Tick

Everywhere I go with Geo, three things are consistent: him pointing out funny clouds, his shy smile, and the faint tick of his insulin pump. 

“That one looks like a rabbit,” he leans closer to me, and I have to bump him back. 

“You’re gonna make me crash the cart,” I motion to the Safeway cart, which is piled high with items of all kinds. We’ve got naan bread and tzatziki for lunch, vanilla extract and butter for a cake we’ll make later tonight, a pack of gum (“for smoochin’,” Geo explains as he tosses it up into the air, grinning when it lands in the cart), and a new plant for me, among other things. 

“Don’t run into the cars, Evie…” Geo warns, his lips twitching in his attempted serious expression. 

I try to give him a stern look and fail. It’s sunny, and warm for the first time in ages, and it’s difficult to glare at him and not shiver in shorts. “Don’t you dare try to make me crash, Geo.”

“Is that a challenge?” 

“That’s a threat.” 

He jumps forward and shoves the cart, and I spin it the other way fast to avoid going into a ditch. He laughs, head thrown back toward the sky, and I shout my protest. 

“You are so mean to me.”

“What?” Geo’s eyes glitter. “I’m never mean.” 

Tick. The sound doesn’t make either of us flinch as we load the car with groceries. He sets the bolus, the fast-acting insulin, as I drive. We blast music and make it to the park, running up the grassy hill with our arms full of snacks. 

Tick goes the insulin pump when he lays out the blanket, stretching in the sunshine. 

“Look at that cloud.” Geo points to one that peeks out from behind an oak tree, its many ends tapered like an octopus. “That one is definitely some pasta.” 

“Pasta, right.” I laugh. “Someone’s got food on the brain.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m hungry, okay? I can smell the naan bread and I’m gonna die if I can’t have some soon.” 

“Me, too,” I admit, grabbing the packages. 

We sit in that park for who knows how long, watching little kids push each other on the swings, and the clouds drift over our heads like we’re fish watching bubbles. A group of women jogs down the path and into the neighborhood, and a puppy chases a butterfly. Eventually, when we’re stuffed with food, Geo pulls out his phone to check on his insulin. He adjusts the bolus again, and then we lay back on the blanket and stare up at the sky. 

“That cloud looks like it’s going to fade away.” I kick my foot up lazily so I can hold his hand. 

“You look like you’re trying to play soccer with that one,” Geo responds. 

The pump goes tick as he smiles into my shoulder, hugging me close with his warm breath tickling the back of my neck. 

Tick. The pump feeds the life-saving hormone into his bloodstream, right when we take a picture of the big, open blue sky, painted with clouds that look like cotton candy stretched thin. 

Tick. “I love you, Evie,” Geo whispers to me. 

Tick. “I love you too, Geo.” 

Tick. A flock of sterlings fly above us, dancing in a rhythmic cloud, bits of their wings catching the light and shifting their great shape as one. 

“That’s called a murmur,” I tell Geo quietly, rubbing my thumb on his. 

“Hm?” 

I turn my head to look at him, and his eyes are closed, resting with a smile on his face. “The birds, Geo.” 

He looks up at the malleable cloud, eyes tracking each of the singing birds with interest. “What about them?” 

“It’s called a murmur.” I explain. “When a flock of birds is flying around in one big group, and they all move together like this, it’s called a murmur. Some scientists think it’s to deter predators, but in summer times, you can find them doing this just about every evening. They all mirror each others’ movements and fly together, creating different shapes before settling down for the night.” I pause just in time to hear the tick of his pump. “I saw that on National Geographic once.” 

Geo chuckles. “You’re a nerd, you know that?” 

I roll my eyes. “Says the guy that can’t stop talking about cumulonimbus and cirrus formations.” 

“Hey, Evie?” Tick.

“Yes, Geo?” 

“Are those the only clouds you know?” 

I open my mouth to argue and then close it. 

“That’s what I thought.” 

“Hey!” I laugh. “I was not giving up, I’m taking my time to find a good comeback.”

“Ooh, right, a comeback.” He grins, then points upward. “That cloud is finally re-forming with that one.” 

I smile. “That was very un-nerdy of you.” 

He laughs. “Okay, fine. See the really fuzzy-looking ones?” 

“Yes,” I look at him, his eyes focused on the sky, and he doesn’t notice. 

“Okay, see how they look like they’re water waves or something? Like some little kid was told to draw a lake, so he did little ‘m’ and ‘w’ shapes?” 

“Geo,” I bite my lip. “That’s how you draw lakes.” 

He laughs, caught off guard. Tick. “Be nice, Evie.” 

“Pfft, I’m always nice.” I kiss him on the cheek. “Back to the wavey clouds…” 

“They’re called Kelvin Helmholtz clouds,” he explains, gesturing up in the sky. “When the air is moving faster on the upper level of wind than the lower level, and you’ve got a strong vertical gust that’s blowing them apart, this is what happens. It’s actually pretty rare, and I didn’t really notice it, but now that I have I don’t think I can stop looking because it’s so cool.” 

I giggle once, very quietly. 

Geo looks over at me and blushes. “What? I like nephology, okay? It’s neat.” 

“No, no, I’m not laughing at you!” I pull his hand up to my lips for a brief kiss. “You’re just so nerdy and it’s cute.” 

He laughs. Tick. “At least I’m not talking about bird whispers.”

“Murmurs.” 

“Same difference.” 

And laying there, under the big open sky, with Geo beaming at me and his insulin pod ticking away softly, I’m happier than ever.