Chapter Three
Blake
E agerly, I jog to my car and hurry to connect my phone’s Bluetooth. Margo is a stickler when it comes to time management, whereas Meera often gets lost in her art and her own head. So, when we decide on a time, we all know to set an alarm.
And only seconds after the clock hits our agreed time does my phone start ringing.
“Hi,” I greet as I finish getting settled in my car and turn the volume up. My plan is to swim a few laps since I didn’t make it to the gym’s pool this morning. We usually talk for about an hour and a half, so I decide to take a drive up Pacific Coast Highway and loop back down.
I’ve made the mistake of going home while on one of our calls, losing all motivation to go to the pool by the end of it. And even more so than knitting and crocheting, that is my biggest comfort and has been long before either of those hobbies.
“Oh my God, I miss you,” Meera instantly blurts out.
Chuckling, I tell her, “I miss you guys too.” It comes out more casual than it feels. Against Catalina’s advice, I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t allow my friends to worry about me instead of living their new lives. They’ve spent enough time doing that.
“Obviously that goes without being said,” Margo states. “Let’s save the sappy shit until the end. Instead, tell Blake more about the hot TA.”
Awkwardly giggling, Meera goes into a new story about the hot TA she’s been flirting with for the last few weeks. She had immediately called two nights after getting to New York City to tell me about the guy she just met at a random record shop she found with Margo. It was a total meet-cute moment, according to her. They both had shown up to the store and wanted the same album—a first pressing of Elgar: Cello Concerto in E Minor, Op. 85 with cellist Jacqueline du Pré.
I can imagine that exact rendition sounds like, and what the album looks like, because Meera’s been searching for it for years.
After a ‘heated but flirtatious argument,’ he agreed to let her have it as long as he could know her name. Her name. That’s it—not her number or anything else. Obviously, she agreed, even if she would’ve been willing to give him a lot more than that. Her words, not mine.
The serendipitous meeting was ruined for her as soon as she walked into one of her introductory courses, and he was handing out the syllabi. According to Margo, it only adds to the romcom-esque vibes rather than deters it. Meera doesn’t agree, but they’ve already run into each other three completely random times. So, personally, I’m with Margo on this one.
Out of the three of us, Margo probably had the easiest time dating, keeping in mind she was still a teenage girl dating high school boys. So that’s… subjective. She’s had both casual flings and exclusive boyfriends. I say she’s had the easiest time because she’s tall, outgoing, and gorgeous. And all of her relationships have ended on her terms—usually a mix of boredom and a delusional belief she’s meant to end up with Meera’s oldest brother Jatin.
Meera, on the other hand, has had two long-term boyfriends. And even though they both ended, she’d be the first to admit that they were ‘pretty epic’ and definitely something you’d see on the CW. So, the cards are totally in her favor for this to be her next star-crossed lover.
I fall on the opposite spectrum of Meera. I’ve never had a long-term relationship, and the closest thing I’ve had to an exclusive one was an agreement that we were physically intimate with only each other. Everything else has been a random hook-up or a short-lived fling. Sometimes it’s what I wanted, sometimes it’s all that was offered.
After her long-winded story, with every unimportant minute detail possible, Meera takes a loud, deep breath and pleads, “Someone else, please, talk. I’m tired of my voice. Let me hear yours.”
Margo laughs and calls her dramatic, but she goes next. It’s no surprise that Margo’s fitting into the eccentricity of New York City perfectly. She’s excited for most of her projects this semester, and there’s a small venue she went to with some of her classmates that features local metal bands.
SPA wasn’t as hard on Margo and Meera as it was on me, but that doesn’t mean it was easy either. So, the ache in my chest isn’t only from sadness. There’s also a lot of happiness in hearing how well they’re doing out there.
“Blake’s turn,” Meera singsongs. “What’s new with you?”
Failing to fight my sarcastic snort, I flip down my sun visor and cheerfully say, “Oh, you know—absolutely nothing.” I’m not trying to be pitiful; it’s just the truth.
“There has to be something. Anything. One thing,” Margo insists, but it sounds like she’s brushing her teeth as she’s talking. They’re a few hours ahead of me now, and she’s probably getting ready to go out for the evening.
The only thing that comes to mind is how my dad’s hiring a few new employees, although I still don’t know why my thoughts linger on it. I consider asking them if we even know an Adrian, considering most of the boys our age I do know are through their brothers, or my own, since we went to an all-girls school. But my dad said he’s already finished with his bachelor’s degree and in his first year of his program. So, the chances we know that Adrian are unlikely.
