Page 162 of Bend

“They came out of the same damn kitchen.”

“Still picked yours.”

I shake my head, already laughing.

“You’re a menace.”

“And yet you brought me on a date.”

“Starting to question my judgment.”

She reaches over and steals another fry.

“Bit late for that now.”

We eat while the water moves below us, gray-blue under the evening sky. The wind is cooler here but not bad enough to chase us indoors, and Echo eventually pulls her knees up, sleeves covering half her hands as she looks toward the horizon.

After a while she asks, “What do you actually miss about Canada?”

I think about it.

“The mountains, mostly. Florida’s nice, but everything feels flat after growing up around them.”

She smiles.

“I miss forests too. Proper ones. Places where you can ride for a couple hours and barely see anybody. Lakes that stay cold enough in summer.”

“That sounds miserable.”

“You’d love it.”

She looks over.

“What makes you so sure?”

“You complain about being outside right up until somebody tries getting you to go back inside. You’d spend the first week bitching about the cold, buy another six hoodies and then decide you’re never leaving.”

“I already own an unreasonable number of hoodies.”

“Exactly. See, you’re prepared.”

She looks back toward the water, smile lingering.

“Maybe.”

I don’t say anything to that.

I just let myself like the sound of it.

We finish eating, and for a while the conversation wanders without either of us trying to steer it anywhere important. She asks about where I grew up, whether I miss riding roads back home, what winter actually feels like when you have to live in it instead of visiting for Christmas. I tell her enough to make her complain preemptively about snow, which is entertaining considering she isn’t even going.

Eventually the conversation turns toward music.

I look at her. “You ever seriously think about doing something with it?”

She groans. “Here we go.”

“What?”