Page 52 of Passing Ships

“He’s so going to tap out,” I say.

Lennon and I are lying on opposite ends of the couch, in our pajamas, our legs intertwined under a blanket, and we’ve been binge-watching Naked and Afraid.

“Not yet, man. It’s only day four,” he shouts at the screen.

When the man calls for a medic to look at an infected bug bite, Lennon shakes his head and curses under his breath.

“Told you. The men almost always tap out and leave the women to fend for themselves. Tragic,” I say.

“I’d never do that,” he mutters.

“Riiight,” I say sarcastically. “I’d definitely make it the twenty-one days, but I don’t think you’d make it that long,” I say.

He lifts his head from the armrest and looks at me in disbelief. “You think you’d survive in the African desert and I wouldn’t?”

“That’s right.”

“And why is that?” he asks.

“It’s common sense. You’re all big and muscular, and you’d need way too much protein to keep all that”—I wave my hand up his body—“running, and you’d get all weak and pissy by day three. Plus, you have this need to be in control, which the environment wouldn’t cooperate with, and your mental state would plummet.”

“You think I can’t handle things being out of my control?”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

He laughs. “I’ve spent months at sea,” he says.

“Yes. On a ship. With a highly trained crew. One that you were probably the boss of,” I point out.

“I wasn’t always the boss,” he says.

“Admit it. You like things done your way, Sailor.”

He looks away, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “And you don’t?”

“I do. Which is why I’d make it. I’m stubborn, and I don’t like to lose; plus, I require fewer calories.”

“If you say so, Legs.”

The male does indeed get extracted from the desert, and the female makes it to the end.

We start another episode, but when Mr. Survival Guide from Montana taps out on day six, Lennon grabs the remote and clicks the television off.

We lie there in silence for a while before he speaks. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, shoot.”

“The other night, when I asked about your parents, you said you didn’t have any.”

“Yeah.”

“Why did you say that?”

“Because we were playing Truth or Dare and it’s the truth.”

“Everybody has parents,” he states.

“No, they don’t,” I say.