Chapter 24 #2
‘Thanks,’ I say, hoping that he would ignore my blush. ‘I had a bit of a crisis when I realised that was all I had with me.’
‘Why?’
‘They’re … tight.’
‘They are,’ Sam agrees. ‘I like that.’
Is he flirting with me?
He’s giving this fake boyfriend thing the method acting treatment.
He’s drinking me like I were a glass of Sangria.
No, there’s nothing to his words. There can’t be. Sam is Sam.
‘You should have more confidence,’ Sam says.
‘More confidence?’
Somehow, we’ve floated around the boat, as if we’re the only ones in the ocean. We drift from the ship.
‘I look at you sometimes, and feel you hide yourself.’ Sam treads water. ‘Don’t hide yourself.’
I felt seen.
Truly seen.
‘Like the shorts,’ Sam continues. ‘You hid them under your other shorts. And then when you took them off, you crossed your arms. You covered your body. You avoided my eyes.’
‘They’re very revealing.’
‘They’re gorgeous.’ Sam lays back, his head facing the sun, his torso cresting through the water, making it ripple off his skin.
Leaning back, I rest my eyes, feeling the heat on my own exposed skin, feeling Sam beside me.
‘I compare myself to others.’ With my eyes closed, it’s easier to say it. ‘Too much. That gets me down.’
Sam doesn’t reply, and I peer out the corner of my eye to see him next to me, floating.
Oh my God. Is he dead?
‘Sam?’
‘I’m listening,’ Sam says.
‘Right.’ Of course. He isn’t dead. ‘Uh … yeah, that’s it.’
‘What is it about others that makes you compare yourself to them?’
The words come from my mouth as strongly as the taste of salt water.
‘Their better lives. Maybe they have a better career, or a better apartment, a better house. Marriage. A better car. Better lived experiences. People getting opportunities I could only dream of. And trust me, I’ve tried.
I’ve applied for so many openings in my workplace, but my boss, Sly Nimble Clive, always overlooks me.
I’ve occasionally applied for other jobs, but never got a look-in.
And there aren’t any other animation opportunities around me.
It’s like my experience at my current job doesn’t translate into better jobs nearby.
Unless I move to London, media opportunities are limited in Cardiff.
Sometimes, I wonder if I’ve coasted through life.
My life hasn’t changed all that much. It’s still rather unexceptional.
I’m unfulfilled. And I’m only now waking up to that. ’
It’s like the ocean is draining, and the only way to fill it up again is to spill out my confessions.
‘I disappoint my mum and dad,’ I say. ‘My brother is rich. And I’m working as a …
a … I don’t know what you’d call it. I sit in a box room, day in, day out.
On my own, with a not so scary spider called Willow, who watches me type time-codes into an Excel spreadsheet.
Sly Clive asks me to do overtime for no extra pay. And then there’s Ollie.’
Saying his name out loud here feels dangerous. Like he could rise from the clear water with shark teeth and rip us to shreds.
‘Ollie, who doesn’t want me anymore.’ It’s either salty sea water I taste or my own tears.
‘Ollie, who has everything he could ever want. Who has a better life than me. Who has the life I thought we were meant to have together. I mean, a whole wedding on the Acropolis? Please. When will it be my turn, Sam? When will I be happy?’
I right myself in the water, so that I can look at him.
‘Do you want me to be real for a second?’
I gulp. ‘Not really.’
‘Okay.’
I sigh. ‘Go on.’
‘Well, look, I’m your best friend, right?’
I scoff. ‘I guess you still can be, yeah.’
‘All right, pretend we didn’t lose touch, and I’m still your best friend.’ Sam treads water effortlessly. ‘Or actually, let’s say it as it is. You’re here now and I’m an outsider and I’ve listened to what you said. I understand how you might be feeling, absolutely I do.’
‘There’s a but, isn’t there?’
Sam grimaces. ‘Afraid so. It’s just… Look, clearly what you and Ollie had was special. But he asked you to marry him. Twice. You said no. Twice.’
‘All right, thanks for the reminder.’
Sam laughs, even though my tone is bristle. ‘I just mean… Did you expect him to wait around? Did you expect him to stay with you when he wanted different things?’
My steely gaze lingers on Sam. ‘Yes, I did. We were supposed to be in love.’
Sam bites his lip. ‘Sometimes the other person has to ask themselves what it is they truly want, and whether or not the other person is holding them back.’
The ocean is ice cold, and my heart threatens to give out. ‘You think I’m … what? Dead weight?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Seems like you did.’
Sam considers his next move, like we’re playing a very wet game of chess.
‘When two people want different things, there comes a point when they have to decide what is best to do. In a relationship, you should always be growing with one another. At least I think so. It sounds like to me Ollie was set on marriage, and you weren’t. ’
‘I could have been.’
‘But not when he wanted.’ Sam moves closer to me now, and I feel myself pull towards him, like the current of the ocean wants to bring us together.
‘Look, I’m not defending Ollie, and I’m not criticising you.
Relationships are complex. What makes sense to you might not make sense to him, and vice versa.
