After returning to shore and placing the boat to its rack, Avi inquired how Mitch’s arm felt. Mitch rolled his shoulder, and relayed that it didn’t ache any more than it would have during a regular paddle, which pleased Avi.

Back at the house, they and found Jodie and Charlie giggly with a bottle killed between the two of them. Avi took a seat in the recliner, so Mitch was wedged between both women, and Charlie lit up when she spotted the Elliot Smith t-shirt that Mitch was wearing. They discussed bands for a while and found a lot of common ground; it reminded him of when he worked at a now defunct record store in Burlington as a teen and chatted with customers for hours on end about music. In retrospect the job was otherwise a crappy retail one, but sometimes he met a celebrity browsing their wares, or they’d host a show and a signing for a musician, and at 16 years old he couldn’t really ask for anything better.

“Mitch has quite the record collection,” Avi chimed in.

“Oh, what’s at Monument is nothing,” Jodie added. There was something so charming about Avi’s enthusiasm, the way he responded to her with an excited “Really?”. And Mitch meekly glossed over the unfathomable amount of records and instruments that were stored in his uncle’s attic for the last few years. “He’s a fucking geek about this kind of shit,” Jodie was sure to drive home. “That’s why it’s so weird that he became a communications major.”

“I wasn’t gonna make money from music,” Mitch shook his head. “And I’d always harbored this fantasy about being a radio DJ? But that field was annihilated long before I even touched ground in the States, despite what my guidance counselor sold me on.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I think all I ever wanted was to get paid to professionally curate mixtapes, but even that’s not how it’s done since most stations have automated playlists. And I’d still like to try hosting a show on a local station, but that’s about the extent of it anymore.”

At that revelation, the comments alternated from Charlie insisting that Mitch totally had the voice for it, Jodie teasing him for being too chicken shit to actually ever interview anyone, and Avi mentioning that podcasts were always an option. “Everyone has a podcast,” Mitch countered.

“Yeah, but you don’t!” Avi responded so sweetly, so earnestly, and Mitch’s face grew warm. “C’mon man, do you know how many podcast interviews that I do on a weekly basis? Whatever you do would be way better than any of those.”

“Well I wouldn’t do a wrestling podcast,” Mitch stressed. “That’s an oversaturated market.”

“No, but just now you went off about all of these bands like some kind of expert.” Avi brought his thumb to his mouth and bit down on the nail. “I’d listen to it.”

It would, of course, never come to fruition, but Mitch certainly gave it more than five seconds of consideration. He didn’t feel as though he had anything to bring to the table, since he was only knowledgeable enough to navigate a conversation with diehards, but not exactly enough to impress them otherwise. Deep down, he knew his only avenue was to try to stream a weekly radio program as a hobby, but he had no idea how that even worked. Would permission be needed to use songs? Or would royalties have to be paid out? Was it possible to run a pirate radio in this day and age?

He pulled up the Notes app on his phone and typed out what he should look into, even if nothing ever came of it; at the least, he’d have the offhand knowledge. While he jotted his thoughts down, Jodie went over a list of suggestions for what they could do for the night. There was a heavy emphasis on using the hot tub after dinner, which everyone unanimously agreed since it’d been one of the selling points of coming up to the cabin. Thankfully, it was cleaned and treated the weekend before, so they were able to just use it as it was. In the past, less discretion was used when Mitch came up with friends, but that was when they were younger and unfathomably more stupid, and before wrestling had left him with a million tiny cuts all over his body.

So after dinner Mitch started up the hot tub, and everyone disappeared into their respective rooms to get changed. Mitch stood in front of the full length mirror in his bedroom and examined himself, agonizing over every perceived flaw. There were no new bruises since he hadn’t wrestled in weeks, and that was odd to take in. The lack of eating took its toll, and to his dismay, whatever minuscule gains that he’d gotten were depleted. So much effort and for what? To lose it all and look like he did at peak junkie phase? Fingers traced his ribs, which were starting to be visible again, and he was frustrated that he had to tighten the drawstring of his swim trunks.

He was nervous, and he berated himself for that. But it was easier to get half naked in front of strangers while wearing facepaint than it was to do so in front of people that knew him personally, for reasons unrelated to beating up another person (or in his case, often getting beaten). Avi was going to be all hot wet beefcake, Jodie had curves for days, and Charlie had her flat stomach and small waist. Mitch was going to look like the personification of a drowned rat. He didn’t care for that.

“Dude, are you coming down?” Jodie pounded on his door. How long he’d been doing this, he didn’t know.

“Yeah, just-” he grabbed his shirt and threw it on, then opened up for her. Her expression fell when she saw him.

“Going through it?” she asked, her astute observations on point as always.

“No, I’m,” Mitch started to speak, then cut himself off, not seeing any point in lying. She shut the door behind her. “Yes, OK. Yes. Jo, I’m so fucking skinny, it’s bad. People are for sure going to make fun of me when I get back in the ring. Like they already do that, but it’s going to be a lot.”

“Probably, but fuck ‘em.” She stated matter-of-factly, and it made him snort. “And you won’t be in this shape when you return. Shit just hit you all at once, your body did the stress response thing. Give it a little more time, because you’re not even as bad as you think you are. I’ve seen you when you were a skeleton, and now you’ve got cute little tits.” She tapped one of his pecs for emphasis. “You’ve always been your worst critic.”

“OK.” Mitch frowned.

“Besides, no one here is like, gawking at you, right? We’re all here to chill, not bully you for things beyond your control.” He gave her a small smile, feeling better from the pep talk, and she reached up and pinched his cheek. “Now c’mon, let’s go make a person stew.”

“Your way with words is nothing short of breathtaking,” Mitch deadpanned.

“What can I say? It’s my gift,” Jodie sighed dramatically, then twisted the handle and gestured for Mitch to take the lead.