“Yeah. So, remember, when the droning cymbals start, you grab Aiden and his gear and meet us on the other side of the northern cliff face.”

“On it.”

“Give him some sort of pump-up speech, too.”

The coach nodded. He didn’t understand the entire scenario, but he knew enough.

“And if his dad doesn’t show, there has to be a rematch.”

I walked away from him. The staff was setting out baskets of flip-flops for dancing. They were all pink with cheetah print, clearly for “women” who needed to take off their high heels. I slipped some on and left my dress shoes at the edge of the sand.

I went stumbling off toward the cliffs.

He was there. Mr. Chase hopped about, warming up, sweating in his gray tracksuit. He’d brought a friend to referee, an older man who waved when he saw me coming. The spot was secluded, hidden in between two jutting cliff faces.

Aiden’s head appeared, and then his coach’s. They climbed over and headed toward the ring, and though the distance was perhaps fifty yards, we all knew that for Aiden to get there, on that day, time had curved, space had expanded.

I was awash in a peace that I’d thought could only come from orgasms. I always knew there was more to Aiden than flatness, and here it was, the meaty confrontation. As I stood, in heating flip-flops, my calves against the hard sand of the dune, I was enormous and potent, not like a big dick, but an immense being.

Soon a boxing bell would ring out from the ref’s phone as father and son stepped out from their corners, arms curled in.

A black car waited outside. The driver wouldn’t speak to me, not even when I asked about the car’s sustainability measures. About two hours into our drive, I swear we passed by a glimmering oasis. Otherwise, the desert stretched apathetically around us. The driver would not stop for a bathroom break. I looked out the window and texted Blithe about the wedding.

The summons stated I should I wear a representative outfit, and I’d thought about all the glorious garments Operatrixes had donned in my presence. I’d emerged from my quirky stripes phase and was feeling good about my light linen pants, airy T-shirt, vintage sandals, and a bandana to either flag or wear around my neck. I hadn’t decided yet.

After another few hours, we pulled up to a simple, dusty path and the driver held up his hand, waving to someone. All that I could see before us were mountains with frothy yellow bushes and, way up toward the peaks, some streaks of snow.