If you ask me, Ollie is a fool for leaving you. ’
His voice drops at that, as if he’s shy to admit it. It softens the blow of his words.
‘Alec is better than me.’
‘Says who?’
My demons. My internal monologue. Whatever you want to call it.
‘Will, you’re funny. You’re kind. You’re exciting,’ Sam says. ‘Being with you again feels like we spent no time apart. That sounds weird, doesn’t it?’
‘No, it doesn’t. I feel the same way.’
‘I’ve gone a long time feeling like something was missing,’ Sam says. ‘I don’t think I’ve relaxed like this in years.’
The silence is as vast as the ocean.
With fish swimming under our feet and the sun warm on the water, it should be impossible to feel this way. These feelings are better suited to dark winter nights, locked in my apartment on my own, Mean Girls on TV. These are totally not Mamma Mia vibes.
I hear the splash of water against the boat in the distance. My gaze turns to the sky, because right now I can’t look at Sam.
‘I’m broken, I think. You don’t think I know how strange it is to be hung up on an ex? Believe me, I know. I went to therapy after Ollie and I broke up. Told them all my feelings about him, and then, like therapists do, they got everything else out of me, too.’
These words, only ever uttered in the privacy of the therapist’s office, now flow faster out of me here with Sam than they ever did in that room.
Something about the calming drift of the water steadies my beating heart.
‘I think I might be depressed. I’m torn between whether or not I should go on antidepressants, mainly because I convince myself I’m not depressed when things go well, and then I hit that low again and nothing’s right. I haven’t told anyone about this.’
Sam swims closer. I turn away. It’s easier to talk when I can pretend he isn’t there.
‘Why haven’t you told anyone?’
‘Shame,’ I sigh. ‘Embarrassment. Because I think that no one cares. That I’m stupid for even thinking it’s depression. Isn’t depression supposed to be this big, bad, scary thing? Sometimes I get low. Big deal.’
The ripple of chilled water rolls over my body, and Sam’s hands spin me around.
‘It is not stupid.’ He looks me in the eyes. ‘And it’s more than getting low. Depression kills. Only you know what’s right for you, and I commend you for realising something is wrong.’
His hand on my shoulder, the feeling of his intense stare, make me consider sinking to the bottom and living with the fish. My cheeks flush.
‘Why can’t I just be normal like everyone else?’
‘You are normal, Will. Don’t think you’re not. Men in particular don’t speak about this,’ Sam says. ‘And I admire you for doing so now.’
He releases me, drifting away.
‘They say we rule the world,’ Sam says. ‘As men.’
‘I don’t feel like I do.’
‘Neither do I.’
‘There’s no hope if you feel the same.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ Sam asks.
‘Sam, look at you.’ My hands splash the water to prove I’m very serious.
‘You’ve got a body that society tells us we’re meant to have.
Your hair is so gorgeously thick and blond that I would believe it if a literal model said they were jealous of your hair.
You’re funny, effortlessly cool, and you have a very soothing feel to you.
And you’ve got a business. Plus, you live in Greece. ’
‘Right.’ Sam’s face is tight. ‘A role in the family business that I don’t see a way out of. It’s not a career. I have no genuine friends. No serious relationship in years. Mum worries about me daily. And no education past sixteen.’
‘Sam, I—’
‘I’m not asking for sympathy,’ Sam dismisses. ‘I don’t want to speak about it.’
‘Okay.’
‘Besides, I haven’t finished. I’m thirty and still playing Pokémon games. That’s the worst bit of it all.’
We both laugh.
‘Okay, but I still play Pokémon games. There’s nothing bad about that. It’s Pokémon, for God’s sake. We literally are the Pokémon generation. You can’t ask a millennial not to play Pokémon. That’s like asking that fish over there to walk on land. And if it did, it would only splash like Magikarp.’
Sam chuckles, and I laugh, too.
‘You still love Pokémon, don’t you?’
‘My favourite is Bramblin,’ I say.
‘Bramblin?’ Sam incredulously asks, as if I’ve stated something truly controversial. ‘Who the hell picks Bramblin as their favourite Pokémon?’
‘I do. That little tumbleweed bitch is my favourite.’
Sam belly laughs, clutching his stomach. ‘Well, alright then. I’m still a Duskull guy.’
‘An interesting choice,’ I muse. ‘Mysterious. Like you.’
Sam’s eyebrows rise. ‘You think I’m mysterious?’
Somehow, we’ve bobbed apart, so that there’s enough space between us to stretch out. I move closer, just enough. The ball lay in his court on whether he’ll close the last stretch.
‘I think that despite the feeling that no time has passed, there’s a lot I want to know about you. And when you’re ready, you can share with me whatever you want to share,’ I say. ‘It helps that even though you’re that pretty, your life seems just as tragic as mine.’
Sam splashes me, a playful air, one that gets me thinking of our younger days of swimming at leisure centres.
‘Hey, your life is worse,’ Sam jokes. ‘At least I’m not still strung up about my ex.’
‘Touché, Sam. Touché.’