What’s the temperature, Kenneth? Rivi texts me.
12 degrees right now, I text back. With a wind chill of -11.
Her typing indicator winks an ellipses at me for what feels like thirty seconds, then pauses, then goes again for another thirty. Finally, her message pops up on the screen: Fuck.
Still looking forward to moving? I ask.
I am going to die, she says.
You won’t die. You’ll just have to get a good jacket. And gloves. And a hat. And a scarf. And long underwear.
I’ll be dead and frozen in a block of ice like Encino Man.
Jesus, Rivi. That’s a deep cut.
It was either that or Iceman, but nobody really makes Timothy Hutton references anymore.
You’re a walking Wikipedia, I text.
It’s a living. Except nobody pays me to do it. So I guess that means it’s a hobby. Now I’m even more depressed. Thanks a lot, Sebastian.
It’s winter in the woods of Maine, I text. It gets cold here. You just bundle up when you go out and try to stay inside as much as possible.
I’m a California girl, Sebastian.
Who hates the sun. You’ll be fine. We won’t let you freeze to death.
Promise?
Scout’s honor, I text.
I don’t know if I’m ready for this.
You’re going to be here in about two weeks. You’re going to need to get ready pretty quickly.
There’s a long pause before her next message comes through. Am I making a mistake coming out there?
You’ll have to decide that on your own, Rivi. I love it here. Hunter loves it here. It’s the most peaceful place I’ve ever lived in. I think you’ll adjust, but if you’re going to change your mind, you need to do it really, really soon.
That’s not helpful, she texts. You’re supposed to tell me what to do.
I never tell you what to do, I text. You always do your own thing anyway, no matter what anybody else says.
Crap. I forgot. I am kind of like that, aren’t I?
Completely. But hey, cheer up: I just checked and the wind chill is only -10 right now.
Shorts and sandals weather, she texts.
Positively tropical.
I’m going to die, she texts again.
Maybe, I reply. But look on the bright side: at least you’ll leave a good looking corpse until the spring thaw.
It’s the little things, Sebastian.
It truly is, Rivi.
Goodbye, Sebastian.
Goodbye, Rivi.