with awe.
It’s sheltered, with a thick, low canopy, so it feels like we are inside, somewhere cosy.
The lime green moss and orange lichen are like a garish retro carpet, the tree trunks like pillars of an old church.
The warm glow of the day filters through the green, and a single shaft of light does indeed glint in Austen’s eyes.
He does listen to the sounds of the forest. I watch him for a while, then step forward on to a twig, which snaps. It does echo.
This is the moment I predicted the first day I met him.
The moment that I told my brothers would scare him away forever.
The moment I ask what the hell that was back there with Isobelle.
Or try to touch him. Or tell him I love him.
Or ask for more and more details just like the ones I always hated giving.
Tell him I fucking understand, my fucking god, the exact thing I hate hearing the most. All of it will make him bolt.
He moves to leave.
“It’s beautiful here,” I tell him. “Thank you so much for bringing me.”
He stops. “I’m sorry I’m like this,” he says.
“No, I’m sorry. I swear, I was only going to kiss you. Maybe some grinding. I feel like a total idiot.”
“Nah.” He shakes his head. “It was my own anxiety that screwed it up. I’m overwhelmed by it all. I mean, the whole point is to make it happen, right? But I’m just one step forward, two steps back. I’m totally ridiculous.”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t have to happen.”
“I think I’m kinda using you to explore maybe some growing interest in this, because I trust you, and I really do like you, but I’ll never be who you want.”
“You’ll always be who I want.” I hold the back of my neck. “I just forget that it’s me in love with you, not you who’s in love with me, and then stuff like that happens and I’m horrified at myself, again.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. You can touch me a little without spooking me and it gives me hope, so I go with it, even though we’ll never have a future.
I know it’s selfish, and I know you want me for real, and need me out of your system desperately, so I’m trying to get through this and not hurt you.
It’s just a lot to have on my shoulders, you know? ”
“Eh,” I smile. “That’s my problem, you don’t need to sacrifice yourself for my misery.
If it’s not meant to be, then it’s not meant to be.
We shouldn’t force it. It’s making me feel delusional, like you want this, but it sounds like you don’t.
So many people have done it to me. Not just lovers but even random people who decided we’re fated to be.
I’ve taken pity on them and let them have their way sometimes too.
Fucked a few of them. It just adds fuel.
Now I’m just like them, reading into every look you give me.
Love makes you literally crazy. When someone’s obsessed with you and you’re not, it’s just annoying. ”
He scratches his ear. “It’s a little stressful, because I’m not capable of it, but I’m torn because I like you so much as a friend. I wish I could, I’m sorry, but I tried twice, and I can’t.”
“It’s okay. I hate what happened this morning.
I hate this version of me. I hate being so desperate and pathetic, and so out of control too.
I want to be over this already. I want to be out of love with you.
I want to stop harassing you to make it work.
I want you to leave you in peace. I thought we could have a crack at it while we were away and get past it when we got home. I’m going to try to get past it now.”
“Okay,” he says. “Do you want to be my best friend?”
My eyes feel a hot mist, but I breathe in the cool forest air and let it go. “Yes. I’ll take the friend-zone.”
“Good,” he sighs, “because I’d die if I lost you.”
I have conceded defeat. “And I’d die for you,” I tell him. “But you know... we’re probably not compatible that way anyway.”
He hugs me, and we continue on our journey, as friends.
We stop making noise when we hear water moving ahead.
We get in our waders and arrange our gear.
The fly hooks are little works of art. The box sparkles like a cabinet of small tropical creatures.
Colorful bugs and feathery moths, all tied with silk to sharp little hooks.
They are all made with such care and precision.
I choose one the same color as Austen’s eyes.
The eight-and-a-half foot fishing rods are as light as feathers. I hold mine out and it quakes ever so slightly from the motions of my muscles, and the blood pumping to my fingers. It’s bendy, and bound in stripes of gold and red silk thread for strength along the pole.
