Beach Cute, page 14
I’m too busy laughing with Jodie and Rory to let that realization drag me down.
“Oh, Luna, why did you start talking about his toes? You put weird body parts into my head. And you, Rory! Trying to wingwoman me, pushing me to compliment him! This is your fault, Miss Melodrama. His earlobes! I actually complimented his earlobes.”
“And spilled your drink on yourself trying to down it,” I remind her.
“And literally ran away when he turned around to get you napkins,” Rory adds.
Jodie shoves her—and the twin beds that have been pushed together to make a double bed split apart, and Rory crashes right down between them with a yelp.
We all fall silent, and Jodie and I lean down to look at Rory in the tiny gap between the beds, the sheets cradling her like a makeshift hammock. She stares back at us in shock and says, “Ow. My butt. I think I broke my butt. Like this day couldn’t get any worse, I’m going to have to go to hospital with a broken butt.”
“Come on.” Jodie offers her a hand, but Rory flails her legs uselessly, battling the sheets as she gets exactly nowhere, which sends me into another fit of laughter. I’m wheezing by the time we haul her to her feet. Jodie pushes the beds back together and we readjust the sheets.
“On that note,” Rory says, rubbing her coccyx, “before I can trigger any more disasters today, I’m going to bed. By which I mean that lumpy-ass sofa. Night, ladies.”
“Night,” we call after her.
Jodie snaps off the lamp next to her, and the light downstairs is turned off, too. The blinds are broken, but at least we’re far enough from the lights of the hotel that it doesn’t matter.
I bet it’ll matter when the sun comes up, though.
Maybe we’ll even be up in time for a yoga class, I think wryly. There’s no alarm clock in this place—just one clock on the kitchenette wall downstairs (which I checked against my watch earlier and found was fifty minutes behind).
“I cannot work that girl out,” Jodie says quietly to me in the dark. “She’s bursting with confidence, and I bet if she was the one flirting it up with some sexy Spanish bartender he’d be wrapped around her little finger by now. But when she was saying all that stuff about why her sisters sent her here, how she can’t do anything right…And did you notice how she let us take charge? With Esteban? And Oscar when he tried to sign us up for stuff?”
I make a small noise of agreement, debating over what to say. I know exactly what Jodie means, but Rory’s overzealous attitude seems to flicker in and out of existence at the slightest sign of trouble. I wonder if it’s because she’s younger than us, or if it’s more to do with having such protective big sisters, but…What if it’s all a front? Amped up to protect her own feelings, or maybe the exact opposite—that this is all a more modest, toned-down version of Rory, one she thinks is more palatable for a family who don’t quite understand her.
I start to say as much to Jodie but catch myself. I’d hate it if I thought they were talking about what I’m like behind my back—even as innocently as this.
So I just say, “I don’t think she’d stand a chance with Gabriel. He’s only got eyes for you, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Jodie lets out a breath of laughter, unconvinced and probably blushing, and mumbles, “Maybe. Night, Luna,” as she turns over, the sheets rustling.
I turn onto my side, too, but I’m not tired. After a few minutes, Jodie’s breathing evens out, and it’s obvious she’s fast asleep. I wish I had my phone with me so I could scroll mindlessly until I got tired. I’d turn the lamp on and read, but I don’t want to wake Jodie up.
I lie there and wonder what these girls think about me. Could I be just an unfortunate extra they got lumped with, too, like the crowd at uni?
Who do they see?
Someone quiet, probably. I hope they don’t see me as nervous or boring or bland.
I’d hate for them to think that. To feel reduced, overlooked. Lesser, because I’m not loud like Rory or bolshy like Jodie.
I’m not, I think fiercely. Just because I’m quiet, because I like to think things through, because I have a tendency to worry—I’m not small. Don’t make me small.
And I realize: Did Liam make me small this last year, or is it all in my head?
That’s all it takes for my mind to be consumed by thoughts of him. His short brown hair and long face, the scar on his blunt chin from rugby a couple of years ago, and that broad, warm frame that would cradle me close when he wrapped his arms around me. I think about the way he kissed me, how he liked to press kisses to my palms, and the hand he’d trail over my hair when we were snuggled up together.
I run my hand over my hair now, mirroring the gesture in my memories, but my fingers meet empty air quickly. I cut it, the day after the breakup. I donated the long curls he told me he loved, craving some physical change abrupt and blunt enough to reflect how badly my world had turned upside down.
How I’d turned it upside down.
My entire life for the last four years has been Liam; my entire life going forward was supposed to be Liam.
I miss you, he’d said, but does he really?
How is he adjusting to this new life without me?
I remember, all too suddenly, the girl from his Instagram. What if she was wearing a Casa Dorada polo shirt in that picture I saw? What if she’s spending her summer out here as a rep or something?
What if he comes out here with her?
I feel like that’s too crazy, but the way this week is going…
He’s allowed to move on. I don’t have any right to want him to miss me when I broke up with him.
