Kate and I aren’t even out of the pool area before my phone buzzes in my pocket. I know who it is before I look.
BODHI: Where y’all going?
ME: Don’t know. Don’t care.
BODHI: Chasing tail?
ME: Chasing her.
I slip it back into my pocket, not really giving a fuck about anything else he might have to say. He can have his version of fun, and I’ll have mine.
Trailing behind Kate as she walks in no particular direction, I realize her statement about now knowing where we’re going is more than just something to say. She zigzags toward the beach as I hustle to catch up with her. Though, truth be told I’m intentionally taking my time. It’s not about her ass. Sure, it’s a nice ass. But it’s more about her hips, the way they sway as she walks. They look soft, malleable beneath hungry hands.
Finally, once we’re side-by-side, the conversation resumes. “Where are you guys from?”
“Maggie and I are from Ohio,” she says, adding that the rest are from all over. “What about you?”
“I’m from Texas, but after the trip, I’ll be headed to Chicago for my apprenticeship,” I say.
“Ask me something less small-talk-y,” she says. “All that stuff is in the shallow end.”
“And you want the deep end?” I ask.
“I just wanna know you have one,” she says, a mischievous grin playing on her lips.
I turn her words over in my mind, savoring their bite. She’s presented it as a challenge, a level I have to pass. Maybe she senses I like to be challenged. Maybe this isn’t about me at all. Whatever it’s about, I like it. “When was the last time you had your heart broken?”
“Walked right into that one, didn’t I?” She says, laughing. “Let’s see here… three months, two days, and half a dozen hours ago.”
“That’s pretty specific,” I say.
“It's odd how that works, isn’t it?” She asks. “We never know the exact time we fell in love, can never really put a finger on the exact moment we feel happy. But the clock will remind us every minute of everyday about the pain. It never lets us forget.”
“I suppose you’re right,” I say. “What happened?”
“A blissful eleven months, the assumption we were about to get engaged, a terrifying forty-eight hours, ending with… I believe his words were, ‘I don’t think this is the life I want anymore’ though my memory is hazy on that detail,” she says.
“Tell me about the terrifying two days,” I say.
“Oh, not much to tell,” she says. “It was literally like he disappeared off the face of the Earth. Shut off his phone, didn’t log into social media, no texts, no call, zilch.”
“Wow,” I say.
“Yeah, and then returns like nothing happened, refuses to tell me where he was, and ends it with me,” she says. “Can you believe that? I mean I thought the motherfucker was dead in a ditch somewhere.”
I don’t know how many people she’s told this story too, abbreviated version or not, but I’m sure all of them apologized to her. Something tells me she doesn’t want any more of those.
“What did you learn?” I ask.
She goes quiet for a few minutes as we make our way to the water’s edge. She drags her toes through the wet sand, stopping shy of a cluster of smooth rocks. Kate bends down, running her hand over one of them, then takes a seat. I follow along, taking a seat opposite her. We’re close enough to the water, it laps against our crossed legs.
“I learned that it’s easier to fall in love than stay in love,” she says. “And I learned two people can be hurtling through space and time toward the same destination only for one of them to realize much too late, they’re beginning to split off from one another.”
“That sounds about right,” I say.
“Have you ever been in love?” She asks.
“A lot of great almosts,” I say. “But I try to abide by my dad's advice.”
“Which is?” She asks.
“If you’re not willing to follow her anywhere, don’t follow her at all,” I say.
“Sounds like solid advice,” she says.
Kate stands, swiping at the sand on the back of her legs as she steps onto the first rock. Finding her balance, she steps to the next one. By the time I begin to follow, she’s five or six rocks in.
“Come on,” she says. “And don’t fall. I can’t carry you.”
I laugh, thinking to myself she’s not only correct but also has no problem telling me like it is. I can appreciate that, if nothing else.
Along the far side of the rocks, is a line of palm trees and bushes that we push through. It’s not dense, thankfully, and we’re welcomed on the other side by solitude. We seem to be in some kind of alcove of trees, as they surround us on three sides, becoming sparse closer to the water
“Do you like this bikini?” Kate asks, drawing my attention to where she’s running her hands over her top.
It takes me a second longer than I want to disregard this distraction and answer her question. I’m not totally ashamed to admit it, I mean she’s literally rubbing her own tits. “Yeah, I like it.”
“What do you like about it?” She asks.
I don’t know for sure where she’s going with this. These are dangerous questions to answer. I tend to try avoiding questions about body image or clothing from women. I don’t see them as overly sensitive, but they do tend to want a very specific response and when you don’t give it to them, it can be bad news for you.
“Not many people would choose gold,” I say.
“I didn’t pick it. Maggie did,” she says. See. A trap.
“She picked it with you in mind, though,” I say. “I think it looks nice.”
“Thank you,” she says.
I don’t know if I passed the test, but she doesn’t look offended either so I’m calling it a win.
Kate walks toward the water, staring straight out at the horizon. She looks back at me as the ocean swells to her knees, waving and smiling.
“You coming?” She asks.
Tossing my phone into the sand, I trail in after her, waves lapping at my chest by the time I reach her. She dips her head back, wetting the rest of her hair and face. Droplets trickle down her forehead, through her eyelashes, and over her cheeks.
Dunking my head beneath the water, I pop back up to see her staring at me, her mouth turned up in amusement. And it’s a very fine mouth, if I haven’t mentioned it already.
“What?” I ask, shaking water from my hair.
“I like you,” she says. “That’s all.”
“I like you, too,” I say. I think we both know we mean that in the most innocent, genuine sense of the word. I mean, I’m not saying I don’t like her in a non-innocent way as well. I’m pretty sure I definitely do.
Kate asks me about growing up in Texas and if everyone really carries around guns like it’s the Wild West. I ask her about her parents and what they taught her as a person. She asks me about some of the tattoos on my arms. I ask her if she’s ever thought about getting one. This goes on and on, volleying back and forth for what feels like mere moments until we both realize the sun is beginning to set.
“We should go find our friends,” she says, sighing.
If I didn’t know better, neither of us want this evening to end. “I suppose,” I say.
She paddles close enough to me, I can feel her kicking through the water in my direction.
“Thanks for going nowhere with me,” she says.
“Thanks for inviting me,” I say.
She hovers when I expect her to turn toward the shore. She hovers so long, I think she’s waiting for me to do something. Maybe she wants me to make a move or ask if we can go nowhere again tomorrow. But something compels me to lean in toward her.
My face draws closer to hers, which sounds simple enough. But try doing it while treading water. She doesn’t move back or flinch, so I inch nearer, closing my eyes.
In an instant, I feel her pull away. I open my eyes to find she’s already swimming toward shore.
“Come on,” she says. “I’m getting cold.”
I know she knew what was about to happen. And I think she wanted it. Didn’t she? Maybe I read all the signs wrong. I mean for crying out loud, she just had her heart broken. Being kissed is probably the last thing she wanted. Maybe she just needs a friend, one not distracted by the prospect of hooking up. I know one thing, though.
I’ll be whatever she needs.