Choosing not to ask, I tell them about the painting class I’ve been attending with my mom and her best friend, Bonnie. All three of us are terrible, but there’s wine for them and I’m the DD. And about how I’ve been reading at the library a couple weekends a month when they need someone to fill in for the kid’s stories.
“The next Mother Theresa right in front of our eyes, but way more progressive,” Margo teases with her smooth, sweet voice that contrasts her physical appearance. It’s naturally silky in a way that makes boys think she’s doing it just for them. But if you know her, the sarcasm is always present.
“Shut up,” I laugh and check my mirror before switching lanes. “Someone has to help the youth, so they don’t end up like you.”
“Hey, I’ll have you know—” she starts but is cut off by Meera’s loud, theatrical sigh.
“Ladies, ladies. Let’s get back to the important matter at hand— Halloween . It’s on a Friday this year, and obviously our baby Blake is going to die of boredom without us.” All of our birthdays are within two months of each other, but I’m the youngest—hence, the stupid nickname. “And I’m not ready to lose our traditions. Maybe when I’m six feet under we can talk about it, but until then, not a chance.”
“I’m sure I’ll survive,” I insist, but truthfully, I am bored without them. And going to the annual haunted house with her brothers has been our thing since seventh grade. I’m not ready to lose that either.
“Personally, I will die if we don’t spend Halloween together,” Margo insists.
“You wouldn’t rather spend it at your colleges?” I ask, feeling a little insecure suddenly.
“No,” Meera all but screeches.
Margo just scoffs and adds, “Don’t ever offend us like that again.”
Not able to fight the smile growing on my face, even though they can’t see it, I just say, “Okay, sorry—I will never commit the sin again.”
“Amen,” Margo declares. “Because I have the perfect idea for a costume, and I’ve already started to look into fabrics.”
As I head back toward Amada Beach and the gym, I ask, “So, that means, some of that fabric will be showing up at my door, huh?”
“Yes, it’s a tradition ,” she mocks in Meera’s voice. “Plus, it’s my year to choose the theme.”
“Fine,” I dramatically draw out. “Let’s hear them.”
I t shouldn’t be a surprise, but Margo’s idea is actually brilliant. It’s sentimental to the three of us, and the modern spin on the outfits she’s already started to sketch are cute, not losing any of the quirkiness of the characters.
And I might give her a hard time for being dragged into her bigger sewing projects, but I don’t hate it either. I’m pretty good at it, though nowhere near her skill level, and it turns off my brain similar to swimming and knitting.
So, I told her to send the fabrics to me and I’ll get started on the easier parts of it and leave the finer details for her during fall break.
I let all of those thoughts go now though.
As I step into the humid, chlorine-scented natatorium, I let the familiarity of it fall over my senses and I instantly feel calmer. That warm, contentedness only grows when I realize that I’m the only person using the pool right now. Since the gym was pretty empty on my way inside, I don’t expect that I’ll have to share the space with anyone else tonight.
Quickly, I slip out of my shorts near the edge, slide the nose plug on, and dive in. Sometimes, when I want a harder workout, I’ll wear the cap. Today, it’s more about the comfort of the water and stretching my body.
But when I come up for air, some of my hair has already started to fall out of my bun, and I curse myself for forgetting to put it into a braid.
Turning onto my back, I float like that for a few minutes and stare at the ceiling.
This is definitely a perk of having the pool to myself.
Not that I mind sharing it, and everyone’s respectful to leave each other alone. There’s just something different about knowing you’re alone out here. Maybe that’s scary to some people, but I’ve always found myself a lot more fearless here.
People feel far away, and my thoughts don’t seem so daunting.
I don’t just feel weightless, I actually start to believe I am sometimes.
At least until I have to drag myself out and into the real world again.
When that stupid phone call between my dad and his new employee pops up, I start my first lap.
I begin with a slow breaststroke, liking the way it stretches me out after a long day of sitting at the front desk. It’s by no means my most graceful, or fastest style, but it’s become my favorite since I stopped swimming competitively.
It’s almost relaxing, and there’s a certain level of focus that goes into the coordination that I don’t need for freestyle or the backstroke. And it doesn’t require nearly as much exertion as the butterfly—I only willingly choose to do that one when I want to make sure I’m sore for the next three days.
So, not often.
As my body gets into the smooth movements, I start to let my mind drift off from them. Over the next week, I’m watching the Paulson’s boys, and I promised another older woman that I’d walk her dog while her husband was out of town. Mentally making a schedule for those tasks around my work schedule, I realize that I’ll be working this Tuesday. The same day that the newest hire starts.
Shaking my head under the water, I focus back on my movements and try to ignore the feeling in my gut that’s telling me this all means something.
And the single monarch butterfly I find waiting on my car’s hood only hammers in the point further.