Currents

Fiction

If you asked Lily, she wouldn’t have told you the truth, but the truth was that Grant was a tug.

His presence tugged at her. Sometimes she felt herself taking a fourth glance when he was across the bar, especially if he was talking to a woman, like there was an invisible pull, a yank, a force, almost straight from her eyelashes. It felt too natural and uncontrollable at the same time.

But they were friends.

If you asked Grant, he might tell you that Lily was breathable. He felt when she was in the room, he recognized her as a presence, a scent both figurative and literal. The air got lighter when he knew she was there. He was calmer. More content. Like she could adjust his blood pressure.

But they were friends.

Lily’s friends figured Grant was gay, deep closet, or had some outlandish fetish that made Lily not his type.

Diana would get drunk and guess Grant’s fetish until Lily wanted to slap her, just once, but very hard.

Grant’s friends didn’t give two shits what was up with Grant and Lily, because she brought her friends around, and that was enough for them. Bob and Jessica were engaged, and Ty and Neecy were on their third “back on.”

If you walked past Campsite 24, Spruce Acres Campground,  No Dogs Allowed, Coin Laundry on the day after Memorial Day, you might wonder about the couple that pitched two brand new tents, one with the tag still on because the owner was going to try to return it.

But you probably wouldn’t have walked past Campsite 24, because there was a downpour like all the moisture from the melting ice caps had dropped straight on Wexford County, Michigan and wasn’t gonna leave until the rest of the Earth was parched.

Lily and Grant’s canoe trip was getting rained out.

They had plenty of food and beer and wine, and Grant had the presence of mind to string up a tarp between three trees, with one corner hanging down.

So instead of being stuck in one of their brand new but stuffy tents, they sat outside and played Uno, because Lily had the presence of mind to bring a deck just in case.

Neither of them would tell you what they talked about at first because it would bore you into a migraine. But somehow, and neither of them knew how, the conversation turned to them.

Them as an entity.

Them as planets in a solar system that orbited in unison but never collided.

Then, with one unmanicured nail, because they were going canoeing and dammit they were just friends anyway, Lily leaned in to flick a bit of brown mustard off of Grant’s face and she lingered.