The first stop is a canyon. It’s ancient and silent and teeming with fish.
There’s nowhere to wade across to, so we work on the same side of the water.
There are thick trees right behind us, so we can’t throw the line back to get some distance for our casts.
I think Austen is testing me. I work enough line above me in a long ribbon back and forward.
Flinging it in a short arc. This way takes a lot of power in your arms. I have spent years practicing this, and picking up ballerinas, so I make it look effortless.
The line shoots far across the river and the fly lands in the water without a splash.
I toss Austen a pointed look. His eyes are wide and his mouth presses tight to hide a smile, but I see he’s thrilled. He makes a sideways cast, sending his fly under an overhanging beech tree opposite.
I want to enjoy this for hours but soon I hook something big, and so does Austen. We catch two magnificent rainbow trout and admire them. He unhooks them back into the creek. They shoot away and we move on.
“You’re better than me,” Austen says. “I’m impressed and depressed at the same time.”
Around a bend we reach a wider gorge with a few waterholes and he passes me to reach the far one.
I fire off my line, but I don’t hear him cast his.
I look behind and he is just watching me.
Looking at him, I know things I cannot know.
My eyes tell me what I want to believe. I love looking at him, so I look at him, and he looks at me.
My lying eyes tell me he loves looking at me too, but it’s not true.
Then it’s just the bubbling sound of the cool water that runs between us. Between friends. Just friends.
We catch some more fish and let them go. Sabrina and Isobelle don’t like trout, Austen explains. We venture further up the valley and the river is different again. It has spread out over a wide braid of waterways and islands. We head to an elbow that backs up to a cliff, and is deep in parts.
Austen whips the line over his head, making it whistle back and forth.
He pulls it back and snaps the little fly far off into an interesting pool.
I follow further down and we wait. His line hooks and he starts reeling it in, but it’s big.
I get the net and lift a king salmon out of the water.
It’s huge, at least sixty pounds, but Austen looks sad.
“Do you eat fish?” he asks.
“Not so much now,” I say. “My grandmother used to go down to the beach and a fisherman would come to the shore and all the women of her village would buy fish straight from the boat. Now it’s not so fresh, so I don’t. If you cook that, it’ll be the first fish I’ve eaten in ages.”
“The girls eat salmon. We should take it back for them.”
Now I see why he’s sad.
“I think it’s undersized,” I tell him, just before he takes the spike to iki the big bastard. “You can’t take it. It’s too small. It’s illegal.”
“Huh?”
“It’s okay,” I say, and unhook the fish. “I can tell you’re not the best at this, but I will hook a decent sized one.”
I throw it back in the water and we keep going. By the afternoon he catches a seventy pound monster.
“Pretty good,” I say, “for you.”
We hear the helicopter dropping Amelia and Hayden off.
I gut and clean the fish and we call it a day.
Back at the boat Hayden and the girls have been having a lot of fun without us.
Drinking, swimming, playing, and bonding like functional people do.
All three girls are completely naked, floating in the water like sirens. Hayden has on board shorts.
“Isobelle started it. She’s been starkers all afternoon,” Hayden tells us, with a cheeky grin. “I have been averting my eyes, I swear.”
“It was our gift to the helicopter pilot,” Isobelle says, making angel wings in the water.
Austen cooks the salmon, Amelia pours the wine. Hayden puts up the tents along the lakeside. They are far away from each other. He says they are far enough away so we won’t have to hear each other having sex, if the occasion should arise.
“If you want to have a bonfire,” he advises, “do it away from my tent, because I’m asthmatic.”
“Don’t you smoke weed?” Amelia frowns.
Hayden glares at her. “A joint is so much smaller than a bonfire.”
Sabrina and Isobelle turn in early.
Amelia and Hayden do the dishes and leave for their tents. I play guitar quietly on the deck and Austen listens as the late summer sun sets. After a few songs I decide to turn in. I head down to my tent.