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“Be careful!”
“You be careful, these are limited edition shoes-”
“I’m not the one who made you wear those in a swamp, idiot, and I don’t see how they’re going to keep you from flipping this boat.”
Pete finally stumbles into the canoe, water splashing in as it rocks left, right, before finally steadying in the water. Patrick sighs deeply, sticking his oar into the water and pushing off the sandy bank. “C’mon, are you gonna help me row?”
Pete spins the paddle in her hands. She can’t resist lightly knocking Patrick in the head with the flat side before sticking it in the water. Patrick rolls his eyes. “I can still break up with you.”
“Then who would help you paddle this canoe?” Pete sticks her hand in the creek, chipped black nail polish flaking into the clear water. It’s still cool. Minnows flash at the bottom of the shallow spring, silvery scales a match for the bleach white shells embedded in the sand. They glide out of the launching point, following the curve of the river.
A low hanging branch scrapes over the top of Patrick’s camo hat. “Put some muscle into it. We’re going to keep listing right if we’re not even.”
“Why are you assuming that I’m the one who’s weaker?” Pete says. Patrick looks over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow, but Pete doesn’t catch it. She’s too busy ducking under the branch, jabbing a finger in Patrick’s direction. “Watch the road!”
It’s too late. They knock into a patch of cypress knobs sticking out of the water, the hull scraping against a mossy log submerged just under the surface. Patrick groans dramatically. “This is why we need to work together, Pete. You paddle backwards, I’ll go…”
They spend several minutes flailing around and cursing. Pete’s hands get wet and a little slimy from grabbing onto the mossy branches stuck under the water. They finally emerge from the thicket, back into the slow-moving current, and Pete reaches forwards for a high five. Patrick returns without looking, sticking his hand out behind him. The slap rattles through the air, spooking a few sunbathing turtles into flopping into the water with little splashes.
They cruise much more leisurely down the river, dodging upended branches and patches of weeds. The cicadas buzz and hum alongside the songbirds. Pete can feel herself getting slowly baked by the sun, despite the sunscreen and mosquito spray. The tops of Patrick’s ears are already turning pink - it’s a good thing he’s wearing long sleeves, but his shirt is already damp with sweat. It’s not even that humid yet, which is the whole reason they’re out here - by next month, summer will creep in, with the storms and the heat.
For now, though, there’s a breeze that pushes them through the water. There’s pondskaters that scatter across the surface as they row past, and egrets taking off from magnolia trees.
“What took you so long?” Andy calls as they round the bend. He’s all geared up in his little kayak, bobbing casually between two trees. Joe, flopped back on his paddleboard, doesn’t look up as he gives them a lazy wave.
“We got stuck,” Pete explains as they pull up beside the other two, pulling his oar in to avoid slapping Andy’s head.
“I can tell.” Andy eyes the water splashed all over Pete’s shirt. “Patrick, does your boyfriend know how to canoe?”
“We’re working on it,” Patrick says, tossing Joe a granola bar from his backpack, stashed under his seat.
“I offered to take us out on my boat,” Pete defends. “You know, the nice pontoon on my dad’s dock that has a motor, bluetooth speakers, a cooler…”
“The boat you can’t drive because you never bothered to get a license for some reason?” Joe drawls, tossing a few crumbs towards a pair of ducks floating beside them. “There’d be no point. We’re just here because Patrick hasn’t been outside in days and days working on that album. He probably went crazy without any sunlight, like all those Norwegian people.”
“Hey,” Patrick protests.
They ignore him. “You’re right,” Pete says. “He would be sitting there with his headphones and his little iMac, frowning, complaining about our music…”
“Why don’t we start moving?” Patrick interrupts. “You wanted to swim right? Let’s just get out of here.”
“Nice deflection.” Andy sails past them, into the narrow channel bracketed by trees. They go single file, through the dense woods until it opens up into a boil. The water’s deep here, dark blue and chilly, shaded as it is by the trees.
“You got the goods?” Joe asks, hanging his arms over the side of their canoe. Patrick fishes out two snorkeling masks, handing one to Joe and taking the other for himself. They park their little vessels along the side, and then Patrick’s pulling his shirt off, setting his glasses delicately in his bag, and flopping into the water. Him and Joe dive down, staring at the catfish lurking at the bottom.
Pete follows, sunglasses and shirt tossed carelessly in the boat as he cannonballs in next to Andy. They float next to each other, drinking sodas. “I think I’m gonna get a sleeve done,” Pete says, tossing his empty can in the direction of the canoe. It lands with a clang.
“You should wait a few months,” Andy says. “I got my chest done last summer. I couldn’t swim and I looked stupid as hell so I had to leave my shirt on all the time.”
Pete snorts. “I know that last one hurt you bad.”
So they stay, wading around in the cool spring water. Joe and Patrick eventually give their snorkels up so Pete and Andy can have a turn.
Pete swims over to Patrick, perched on a submerged log. He pushes himself up to sit beside him, pressing a kiss to his wet cheek. Patrick smiles. “Having fun?”
“You guys were right. This is a lot better than our pool.”
“I can’t believe you’ve never been here.” Patrick takes Pete’s hand, fingers laced together. “My dad took all the time when I was a kid.”
“We were more metropolitan, I guess.” Pete makes a fist in the water, squeezing a stream of water into Patrick’s face. He sputters. “Hey!”
Pete grins, then flops back into the spring, diving down. Patrick follows him, grabbing Pete’s arm until they’re wrestling around in the water.
“I can’t watch this.” Joe holds a hand up to the side of his face, hiding the two from view. “This foreplay is so fucked up.”
“Not in public!” Andy calls. Pete surfaces with a gasp, sticking his tongue out at them. “Jealousy is ugly, Hurley.”
“I feel kinda bad,” Patrick says. “Joe, Andy, would you ever get together? I don’t want all our band stuff to be you third-wheeling us.”
Joe and Andy look at each other.
“It was like that before you started dating,” Andy deadpans.
“Let me check with my girlfriend first,” Joe says. Pete gasps. “You asked her out?”
“She said yes?” Patrick adds. Joe flushes, suddenly self conscious. “Actually, I lied. She took one look at my micropenis and walked away. Whoops!”
“Nice!” Andy swims over to slap Joe on the back. “You deserve it. She’s awesome.”
“Yeah, I’m happy for you!” Patrick takes his hat off, sweeping into a dramatic bow. (His hat is soaking wet now. It’s kind of funny)
“So when’s the wedding?” Pete presses. Joe snorts. “We’re not you and Patrick, so…”
“Hey! We’re not getting married,” Patrick protests. “My mom says I shouldn’t commit to anyone in an unstable financial situation, so…”
“That hurts, Rick,” Pete says. Patrick flicks him. “Get a job and we’ll talk.”
“You act like I didn’t get us signed to a record label,” Pete sniffs. Joe slaps his hands on the water. “They’re flirting again. I’m out! Andy? Wanna get lunch?”
“I packed us peanut butter and jelly sandwiches…” Patrick mutters. Pete takes his hand. “I’ll eat all of your sandwiches, Patrick.”
“That was horrible. Let’s go, Joe,” And then Andy’s already in his kayak, paddling away. Patrick’s jaw drops. “Don’t leave us!”
“Better start paddling!” Joe calls. “You have a headwind!”
Pete curses, splashing towards the canoe. “Patrick! Hurry! My wallet is in his car!”
“Why his car?” Patrick mutters, vaguely offended, but he’s already spinning the boat around and shoving off. “I’ll stay left, you go right…”
They pass Joe on the way back, paddle tangled in the reeds. They make sure to wave as they float on by.