“Yes!” I say enthusiastically. “Thanks for bringing me here. I’ve never done anything like this.”
“Really?” Matt asks. “There aren’t any rivers where you lived before? Where was it again?”
Everywhere, I want to say, but don’t.
“Frozen Hills, Michigan.”
“Sounds cold.”
“It was.”
We’re still holding hands. I can’t help but marvel at the fact that there’s nothing remotely strange about it. No sweaty palms. Neither of us holds on too hard or soft: Our hands instinctively know how to be together.
“Hey, thanks again for coming to get me in Kansas City,” I say. “That was really cool of you.”
Matt shrugs but doesn’t answer.
“I’m serious,” I say. “I don’t know anyone else who would have done that.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Matt says.
We walk in silence for a few minutes. A breeze picks up over the water and gives me goose bumps. I want to button my sweater, but I don’t want to let go of Matt’s hand. Instead, I walk a little closer to him.
“So, were your parents pissed about you leaving Kansas City?” Matt asks.
“No, not really,” I say. “My dad got it.”
“You never talk about your mom,” Matt observes.
“Yes, I do,” I say. “What do you want to know?”
“What’s her name?”
“Cassie,” I say.
“What does she do?”
“She’s a professional mom.”
“Like mine,” Matt says. “That’s cool. What about your dad?”
“He’s a psychologist,” I say, feeling a pinch of guilt in my side for the lie.
“He’s a shrink?”
“Sort of,” I say.
“Does he always try to figure you out?” Matt asks.
“Sometimes,” I say, laughing.
“And that doesn’t bug you?” he asks.
I shrug. “Not really. He’s all right.” I get the sense that Matt’s going to keep asking about my parents, so I abruptly change the subject.
“Hey, did you know that I’m an excellent gymnast?” I drop Matt’s hand and move toward the railing.
“Uh, no,” Matt says, curious and a bit confused.