bait. For good measure, I lift the pole and give the line a tug, just to see if it has any weight on it.
The little yellow bobber disappears, and the fish begins to pull the line under.
“Got it,” I say as I begin spinning the handle, reeling in the fish. It tugs and splashes as it fights and my feet sink into the ground as I move closer to the edge. I'm just pulling the fish out of the water when I hear the sound of another vehicle rolling up behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I see Ben's black SUV coming to a stop next to my car.
“What the hell is he doing here?” I say loud enough for my father to hear.
“Well,” he says, moving closer to me. “You know Ben's been going through a lot recently. I thought it'd be nice if he came out with us this time.”
“It would have been nice if you asked me how I felt about it,” I say, pulling the fish from the water. My hand wraps around it, gills expanding as it searches for water, trying to breathe.
“Jordan, come on, son, you know he's a good guy. He just made a mistake. And trust me, he feels worse about it than you do.”
“Fuck ever,” I say under my breath as I remove the hook from the fish's mouth and place it in the bucket. Ben makes his way over, carrying a green fold up chair and a fishing pole. I can barely even look at him. I'm just so disappointed. You think you know somebody.
“Hey,” Ben says, glancing from me to my father. I roll my eyes and look away. “How are they biting?” He drops his pole to the ground and begins unfolding his chair. My father walks up to him and pats him on the shoulder.
“Hey. Not so good. Besides the one Jordan just caught, it's been kind of dead out here.”
“That's because,” Ben says, sitting in his chair. ‘You come out here too damn early. The sun is barely up yet. The water is still cold.”
“No, I keep telling you two, you gotta get the right spot at the right time.”
“Okay, fishing master.” Ben laughs.
“Fine then,” my father says. “Show me how it's done.”
“Oh, I'm about to.” Ben walks over toward the tackle box, glancing at me again. I grit my teeth, shaking my head. I hate that he's here. I hate that my father invited him. “So, Jordan,” he says as he pinches two fingers into a small cup of soil, gripping a nightcrawler and grabbing his hook.
“How'd everything go with your training? Sachi told me he chose you as TA and you went out to the seminars this week.”
“Fine,” I say shortly before walking back over to my pole and snatching it from the ground. He nods and goes on with baiting his hook. I walk to the edge of the lake and begin gazing around for a spot.
“Be nice,” my father says, warning me. I scoff. Moving a little further away, I bait my hook. The guys chatter as they debate whether it's best to fish closer to the edge of the lake, or further in the middle
“It depends if you're trying to get some bottom feeders,” Ben says. “Now, this time of the day, they'll be closer to the surface, trying to find food.” They continue to argue and I groan. I'm ready to go. Just pack my shit and leave, but I know I’d never hear the end of it from my father. So I grit my teeth and cast my line out as far as I can. Toward the middle of the lake. Then place the pole in the holder.
Ben is sitting in his chair, and my father moves next to him as they laugh. My skin is crawling. I want to say something, yell at him some more. I just can't believe he could be so selfish. Every time I see him, I think of how broken Zee was that weekend. How she cried for the loss she felt and the pain that he caused her family. I get shit happens, but some things just shouldn't happen. About an hour goes by and my father continues to try to probe conversation between Ben and me, which I immediately shut down with one or two words. We catch a few more fish and as our buckets fill, the beer cans empty.
My mood is completely ruined and I'm no longer having fun.