The drive to Aspinwall is quiet but not uncomfortable. Alder lets me control the music, and I settle on a playlist of indie folk that seems to fit the morning. As we leave the city behind, the knot of tension in my chest begins to loosen.
When we arrive at the kayak rental place—little more than a shed near a boat launch—there are only a few cars in the small gravel lot. The Allegheny River stretches before us, glinting in the morning sun.
"It's beautiful here," I say, surprised by how peaceful it feels despite being so close to the city.
"One of Pittsburgh's best-kept secrets," Alder agrees. "My brothers and I used to come up here in high school when we weren’t on the ice. You know, our mom is an Olympic rower.”
My eyes widen. “I didn’t know that, but I guess I’m not surprised. Is rowing the same as kayaking?”
Alder laughs, a warm, low sound that sends sparks dancing in my belly. “Not the same thing at all, Lena. But we’re going to have fun, I promise.”
As we approach the rental shed, my anxiety returns full force. The attendant, a college-aged white guy with a deep tan, greets us with practiced enthusiasm.
"Morning, folks! Looking to get out on the water today?"
"Two singles, please," Alder says, handing over his credit card before I can reach for my wallet. "For a few hours."
"You got it. Need any instruction, or have you done this before?"
"I've been out a few times," Alder says. "My friend's a first-timer."
The attendant nods. "No problem. I'll give you both a quick rundown. What size life jackets do you need?"
My cheeks burn at the question. I open my mouth, unsure how to answer without drawing attention to my size, but before I can speak, Alder says casually, "We'll both need XLs."
The attendant doesn't bat an eye. He just reaches behind him and pulls two orange life jackets from hooks. Like it’s nothing. Like size makes no difference, and the only concern is safety. "These should work. Try 'em on to be sure."
I take the offered jacket with trembling fingers, surprised when it unfolds to a size that looks like it might actually fit. I slip it on over my t-shirt and find that, while snug, it closes without issue.
"All good?" Alder asks, already buckled into his vest.
"Yeah," I say, a little stunned. "It fits."
He raises an eyebrow. "What, did you think they wouldn't have our size? I'm big too, Lena."
His matter-of-fact tone makes me laugh despite myself. "I guess I didn't think about it that way."
"That's what I'm here for. To provide perspective." He grins, the first genuine smile I've seen from him in days, and something warm unfurls in my chest.
The attendant shows us the basics—how to hold the paddle, how to get in and out of the kayak, and simple steering techniques—before helping us launch. I wobble precariously as I settle into the plastic seat, certain I'm about to capsize before even leaving the dock.
"You've got it," Alder encourages from his own kayak. "Just breathe and find your center. The boat wants to stay upright, I promise."
Somehow, I manage to push off from the metal dock without tipping over. The kayak feels surprisingly stable onceI'm actually moving, and after a few tentative strokes with the paddle, I start to get the hang of it.
"This isn't so bad," I call to Alder, who's paddling alongside me with practiced ease.
"Told you!" He grins again. "Let's head upriver a bit. There's a nice stretch with less boat traffic."
We paddle in companionable silence for a while, finding a rhythm that carries us smoothly through the water. This physical activity clears my mind in a way that nothing has in weeks. I'm not thinking about fraternization policies, student loans, or apartment hunting—just the next stroke of the paddle, the sun warming my shoulders, and the quiet splash of water.
And, while Alder is a professional athlete, he’s not zooming ahead or making this into a workout by any means. We’re just cruising, and it’s really, really nice.
"So," Alder says after we've been on the water for maybe twenty minutes, "I've been meaning to ask. Did Brad ever respond to his musical serenade?"
I can't help but laugh. "Not directly. However, one of the dental assistants at the facility has a daughter in his department. Apparently, he tried to finish the lecture as if nothing happened, but then dismissed the class early. He canceled his office hours for the rest of the week."
"Mission accomplished, then." He looks pleased with himself.