But there’s a part of me that is terrified he’s moved on so easily, because it proves I meant so little to him. That the guy who told me he loved me, who said he understood when I was exhausted by parties and nights out and meeting new people, who spent quiet afternoons snuggled up with me and a laptop to watch a film on Netflix together, who’d tuck my hair out of the way and kiss my neck and tell me he loved me…
Had he still loved me?
If he hadn’t, when had he stopped?
When had I stopped loving him the way I used to?
When had that warm, rosy feeling and the butterflies in my stomach given way to familiarity and routine, and eventually been overtaken completely by a constant irritation gnawing at me, the stress that I wasn’t doing enough, the exasperation when he moped around, hungover or bored?
And I realize it’s not even really him that I miss. If anything, it’s a relief not to have to steel myself for a night out I don’t care for, be around a bunch of people I don’t really like all that much and struggle to keep up with. I’m not sorry to have left that messy room of his behind, with its overflowing bin of smelly takeaway containers and laundry he’d leave until it annoyed me so much that I did it for him.
What I miss more is the idea of the relationship we had. It was having someone who knew me, who I felt comfortable with.
Realizing that makes me feel like a horrible, horrible person. The darkness of the room seems to swallow me up, and the shadows wriggling on the ceiling press in close, muffling the sound of Jodie’s breathing, Rory’s snoring, the sea outside the window, and I disappear into that guilt and worry.
But…would I really have done that?
Stayed with Liam, just…just because?
I didn’t just stay with him because I was scared of being alone. I am not afraid to be alone, I try to tell myself, but it doesn’t seem to stick.
Who do I have without Liam? I mean, really?
The crowd I’ve hung out with for the last year apparently couldn’t care less about me; they’ve clearly taken Liam’s side. Like some pet in a divorce he gained custody of. I haven’t really seen the gang from school this past year, and when we do talk it doesn’t feel like it used to. It doesn’t feel like it should.
I know that. I’ve known that for a while. But it never mattered because I had Liam, and we always had plans to do things together or with a group of people, and it was fine. I was fine.
I’m totally fine.
And I’m not afraid to be alone.
I repeat it in my head, scowling at the wall, until it feels like I can believe it. I do have some of my own friends at uni. Not a ton of them, not like Liam does, but a couple of friends from my course that I can lean on and laugh with, and that’s more than enough for me. I’ve got my big brother, my parents. And I suppose there’s always a chance I’m overreacting about my friends because I can’t talk to them right now. If I had my phone to go into our group chat, maybe I’d convince myself I’m just being silly.
That’s all this is: it’s me spiraling because I don’t have my phone and because this whole trip has turned into some kind of disaster, rather than the week of luxury I was expecting. If I had my phone, I’d be thinking differently.
(And I definitely wouldn’t be wasting my time Instagram-stalking some girl my ex went to the pub with.)
I’m fine. Everything is fine.
I am not afraid to be alone.
And I am not imagining all the ways I should’ve replied to his text.
I miss you too
Me too. I’m sorry. Can we talk when I get back, please?
Was that a drunk text? Have you already moved on? Is she just a rebound?
I never should’ve broken up with you, especially like that. Can you forgive me? Can we work this out?
Please stop calling me and texting. We’re done. We’ve been done for a long time
When did you stop loving me? Was it something I did?
Liam, I love you. I screwed up. I’m sorry
Eventually, somewhere between drafting texts to Liam in my head, thinking about the fact I haven’t really connected with most of my at-home friends in way too long, and worrying over the wild possibility of Liam and his maybe-new girlfriend showing up here of all places, I manage to fall asleep.
17 Rory
~The Vacation Bucket List~
Write pros and cons list of actually doing the law degree you got an UNCONDITIONAL OFFER FOR
Write pros and cons list of doing literally anything but that
Consider other degrees to apply to through clearing?
Write pros and cons list of a gap year, just in case
HAVE FUN! BE RESTFUL! PRACTICE MINDFULNESS!
Talk to strangers (make friends??)
Try something new!
Figure out how to tell Mum and Dad and Nic and Hannah I don’t want to do the law degree, never wanted to do the law degree, never will want to do the law degree, and might cry if someone mentions the law degree one more time
All right, I think, looking over my notebook. (Which is thankfully not as ruined as I expected it to be now that it’s dried out. The pages are crinkled and some of the writing is a bit warped, but it could be a lot worse.)
It’s not so ruined it won’t still look cute in pictures.
Okay, this isn’t so bad, see?
I tick off number six with a flourish and a grin. Talk to strangers and make friends—absolutely, check. After our phone jailbreak episode and sharing this shack, I reckon Jodie and Luna definitely count as friends at this point.
And I kind of hope they’ll stay that way once this week is over. I think some of my friends back home would like them a lot. Sammy from art club would love Luna: she’s an old-soul type, too. And the girls from netball would find Jodie an absolute riot. I cannot wait to tell them about the earlobes episode; they’ll get a total kick out of it.
As for being restful and mindful—screw that. This vacation is a goddamn shambles. Let’s not pretend otherwise, I think, and scribble it off the list. And as for trying something new…Hmm. Does aqua aerobics count? I don’t know exactly what I had in mind, but something a bit more exciting and…fulfilling than that.
