It must have been ages ago. Long before the weather was like this. But you’d remember how it was like.

I told you - amongst the background noise of a TV and the whir of a fan that I wanted to go somewhere with water. I looked up at you from the couch and you looked down on me from the kitchen and we seemed to challenge each other. You put down your glass - “Is that so.”

And I told you yes. And then I got up to go find my swimsuit because I wanted you to know that I’d made up my mind, and that we were going, and that you were taking me.

Soon enough we’d found ourselves on the way there, and even though we were heading to the beach I wasn’t excited as I sat next to you in the car, my swimsuit under my shorts. I was glad you’d taken me. But I was more satisfied, an itch to do something on such a winding evening scratched. I looked over to see if you were still annoyed by my insistence and you only stared ahead at the road. The signal of your car clicks as we turn left and I make a song in my head to the tempo.

I walk ahead of you across the sand. Even though I try to act like my pace isn’t hurried and you aren’t yards behind me, I tuck the flippers under my arm and pretend I’m being childish for your amusement, when really I’d only remembered last night how fast swim fins can push you in the water.

You didn’t get in, even when I got close to the riptide and inched out further from land. I almost expected you to stop me, as I kicked my feet underwater and waved at you as if to taunt your attention. You waved back without much emotion before hugging your knees tighter to your chest. I gave up and stuck my head back underwater.

Swimming isn’t my pastime, and it’s not the most fun thing in the world to do. But I think what might have made me get out of the water faster, save for the fact that I had tangled my left foot into some stray fishing net, was the fact that you just seemed to stare blankly the whole time we were there, as if you were stuck in the purgatory of caring - of course, you didn’t, but you were probably somewhere in between being bothered, too.

At least, I thought. Until I stumbled out and sand stuck to my calves and I thought you called me over to brush them off. But then you told me to sit down and you began to busy yourself with getting my left flipper untangled. And the sun started to set and it turned the sky red and I told you to look, and you responded with a quick gaze up and a blunt “Cool” before you continued to grumble at the net.

It must have been ages ago.