He laughs. “Oh, all right. You’ve convinced me.”
The three of us make quick work of the walk, and when we reach the beach, we find it crowded. It’s Independence Day, the reason for the influx of tourists, but that doesn’t stop Bambi and me from doing our beach thing. I chuck her tennis ball and she retrieves, terrifying seagulls with her throaty barks. When Ryan takes a turn throwing, I allow myself a quick scan of the busy sand, wondering if Mati will appear. Hoping Mati will appear, because after yesterday, I have a wrong to right.
He’s nowhere to be seen.
Disheartened, I return my focus to Ryan, because he seems like the sort of person I need in my life right now: cheerful and easygoing. He tells me about his family (mom, dad, twelve-year-old twin sisters), Texas A&M (coolest school in the Lone Star State), and his ex, Jordan, who broke up with him the night they graduated from high school (yikes—real nice).
“That’s so shitty,” I say, giving Bambi’s ball another toss. Ryan’s clearly bummed about the split, but he still smiles, like, all the time.
“Isn’t it? So what if we’re going to schools in different cities? We’ll both be in Texas. We could’ve made it work.”
“Sure,” I say. “Long distance love ain’t no thang.”
He laughs. “Is that experience talking?”
“More like sarcasm. I was sort of seeing someone in San Francisco, this guy named Kurt, but I ended it the day my mom told me we were moving. It’s not like we were going to get married, so what was the point?” I weigh my words and realize I might be talking out of my ass. I mean, Kurt and I spent more time making out in his parked Camry than we spent bonding. Maybe Ryan’s relationship with Jordan was the real deal—I wouldn’t know love if it slapped me across the face. “Wait, sorry, do you want to marry Jordan?”
“Not anymore,” he says, “but I’m not entirely over it, in case you haven’t noticed. I wouldn’t normally go on about my ex while walking the beach with a cool girl. It’s just … I thought Jordan was special.” He lets go of a sigh so big, his shoulders slump.
I reach over to squeeze his arm. “Aww, I’m sorry you’re brokenhearted.”
“Eh, I’ll be okay,” he says, shucking his sadness. “And anyway, what about you? Sorry if I’m overstepping, but you were crying yesterday. You brokenhearted, too?”
“Oh … that. Rough morning.”
“Today seems better, though.”
“Yeah. It’s the Fourth of July. And the sun’s out—a rare delight.”
“Plus you have me for company.” He grins, and I can’t help but smile back.
By the time we’ve made it to the stairs, I’ve laughed more than I have since we moved to Cypress Beach, and Bambi’s paws are dragging through the sand. I’m about to tell Ryan he’s welcome to tag along next time we walk, but as we reach the top of the steps, my attention’s drawn to the grove of picnic tables where I sat with Mati yesterday.
Today, I’m living an alternate reality with an alternate boy, and it’s a little disorienting. I turn on the spigot to let Bambi drink and end up spraying my feet with water.
Ryan chases my stare to where it lingers on the tables. “Did you want to sit?”
“No, thanks.” I fasten Bambi’s leash to her collar and say, “I should get home.”
We move down the gravel path, but I can’t resist a last look over my shoulder. My gaze lands on the table Mati and I shared and … There’s something sitting on top of it. A bit of folded paper pinned down by an egg-size stone, planted purposefully.
My fingertips go tingly. That piece of paper, that message … It’s meant for me.
I stop, giving Bambi’s leash a little tug so she’ll heel. I make a show of patting my leggings’ nonexistent pockets through the knit of my long sweater. “Oh no,” I say. “I must’ve dropped my lip balm.”
Ryan turns around. “Do you have more at home?”
“Yeah, but this one’s my favorite. I’m going to check to see if I dropped it on the stairs.”
“I’ll help you look.”
“No, that’s okay. Go on ahead.”
“But—”
“Seriously. I’ll be two minutes behind you.” I give him an encouraging nod, praying he’ll cooperate. I can’t unfold that piece of paper with his peeking over my shoulder.
“You’re sure?” He knows something’s up—lip balm? who cares?—but it appears he might let me get away with my weirdness if I give him a gentle nudge.
I paste on a smile. “I’m sure. This was fun, though. Let me know if you want to walk with us again.”
“Yeah. See y’all later.” And then he turns and lopes away.
I feel a momentary pang of guilt as I hurry to the stairs. I’ve dismissed him, though he’s done nothing wrong. I’d like to make a friend my age, yet I just treated a super nice guy like he’s litter ripe for tossing.
Still, I don’t go after him.
I fake a quick search of the stairs (just in case Ryan doubles back), then hurry to the picnic tables. Bambi follows, mystified but up for adventure. My heart’s racing as I lift the stone and toss it aside. Clutching the message, I sink onto the wooden bench, praying it’s from Mati, hoping I’ve been granted a second chance, and then, carefully, I unfold the paper.
MATI
I said the wrong thing.
I must have,
because your manner changed, and my heart stumbled.
I would take it back if I could, but I wonder if it is
the quintessence of
me which upsets you.
That … I cannot take back.
Last night I dreamt of you.
Your eyes like the moon, a glimmer of light in a sea of dark.
Your mouth like a rosebud, speaking candidly, dreamily, of loneliness and aspiration.
I woke up remembering you.
I like the way you smile, as if with your whole self.
I like the timbre of your voice, the confident soprano of your words.
I like your courage,
the way you fearlessly
return danger’s black gaze.
But there are things I do not like.…
The shape your shoulders make, when they bow with sorrow.
The sad shuffle of your feet, when they carry you away.
And the way my heart misses a girl it hardly knows.
That morning,
on the beach with you,
I unfurled like a kite’s long tail.
I unfurled,
and I caught the wind.
elise
He wrote to me.
He wrote about me.
I keep thinking of him. Last night, while watching fireworks at the beach with Mom, Audrey, and Janie. Today, while hanging out in the yard with Bambi. And tonight, as I walk to Aud’s for dinner.
Mom’s stuck on a climactic scene in which her story’s hero must race on horseback to an abandoned mine, where his heroine is being held by brutes who demand gold in exchange for her safe return. Mom’s better left alone when she’s in book mode, so Aud offered to feed me. She fixes grilled cheese and tomato soup; she may work in a restaurant known for its fine food, but she’s culinarily inept. We eat on the living room sofa while Janie sits in a miniature chair pulled up to the coffee table, surrounded by toys.
I like Audrey and Janie’s cottage much more than the one Mom and I share. The walls here are a soft honey color, the sofa is overstuffed and upholstered in sage twill, and the TV is mounted over a repurposed library catalog cabinet. There are framed black-and-white photographs everywhere, mostly my work, mostly images of Janie, plus a few of Audrey and Nick when they were in high school, and a few from the day they were married, eating frosted cupcakes, grinning like they’re in on a secret the rest of the world would be lucky to know.