Page 16 of Wild About You
“Is he the tall, quiet guy? Kinda looks like he hates us all?” She spoons baked beans onto her plate.
My eyes track to where I last saw Finn settling down on a log and riffling through his pack. But now his pack is closed and he’s just hunched over with his elbows on his knees, staring off into the woods. He looks accustomed to human airplane mode, comfortable without a phone to mess around with during any scrap of downtime. If he’s not one of those people who uses a flip phone by choice, I’ll eat the bark off one of the trees he hangs his hammock from.
“That’s him,” I answer cheerily. “I don’t think he hates anyone, though! It’s just…how his face looks.”
Harper raises a skeptical brow as we both bend to choose drinks out of an ice-filled cooler. I’m a little too excited to see a Dr. Pepper, my caffeinated weakness. Twenty-three flavors, all of them perfect. When Harper straightens back up with a root beer in hand, she belatedly replies, “If you say so. I respect his energy, anyway. I do hate most people, but they see this freckle-covered baby face and feel compelled to either pinch my cheeks or tell me their life story. Often both.”
I laugh as we head toward the circle of chairs set up around a firepit, where a producer is hunched over getting some flames going. A small table to the side holds skewers and hot dogs.
“Well, golly, am I blessed you talked to me first, then! I’ll try not to tell you my life story in return.” I take a seat and Harper eases into the chair next to mine. “No promises about the cheeks, though. They just look so damn pinchable.” I pinch my thumbs and forefingers in the air in front of me like I can’t help myself, and she gives me an unamused look.
We continue chatting as we eat and as others fill in the circle around us. Enemi’s partner, who we learn is named Zeke, quickly proves himself to be one of the more outgoing among us, interrupting all conversations from time to time to call out a new person in the circle at random, shushing everyone else as he asks the chosen one to share their name, pronouns, where they’re from, and something interesting about themselves. After a couple of these, I’m already fidgety, ready to volunteer for the next introduction so I can get it over with even though I’ve forgotten everything interesting about myself.
It’s a helpful icebreaker, if lacking in creativity. It gets people talking, as we eat and cook hot dogs on skewers over the fire, eat some more, cook more hot dogs. There are quiet side conversations, and louder ones yelled across the crackling flames.
We all learn that Daniel, from California, is a competitive pole vaulter, and his teammate, Luis, has ten siblings. Evan, who I learn is Harper’s partner, might rival Finn in “most outdoorsy person here” vibes, as they casually reveal that they’ve hiked most of the Pacific Crest Trail in segments over the past couple summers with their mom. When Zeke calls on Harper as “cutie with the freckles,” I worry he might get to meet the business end of her hot dog skewer. But she lets him off easy with an icy glare before sharing that she’s from Georgia and her last job required her to dress up in a hamburger costume.
I have about twenty follow-up questions, of course, including “Do you have pictures?” But I get to ask none of them right now, as Zeke has decided to start calling on people with no breaks in between.
“Purple streak!” he shouts.
“Oh, that’s me.” I pat down my hair where said streak is located, feeling like it’s frizzed out to the side, all mad-scientist-style. “I’m Natalie, pronouns are she/her, from Kentucky, and…ooh, okay, I’ve been an extra in a movie.”
That clearly invites more questions too, but it’s best I don’t go further into it. I was slightly more than an extra, in truth, because I had one line. But I was also seven years old, and it was a movie about a Triple Crown–winning horse filmed at a racetrack near my hometown, not anywhere in the vicinity of Hollywood. Sounds cooler the less you know.
The ongoing banter feels surprisingly friendly for an environment and circumstances that are competitive at the core. Even Enemi lets out a smile or two. It seems like it genuinely splits some cracks in her face due to unused muscles, but still.
Maybe everyone else is as eager as I am for company that’s not their randomly assigned partner. But even as I think it, I’m checking over my shoulder to make sure Finn’s still there, on a log on the outskirts of the circle. At first I thought he was just waiting for everyone else to get food before he’d make his plate and join. But then I saw him get his lunch and return to the log of loneliness.
He chose that, I remind myself. There are open seats over here. He doesn’t need me checking on him, let alone worrying about him.
Zeke must not come to the same conclusion, because he suddenly shouts Finn’s name. My gaze darts up to Zeke, then behind me to Finn and back again.
“It is Finn, right? Why don’t you join us, man? Introduce yourself!” Zeke’s clueless grin suggests he’s never heard the word “introvert” in his life. Or “no.”
I stiffen, unsure how this will go. But to my surprise, after a moment, I hear quiet footsteps approach. I don’t dare look again, afraid I’ll spook him—or worse, seem overly interested in his well-being. But I feel his tall, sturdy presence at my back, just behind my chair.
“Yeah, I’m Finn,” he says roughly, then clears his throat.
“Great!” Zeke plows on. “We’re all sharing pronouns, where we’re from, and something interesting about us.”
“I’m from Vermont, he and him, and…” He pauses, and I find to my surprise that I’m on the edge of my seat, wondering what Finn will think is interesting enough to share. “And I’m a vegetarian.”
Zeke nods. “Sweet. Good to meet you, man. Let’s see, who’s left?”
I sense Finn slowly retreating to his spot, but I can’t get myself to stop replaying everything he’s just said, as if I’ll find more significant pieces of his identity hidden in the word vegetarian. I add the fact to my mental catalog of Finn-formation—a pretty flimsy catalog, so far. More of mini-brochure.
“Are you ever planning to call on your partner?” Enemi’s sharp voice claims all of our attention, as I’m sure she meant it to. I can’t tell if the way she snaps at Zeke is a feisty brand of flirting or actual animosity. Really, how much animosity could they have built in a day of knowing each other?
Then again, it took me about twenty minutes to start thinking of her as Enemi.
While she tells the group something about her family lineage being traced back to the British monarchy—which, okay, sure—I feel something prodding at the back of my mind. It’s a feeling like I was cut off mid-worry, hadn’t fully thought through whatever I was becoming anxious about when I got distracted, so now I’m just residually anxious and can’t remember the cause.
The bothersome brain itch won’t let up as the afternoon goes on and most of the group continues grazing and hanging out. Harper, Evan, and I play with one of the decks of cards the crew put out for our use, during which I learn that Harper wants to be a psychiatrist (quite the departure from a hamburger) and Evan is a fellow theater kid (so they’re not only a nicer version of Finn, but a nicer version of Finn and me combined). I also give them the—in my opinion, solid gold—team name of “Hevan,” which Evan finds hilarious but Harps isn’t quite sold.
It’s when dinner comes around that it finally hits me, what’s had me unsettled since lunch. The production crew taking over for the night shift brought all the fixings for a baked potato bar. There’s butter, cheese, sour cream, chives, all kinds of meaty toppings, and—that’s what snags my focus. Not a lot of vegetables happening here for my herbivore partner. Were there more at lunch? Mindlessly loading up my own potato, I think back to the first group meal. Hot dogs over the fire, baked beans that had ham in them. That would’ve left mac and cheese, cole slaw, and potato chips—not what I nor any concerned Southern grandma would consider a meal.
Once my plate is made, I loiter near the buffet table. Finn is at the back of the line again, and I have some suspicions to confirm. Harper eyes me with an appropriate amount of confusion as I awkwardly try to balance my plate and drink in my hands and eat my baked potato, all while standing up. Guess it’s best that she get used to my oddities early on.