Leighton returned with three glasses of champagne, and I pressed the cool glass against my forehead. “It’s so hot.”
“I know.” She fanned herself and reached up to tug on the hem of Kevin’s barely there board shorts.
He looked down at us and grinned. “Get up here!” he screamed and shook his ass.
“No way.” Leighton laughed and held his flute up to him. He grabbed her by the wrist instead, hauling her up onto the little stage.
It was a miracle her champagne and his managed to stay mostly in the glasses.
She squealed and slapped at his arm. “Kevin!”
He twisted his upper body to the beat, not a care in the world, and looked down at me. “You’re turn.”
Putting my hand in his, I let him pull me up between the two of them.
And we danced.
We danced so hard our thighs burned and we dripped with sweat.
I was sober.
They weren’t.
And that didn’t matter.
Kevin and Leighton were my people.
You know what I mean, right? The ones who notice that behind the makeup, your eyes are tired, and behind the laughter, your heart is heavy, and all the while know that your mind is no less in relentless pursuit of adventure.
Those were your people.
Those were the people who really mattered.
The announcer started to count down and the crowd joined him.
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
Seven.
Kevin pulled me into his side and I wrapped my arm around Leighton’s shoulders.
Six.
Five.
Four.
I wondered if this year perhaps I wouldn’t find the man I wanted, but the woman I wanted to be.
Three.
Two.
She was something I could make happen. Someone I could love.
One.
“Happy New Year!” I shouted, as the party erupted around us.
Leighton kissed my cheek.
I kissed hers.
Kevin kissed me on the lips.
I kissed his.
Leighton kissed Kevin on the lips.
He kissed her.
We all clinked our champagne flutes together.
“May 2017 be the year I do nothing but shag and make money!” Kevin screamed.
We toasted again.
Leighton went next. “May 2017 be the year I never use internet dating again!” she shouted above the crowd.
Kevin and I laughed, but we toasted again.
My turn.
“May 2017 be the year I let go.” I didn’t yell mine; instead, I simply said it out loud.
“I’ll cheers to that, babe.” Leighton clinked her glass on mine.
Kevin rested his head on my shoulder. “Me too.”
The classic tune of Auld Lang Syne gave way to a newer beat and the dance floor was flooded with bubbles. The elated crowd started to pulse again, as the New Year had been officially rung in.
My hips swayed and my hands twisted their way into the air.
There was something powerful about not being able to hear your own thoughts over the music. You had nothing to do but move.
Get lost in the rhythm and enjoy a natural high.
My face was red and my hair was wet by the time we moved back to the bar.
“I’ll have a slippery nipple.” Kevin winked at the very good-looking, very straight bartender and I shook my head.
“Get me one too!” Leighton shoved his arm.
I leaned forward and tapped her on the shoulder. “I’m really hot. I’m just going to go down to the beach for a few minutes.” I had to practically yell it over the noise.
She frowned. “Are you okay? Do you need me to come with you?”
“I’m fine.” I shook my head. “Just hot from dancing. Keep an eye on Casanova.”
I motioned to Kevin with a chin tilt and she nodded. “Okay, we’ll be here or back at the little podium thingy.”
“Okay.”
Turning my back to them, I moved through the crowd. It was easy. Everyone was moving towards the dance floor, but I was moving away from it. Finally, the heat of the crowd lifted as I took the stairs down to the beach.
The breeze picked up and felt refreshing on the warmth of my skin.
I loved the beach.
Wandering not too far from the resort, I walked closer to the ocean and sat down in the sand.
It was cool from the night air and I fisted my fingers into it.
Life had a funny way of testing you.
My test was grief.
Grief was like a freight train. It runs you down, and after, you do the best you can to pick up the pieces of what’s left and put yourself back together again.
In nearly a decade, I hadn’t found all my pieces.
Maybe that meant I failed my test, or maybe it didn’t.
The more aware I became of who I was, the more I was sure that life’s tests didn’t have an expiration date. Some people passed or failed theirs right away, while others took years just to know they were being tested.
That was me.
I’d had more in common with the beach than I’d ever really known. Just like it, I’d kept my head buried and let the souls of thousands of others walk through me.
I didn’t want to be like the sand anymore. I wanted to be like the ocean.
I wanted to be my own.
I wanted people to love me, but fear me, simply because who I was demanded that respect from them.
The ebb and flow of the tide would be my sanctuary, where my grief and acceptance would come to pass.
Yes, I was a lot like the beach.
My past was in the sand and my future was in the waves themselves.