Chapter 4 #2
She’s quiet for a moment, and the steady sound of waves makes the silence comfortable.
I’m happy to wait for her to collect her thoughts.
“Like I said last night, he’s actually a decent person.
Like, he knows all my colleagues’ coffee orders.
He’ll drop by every now and then with trays of drinks and treats, all made to everyone’s preferences.
He knows it stresses me out to turn left onto busy streets, so he always gives me directions that take a little longer but avoid those routes. He likes surprises. Romantic gestures.”
“Sounds like a really thoughtful guy,” I say.
I have a pang of wondering if I was really the cause of what happened with me and Calista.
It wasn’t that I didn’t do nice things for her, but I can’t imagine she’d speak about me the same way that Sloane is speaking about the guy she left at the altar. What was his deal?
“Very thoughtful,” Sloane says. Again, she’s pensive.
“I guess I kept waiting for my feelings to catch up with the situation. I had this guy who thought I walked on water. Who would go out of his way to make me happy. The thing is…” She trails off, and when I look over, her eyes are misted over a bit.
She sniffs, then clears her throat. “The thing is, I think he knew I had one foot out the door, and he was overcompensating somehow. The surprise bouquets at work became more regular and much larger. He was booking airline tickets for trips two years away. Suggesting real estate purchases. And maybe, I don’t know, he was waiting for me to end things.
I should have done it so much earlier.” She shakes her head.
“I feel like a really awful human being.”
“Speaking as someone who’s been on the other end of things, I think people do know. I know you feel like the one responsible, but if he sensed something, he could have said something too.”
“I know. It just feels like there was a whole machine behind our marriage. So many expectations. So much money spent. His mother.” She laughs, and for the first time since meeting her, I detect some bitterness in her voice.
“He never defended me against her mother’s judgy comments.
Anyway. How about you? On the other end of things. ”
Now it’s my turn to clam up for a moment.
Am I really going to tell this woman, basically a stranger, what went down with me and Calista?
Will it make me look pathetic? I’m not really much of one to bare my soul to anyone other than Marshall and Vera.
But the moon is dim enough that somehow, I feel like this might just be a dream after all, and maybe it’s not such a big deal to distract Sloane with another love story gone wrong. A healing balm of misery-loves-company.
“I’m doing okay,” I say, stopping to pick up a skipper rock and flicking it into the waves.
She stops beside me and picks up her own rock to toss, but it drops into the water with a plunk.
“I’ve always been terrible at that,” she says.
We keep walking, Marshall now glued to her side and matching her pace.
Unbelievable. I’ve given that dog years and his loyalty wanes the moment a pretty face enters the picture. Can’t say I blame him though.
We walk in comfortable silence for a bit and take turns throwing the tennis ball for Marshall, who’s revelling in this unexpected outing.
When we get to the section of the beach with the ice cream shack and the children’s playground, both empty at this time, we decide to turn back. The sun’s dipped, now over the water, and it’s getting dark.
“So your ex,” Sloane says. “Did she do you the courtesy of breaking things off before you were waiting for her at the altar?”
I chuckle. “She did. Although part of the reason I think she broke things off was that the altar…wasn’t really in sight for me.”
“Not the marrying type?”
I pause, considering. I don’t have anything against marriage, per se.
Calista’s vision for a wedding, however, didn’t quite align with my own, which was of a low-key elopement.
I’d take Vegas over all the invites, the seating plan, the stress.
Now I’ll be walking right into her ideal on the weekend, and the idea of it makes me chuckle, given that any idea my cousin had was likely railroaded through the process.
I decide to keep that to myself though. Sloane might not have wanted the man at the end of the aisle, but there’s a chance that the spectacle of it all lured her in. And I don’t want to offend her.
“I wouldn’t say I’m not the marrying type. I’m maybe just not the wedding type.”
“And now you have one on the weekend,” Sloane says.
Well, if I’m going to be honest, I might as well just say it. “Sure do. My ex’s.”
“What?” Sloane exclaims. “Why on earth are you going to your ex’s wedding?”
“It’s a very good question,” I say. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that Wild Rose Point isn’t exactly a bustling metropolis? Everyone knows everyone. So, births, funerals, weddings—we’re all kind of in the mix.”
“So?” she exclaims. “Are you some kind of masochist or something?”
“Something like that. Family.”
“Now I’m really confused.”
“That came out wrong. Sorry. My ex is marrying my cousin.”
“Oh boy,” Sloane says. She reaches out and clutches my elbow in what’s likely an expression of support, but her touch sends an unexpected trail of electricity through me. “Now that sounds complicated.”
She’s not touching me anymore, but the feeling lingers. “Less so than you think,” I say. “But if I’m the only person in town who doesn’t show up at the wedding—”
“You’ll look like a sore loser,” says Sloane says.
I laugh. “Well,yeah, if you want to put it that way. I was going to say impolite.” I take a second to glance over at her.
The breeze is carrying through her chestnut waves, and in the last light of day, I can see her cheeks are slightly pink from the effort of trudging through the sand.
It’s strange, but it feels like Sloane belongs on this beach. Like she’s in her natural element.
She turns to make eye contact with me, and then we both cast our glances back to the distance. Marshall is bounding toward us again with his ball. He brings it to Sloane and not me. He’s a goner.
Sloane tosses it again, and it sends Marshall sprinting down the sand. “I’m no etiquette expert,” she says, “but I think this situation falls in the category of totally acceptable to skirt the rules of polite society.”
“Maybe,” I say. “And maybe I’m feeling a scratch in my throat.”
We’ve reached the cottage again. It feels dark enough, nighttime enough, that we can comfortably go to our separate quarters. I don’t want the night to end, but what’s happening is clear. I like Sloane. A lot. And she’s leaving in the morning, so it’s best to stop this now.
“Better take care of that,” Sloane says seriously, and we both laugh. This feels weirdly good. Like we’re on a team together or something. “We’d better get you to bed.”
I know she doesn’t mean it like that, but the thought of bed involving any element of we sends my mind somewhere it shouldn’t go.
The slight blush on her cheek tells me she noted the slip too.
We say a slightly awkward goodnight, and long after I hear the door to the office click shut, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, Marshall at the foot of the bed.
Just a couple of guys, under the spell of a woman who washed ashore.