Page 30 of Canned & Coated

For a while, it’s easy.

We joke. We bicker. Milo accuses Tanner of cheating with zero evidence, Tanner denies it with a smile that somehow makes him look guilty anyway, and I get stuck in the middle, right where I’ve always been.

“Statistically, you’re cheating,” Milo insists, pointing at him.

“Statistically, you’re bad at cards,” Tanner fires back.

Milo scoffs. “I’m incredible at cards. I’m being sabotaged by vibes.”

“Your vibes are rancid,” I add.

“Wow,” Milo says, clutching his chest. “Attacked. In my own tent.”

For a few hours, it’s that. Three friends again. Not three people hyperaware of every inch between them.

By dinner, something shifts. The laughter thins. Tanner’s eyes linger a beat too long on Milo’s hands. I start tracking the space between words, the weight of what’s not being said.

The tacos are great. Annoyingly so.

Milo makes the beans without a single comment, which somehow felt louder than if he’d complained the whole time. Tanner eats like he hasn’t had a real meal in weeks, and I focus a little too hard on chewing and anything that doesn’t involve looking up for too long.

Now the plates sit abandoned, scraps going cold, practically inviting a bear situation, and none of us moves. Three chairs around the fire. Cicadas loud around us as the flames crackle and I can’t stop thinking about how temporary it all is.

This version of us feels like the fire. Hot, bright, convincing while it lasts. Gone by morning.

I can admit it’s never going to be like before. Not really. And now, with Tanner sliding back into the space he left, everything feels slightly off-center.

“Welp,” Milo says, dragging the word out as he leans back. “This feels awkward. Is this awkward?”

Tanner lets out a low laugh. “It’s awkward.”

“Great,” Milo says, clapping once. “Love that for us.”

He glances between us, already plotting.

“We cannot sit here and marinate in it. It’s the last night. We have to make it count.”

I groan under my breath. That tone never ends well.

Milo’s already on his feet, pacing. “I’ve got it.” He snaps his fingers. “Two truths and a lie.”

“Absolutely not,” I say immediately.

Tanner smiles. “I’m in.”

Milo points between us, satisfied. “Perfect. Majority rules.”

“This isn’t a democracy,” I mutter.

“No,” Milo says, dropping back into his chair, eyes flicking between me and Tanner. “But it is gonna be fun. I’ll go first.”

Milo leans back, takes a long swig of his beer, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Okay,” he says, holding up three fingers. “One… I broke my arm in second grade falling off the monkey bars. Two… I’ve never been out of the country. Three… I hate mushrooms.”

I blink at him. “That’s what you came up with?”

“It’s called a warm-up round,” he shoots back. “We’re easing into vulnerability.”