CONTESSA DOESN’T UNDERSTAND… FISHING
Added 2025-02-17 05:37:26 +0000 UTCThe dock stretched over the water, its weathered planks creaking softly beneath their feet. The lake was still, save for the occasional ripple, reflecting the sky in muted shades of blue and gray.
Contessa stood near the edge, watching as Maggie cast her fishing line with an easy flick of the wrist. The bobber landed with a quiet plunk, drifting lazily on the surface.
Maggie sighed, content. “And now, we wait.”
Contessa glanced at the bucket beside her, then at the fishing rod in her own hands. “This is an inefficient method of obtaining food.”
Maggie chuckled. “It’s not about efficiency, hon. It’s about patience.”
“Patience implies waiting for a necessary outcome. This relies on chance.”
Maggie gave her a sidelong look. “Alright, Miss Literal, let me rephrase. It’s about relaxing. Enjoying the moment.”
Contessa turned her gaze back to the lake. The air carried the faint scent of algae and damp wood. Birds called in the distance. The water lapped gently against the dock, steady and unhurried.
She didn’t dislike it.
Maggie reeled in her line slightly, her eyes on the bobber. “Used to do this with my dad when I was little. We’d sit out here for hours, talking or not talking. Just being.”
Contessa considered that. “Your father prioritized time spent together over the activity’s success.”
Maggie huffed a quiet laugh. “You make it sound so clinical, but yeah. Pretty much.”
Contessa glanced down at her own line. No movement. No sign of fish. She reeled it in and cast again, mimicking Maggie’s technique. The motion was smooth, precise. The line landed exactly where she intended.
Maggie nudged her shoulder. “Look at you, getting the hang of it.”
Contessa didn’t respond right away. She watched the bobber drift, the rhythm of the water steady and predictable. There was no guarantee of success. No clear, optimal path.
But for now, she would wait.
