His stupid fly-fishing getup sits in a pile on his dresser. He can't look away from it. He shakes his head. This is so stupid. Why is he even considering this?
Rick finds the most remote little stream outside of Seattle. Mosquitoes buzz around him. He douses himself in an orange spray, causing the clouds of blood-suckers to either drop dead or disappear in an instant. He smirks.
He remembers his dad teaching him to fish, although he was never that interested. He was too busy skipping school, inventing cool shit, partying, and exploring the vast universe because Earth was just a glorified sandbox to him. His shaking hands make it difficult to string the line through the eyes on the rod. Sure, he can perform the most precise surgery, but fishing is too complicated. He steadies himself. He manages to get the line all of the way through.
A plethora of flies cling to his hat. He picks off an orange one and ties it onto the line. He knows he could modify the fly beyond recognition to lure every fish within a fifty mile radius to this spot. He could lure every fish in the world if he wanted to. However, he decides to challenge himself. If Jerry and Rick's father could catch fish with this caveman instrument, well, so can he. Probably ten times better.
Maybe fifteen minutes or five hours pass before he gets a bite. Either way, his arm is tired from flicking the line around like a whip and isn't exactly ready for the weight of a fish. He lurches forward, but throws his leg out in front of him. Water splashes up. He yanks back on the rod, pulls up on the line, and ends up flinging the fish into a nearby tree. It flails around under a branch, lure hooked deep into its jaw. Rick looks up at the shimmering rainbow trout. Looks like Jerry and his dad can eat shit.
Just as the sky starts to turn a golden orange, Rick returns home with several fish in a cooler. He lays his rod against the wall by the front door. He catches Beth washing dishes in the kitchen. Just as he opens his mouth, Jerry appears beside him.
"Hey, Rick, look at you. Putting that fishing gear to good use," Jerry says, patting Rick on the back.
Rick glares at Jerry and says, "Don't patronize me."
Beth turns around. She narrows her gaze at Rick and crosses her arms. Rick holds his tongue. As much as he wants to insult Jerry, he'd rather be on good terms with Beth again.
"Never mind," he sighs. He turns to Beth and holds out the cooler. "I got you some fish. Maybe you could cook them up sometime. I don't know."
"Thank you," Beth says, taking the cooler and setting it beside the sink.
Jerry adds, "We were thinking of going to go to Wild Waves tomorrow, before they close for winter."
"We haven't really seen much of you lately," Beth says, holding Jerry's arm.
Rick still can't bear to see them so happy together. This isn't how it's supposed to be. It takes every ounce of his willpower not to pout or give them an unhappy look.
"I…I can't," Rick says, lowering his gaze down to his feet.
"Why not?" Beth asks.
"Maybe next time."
"Promise that you'll come next time."
He nearly smiles hearing that assertive tone in her voice. It's just like his.
"All right," he says. "I promise."