Definitely something more worthwhile and uplifting than “blow up the hotel’s fuses and cause a cataclysmic flood that took out your entire room.”
I’ll leave number seven unchecked for now.
Which only leaves me with almost the entire rest of my Vacation Bucket List to try to do in the next few days.
I run my finger down the page, pausing at each item as I debate it.
Maybe I’ll just stick with one of them for now.
Right, pros and cons of a gap year. That’s no big deal. It’s just a list, I’m not committing to doing anything. And it’s just…postponing the law degree, which feels way less intimidating than not doing it at all.
I hear the girls start coming downstairs and snap my notebook shut. They’re chattering about a movie, I think, and are changed, ready for the day. Luna has her massive bag slung over her shoulder, the bright strap of her bikini poking out from beneath her cover-up.
“Took you long enough,” I say, shoving my notebook out of sight, beneath the book I’ve borrowed from the Traveling Library of Luna. I get up and drop both into her bag. I didn’t even think to bring a beach bag with me, but hers is plenty big enough for all three of us.
“I couldn’t find my caftan,” Luna tells me. “And this one couldn’t find her lipstick. Then decided to take it off anyway after she did find it.”
I squint at Jodie. Her lips look distinctly pink and full. She’s wearing mascara, too, and her skin has a dewy look that makes me think she’s slathered on sun cream rather than concealer, like I would have if I were her. I ask, “Aren’t you wearing lipstick?”
“She put it back on.” Luna rolls her eyes.
“Oh. Well, anyway. Remember the plan?”
“It’s a horrible plan,” Jodie tells me, biting her lower lip. I resist the urge to tell her not to because she’ll spoil her lipstick. “Ugh, I feel sick. No, I’m not doing it. I’m out. I’m so out.”
“Nooo!” Luna says, putting an arm around Jodie to usher her forward and toward the door. I loop an arm through Jodie’s to join in the frog-marching. “Come on. You can do this! Just don’t bring up last night.”
“What do I do if he does?”
“You laugh it off.”
“Tell him you were drunk,” I suggest. “Usually works for me when I do something embarrassing.”
The nerves are rolling off Jodie in waves. She fidgets with her clothes like she wants to bury herself inside them. “This is a really bad idea. You—you guys should come with me. I think you should come with me. Make sure I don’t make a complete fool of myself.”
“I think you already managed that,” I point out. “It can’t get any worse, right?”
She pulls a face at me while Luna locks the villa door behind us. She comes back with a big, beaming smile all for Jodie, who only looks more nervous for it.
“Come on, you’ll be great! We have a plan, right? It’ll be fine—trust us.”
“What if he says no? What if he’s not even there?”
“Then you can stop panicking about it and come hang out with us by the pool. And if he says no, you know he’s not really interested, so you don’t waste the rest of the week swooning over him. It’s win-win,” I say.
“Hmm.”
I squeeze her arm. “Glad you’re onboard. Now go. Flirt your melones off.”
Jodie gives us an uneasy look, but takes a breath to steel herself and nods, determined—the girl who was ready to snap Esteban’s head off the other night, not the one who spilled an entire drink down herself in front of a cute guy. I reach out to readjust her baggy camisole so it flatters her cleavage instead of hiding it, but she’s so in her head she doesn’t even notice.
“Okay. Okay, I’ve got this. I can do this. Right, I’ll…see you guys later.”
She leaves us and heads down the beach toward the bar instead of the hotel pool with us. She let me plait her hair this morning and the fishtail braid hanging over her shoulder really suits her, and the shorts with crochet detail that Luna convinced her to wear look adorable. She thinks I have long legs, but hers look great in those shorts.
Gabriel will have to be a fool not to go along with our plan.
Well, Luna’s plan. Luna’s pretty great with plans, it turns out. It was her idea for Jodie to ask Gabriel for a little one-on-one lesson on how to make cocktails, which we plotted out while getting ready for breakfast this morning. It’s totally genius.
And foolproof, we hope, given how she went off the rails last night.
I have to bite the insides of my cheeks so I don’t laugh again, thinking about the way she sent her stool clattering to the floor when she leapt off it and ran out of the bar and the bewildered look on Gabriel’s face before Luna dragged me after Jodie.
I so wish I’d had my phone to immortalize the moment in video.
“She’ll be great,” Luna says, but it sounds like she’s trying to convince herself more than me. And she kinda sounds like a mum who’s just dropped her kid off for their first day of school. “She’ll be fine.”
“Hey, at least if it fails miserably, she should have a funny story to tell us.”
* * *
—
We’ve barely been by the pool for an hour when someone moves into my sun, and stays there.
“Ah, Miss Rory, there you are. I missed you at breakfast.”
Esteban. I suppress a sigh. Of course it’s Esteban.
I turn my book over before I put it down to keep my page (Luna’s books are in pristine condition, and I don’t think she’d thank me for dog-earing it) and then I roll over so I can see him. I don’t care enough right now to even pretend to smile at him. And after a bad night’s sleep on that shitty sofa, I don’t even feel too sorry about accidentally cutting the power yesterday.
