Page 8 of Going Down

I don’t have time to answer before Dash is presenting me with an enormous slice of brownie for dessert. He strikes a match and places it in the chocolate. “Gotta blow it out quick. I don’t have any candles and I’m not sure the plate is fire retardant.”

I laugh, embarrassed that he’s making a big deal out of nothing. Then to be safe, I hold my hand behind the flame and fill my lungs.

“What did you wish for?”

“I—” I stammer. “I forgot.”

“Make one now. You gotta take chances. Wish on every star and candle—or match.” Dash concedes.

Posthumously, I wish the planets aligned and my reality was what it once was before my mother took hold of a billiard stick, realigning the trajectory of the cue ball. Then I realize that’s not only stupid because I’m not a kid anymore, but I’m even dumber for not asking for something effortless like finding out what Dash’s lips taste like after he’s shown off his impressive culinary skills.

Kisses are simple wishes to fulfill. They’re not asking the impossible.

Capote jumps down from the rafters to lick soy sauce from Dash’s bowl. He snags the small cat off the table and reprimands her.

“How did you get to be like this?” The curious question rolls off my tongue. “Tiny house. Skiing for a living. Traveling. Pink, hairless cat.”

“Remember how I mentioned my mom had a hard time keeping me in one place?”

I nod, resting my chin in my palm.

“Well, it sort of came to a head when I was in high school. I didn’t go to the classes I’d been enrolled in and snuck into the rooms where they were teaching what I wanted to learn. I earned an A in three languages and a solid score in AP psychology, none of which were on my schedule. My family and the school administration didn’t know what to do with me. I was skipping required classes. So I wound up with a tutor to catch me up and pass what I needed to get a GED.”

“No college?” I’m not sure what difference that makes, but as we get up, Dash pats the laptop on the table to indicate he takes classes online. It makes him seem unfailing even when he tells me he has more credits to graduate than he needs and none of the ones that count toward a degree.

“Think you’ll ever go back to school?” After the tangent about his life, he spurs me to continue talking about my own.

“I don’t know.” I admit, settling onto the small couch. “Maybe I’ll move over to the admin building and try resort management? Is it odd to want to spend my day on the mountain and my free time on the slopes or outside in the fresh air?”

Before taking a place beside me, Dash opens his palms and runs them up and down his torso as if he’s on display. “I’m the wrong person to ask if you're looking for the mature and responsible response.”

He follows the wind. Dash is likely one step behind me on the maturity scale. Yet, his path seems adventurous instead of restless and youthful.

“What else do you do—when it’s not snowing?”

“Hike, mountain bike, take pictures…” My voice trails.

“Pictures of what?”

“Everything and nothing. I won honorable mention for a contest in the local paper last year.” I sit at the edge of the cushion with my feet planted on the solid wooden floor. Taking my cell off of the sofa arm, I flip through old pictures to show him the photo I submitted.

“This is breathtaking.” Dash adjusts the screen with his fingers, zooming in and out. Straightaway he recognizes the landscape. “Is this the resort?”

I nod. “After the spring thaw. The paper was looking for lost local spots. The slopes are abandoned between seasons. It’s beautiful watching the trees bloom and everything come to life and then again when the colors turn golden. I go to the top when no one else is around because it’s so peaceful.”

“I can see why.” He brushes a hand against his jaw. “I’ve almost forgotten what the world looks like when it’s not covered in fresh powder.”

“I’ve been to some of the places you’ve visited, but I don’t think I want to leave New England again. The seasons are predictable.”

“You know what you’re getting. I can see how that’s important to you right now.” Dash uses a fork to cut into the brownie and lifts it to my mouth. “Come on, Kat. You already know what it tastes like.”

I do. I remember reveling in the adventure and miss the thrill of uncertainty as much as I desire knowing what to anticipate from one moment to the next. And perhaps it’s why I agreed to his invitation.

I take a bite and we wind up sharing the dessert.

“What was your wish?” Dash gives me a coy side-eye, licking the spoon.

“I thought there was a hard and fast rule that if you tell your wishes they don’t come true.”

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