“Finally,” I said. “I know what my first tattoo will be. Will all that fit on my forearm?” I held my arm up and estimated the font size.

“Hey, you know, for someone who says she’s never really hiked, your stamina is impressive.”

“How do you— Are you watching me when you’re supposed to be working?”

“Well, I mean, you’re right there, I see you….”

“You see Natan, too. You hanging out with him a lot by firelight?”

His was the best, truest laugh I’d heard in forever. I think maybe in my life I’ve had a laugh deficit.

“Yes,” he said. “Every chance I get, so I can learn his Gaia ways. Did you see last week, the beard ponytail? I think he used an orthodontic rubber band. He has to go.”

“First of all, how dare you. I am going to hire him to play guitar and sing at all my important social functions. He shall honor me at my birthday with ‘Tender Essence.’ ”

“Gross.”

“And at my wedding, he will wear his long, luxurious hair loose and flowing, and he will serenade me as I walk down the aisle, also to ‘Tender Essence.’ ”

“No. Nope. Not the wedding. You’ll walk through trees, into a clearing with birds singing—that’s how that will go.”

What?

“Because you love the forest so much,” he said quickly. “That’s what I would think you would…”

I messed with the sweater clinging to my boobs in a way I wasn’t used to, trying to even it out. “You’re so lucky your mom is a ranger.”

He nodded. “My dad always wished she would; she loved the wilderness as much, maybe more than he did. They hiked constantly. I was in a backpack in the mountains five days after I was born.”

What a dream childhood. What a horrible loss.

“When he died, Mom took me out of school for a year and we went to California, to the Sierra Nevada. We just walked into the woods and…stayed. Till we felt better.”

“Oh my God,” I said. “Like Roosevelt.”

“What’s like Roosevelt?”

“Teddy Roosevelt. You walked into the woods.” He shook his head. “You— Okay, Roosevelt’s mother died, then later that same day his wife died—two days after giving birth to their only daughter.”

“No.”

“On Valentine’s Day.”

“Jesus Christ, do not make this shit up.”

“I’m not!” I said. “You were raised by two forest rangers—how do you not know this?”

“Because! Ranger training is about how to dig people out of avalanches and hand out violations for illegal campfires—I don’t know! What happened after everyone died?”