Page 61 of Pick-Up
“Where has Ethan been hiding you?” she asks.
“It’s not his fault, actually. I spent a bunch of years working with mostly dive magazines. Lots of underwater and on-the-water stuff.So, I’ve been here in Turks and Caicos many times, but never withEscapade.”
“So, you scuba dive?” Derek asks.
“Whenever I can.”
“And you know Ethan from some basketball game?” I say.
“Well, partially, yes. A weekly game. But I’ve also worked with him on editorial before. And we’ve become good friends.”
We all nod agreeably, and Charlie thinks he finally has a window to pick up his fork and go to town on his lunch, when I say: “So, what kind of basketball player is he? Shit talker? Enforcer? Ball hog?”
I look up from my plate.
They’re all staring at me like I’m out-of-bounds (okay, fine, pun intended). I hope they’re thinking I know a bizarre amount of basketball lingo and not that I’m overly curious about Ethan.
Which I amnot. This is purely for research purposes.
“Wow,” says Charlie, now fully grinning. “I won’t mess with you on the court! No, he’s a great athlete and, okay, also a shit talker. But you know that, right? Aren’t you guys running buddies?”
This catches me off guard, and I feel like I’m denying something torrid when I say, “Us? Me and Ethan? No. Like not at all. Not even a little bit. Like, no.” I shove something giant, fried and round into my mouth to stop myself from talking.
“Oh, my bad. I thought I saw you guys coming in from a run on the way to my room this morning.”
I am shaking my head but am rendered speechless by the enormous amount of food I am trying to chew. I wish to God they would all look away, so I could spit it out. I gesture with my hand in a way that communicates nothing. “Mmm—negh, nmph,” I try. “NO!” I finally manage, a hand covering my mouth, so no one has to witness the atrocity.
Jackie giggles, her hoop earrings winnowing. I kick her playfully under the table.
“But you do run?”
“Yes,” I say, once I have finally swallowed, thank goodness. “I’mnot a real runner though. I’m like, Runner Lite. Ethan seems pretty serious.”
The whole table is nodding.
“He is definitely intense about the running,” says Derek, with a meaningful look.
“OMG with the running! Don’t even get me started!” Stephanie rolls her eyes. “Ever since he wrote that feature about the barefoot runners in Kenya, it’s like stride cadence, stride length, heart rate blah blah blah.” She mimes nodding off.
“He’s always trying to recruit people too,” Jackie says. “Like, why is it necessary to proselytize? You do you! I’ll stick to Pilates. I want to keep my knees.”
Now they’re all starting to snicker.
“Oh, wow. This is edifying,” I say. “I ran into him at the park once and he tried to give me some tip about how to hold my arms and, ever since, he won’t let it go!”
I have hit on something true. Because now they’re all fully cracking up. Even Derek quakes silently, tears streaming from his eyes. And the funny thing is you can feel the fondness. All I can think as they roast him is,They love this man.
Charlie is shaking his head and grinning. “Oh, man. I feel like a traitor right now. But it’s so true!”
As the laugher devolves into sighs, we return to our food. I’m practicing taking small bites now, traumatized by Fritter-Gate. Maybe I’m done with lunch. Maybe the dessert table—with its chocolate parfaits and mini key lime pies—is calling my name.
“In Ethan’s defense though,” says Charlie, as I’m about to stand up, “I think he was dealing with some difficult stuff around that same time as the Kenya article. Seems like the running helps him cope.”
I am going nowhere. Glued to my seat. First of all, I relate to this. Second, who needs dessert when there’s dish?
“True.” Derek nods solemnly.
“Mmm,” Jackie agrees.
