Chapter 23
brASILITO, COSTA RICA
AUGUST 5, 2014
AGE: 28
ISPIT OUT A MOUTHFUL OF SAND AND WIPED MY EYES. I WAS AT THE beach, laying out in the sun in front of the bluest water I’d ever seen. The scenery was bananas. My body was even more bananas, like off the charts ripped. How often did I work out in this alternate life? And what exactly was I supposed to do now? Luckily, my phone was at my side. I scrolled to the date Desiree had just directed me to, then found the matching instruction. It was far more rambling than the ones I was used to.
Walk to the ocean. Pass the lifeguard chair on your left, after which you shall walk twenty paces, approaching a family of four. Pick up a piece of aquamarine sea glass. Hold it up to the sun and admire its curved edges.
I gave myself another minute to gather my bearings. It was 2014, which meant it was eight years ago. Which meant I was twenty-eight, that supposedly perfect age when every cool retailer and entertainment company is trying to seduce you with their marketing messages—and, going by my sick gingham bikini, I was readily receiving them.
I gazed at the ocean. Waves rose and curled into ribbons of sea foam. Surfers played in the water, and small children with plastic buckets and shovels dotted the shoreline. It was hot, but the ocean breeze made everything feel perfect. My sense of zen was disrupted by a sound coming from my left side.
“Can you pass me the sunblock?” My mother was splayed out behind me, her slim body clad in a floral skirted swimsuit. Who better to put a damper on my tropical relaxation than Ann Green?
“Mom!” I said.
“Is that so scandalous?” she said. “You should probably reapply too.”
“Here you go.” I picked up the bottle of sunblock next to me and handed it over.
I was in such a hurry to get out of Pittsburgh that I hadn’t even considered where I was going. But the Pura Vida Ecolodge key card poking out of my mother’s shoe told me we were at my brother’s destination wedding in Costa Rica. Another historic moment in my life: meeting Hal, an encounter that led me straight to nowhere. I guessed correcting my Italian oven debacle hadn’t sufficiently altered my destiny to steer me away from Hal’s corner of paradise, because here I was. Again.
My eyes scanned farther down the beach. I spotted the craggy bluff where exotic birds and reptiles roamed. And a little farther, the funky treehouse of my sexual awakening, the birthplace of my eventual undoing. The sight of it made me blush.
When we’d met, Hal had been sowing his oats in Costa Rica before returning to New York to complete his PhD at NYU—“Jungian Archetypes in American Folk Music (1961–1969)” was the title of his dissertation—while working as an assistant to conceptual artist Ezra Lightfoot, the one whose neon sculpture Alice had in her office. Throughout our years together, Hal had amassed an impressive collection of books about music, poetry, and psychology, books intended to fuel his research. These volumes were presently sitting on a shelf in our Pittsburgh sublet, collecting dust.
“This is so nice, Jen,” my mom said, rolling onto her back and letting off a sigh. She sounded relaxed and content.
“Yeah,” I said a little unsurely. “It is nice to be back here.”
“When were you here before?” she asked me.
“Oh, I just mean on this exact spot of the beach. I was right here yesterday.”
“You certainly have a knack for real estate.” My mother chuckled and slathered cream on her shoulders. “So, back to what I was just saying. If you notice Aunt Eileen acting funny around Uncle Russell, now you know why. You heard nothing from me.”
Was my mother sharing a family secret with me? She hadn’t told me anything juicy since I’d accidentally let slip to my brother, many years earlier, that she and my dad were helping me financially. “That was supposed to be between us,” she’d said at the time, and griped that he was requesting a loan to finance a new car, even though he was gainfully employed. “Thanks to you.”
Now, though, we were delighting in what appeared to be family gossip. “Don’t you dare say a word, not even to your father or Andrew. Eileen would kill me!”
“Your secrets are safe with me.”
My mom grabbed my hand and kissed it. “I’m having so much fun,” she said. “We should do this more often. I love you, my sweet baby girl.”
“I love you too, Mom,” I replied, stunned by all this affection. My mom resumed spilling the beans on her sister’s new love interest. Previously, I hadn’t known the ins and outs until years after Andrew’s wedding. The reason behind Uncle Russell and Aunt Eileen’s split presented itself when Hal and I had run into my aunt on the Fire Island ferry. There she was, holding hands with another woman. It turned out Eileen had fallen for the young female massage therapist she began seeing after a foot injury.
“Who knew plantar fasciitis could be so romantic?” my mom tittered. She started stroking my hair.
“You used to do this at bedtime,” I murmured, luxuriating in the soothing sensation. “Remember how you used to massage my head and I was afraid to sleep over at my friends’ houses because I thought I needed my mom to help me fall asleep?”
“You did need me back then. But you’ve blossomed into such an independent woman.”
I felt something catch in my throat. “I could use a snack,” I said abruptly.
“I’ll get it. How ’bout those shrimp skewers?”
“Maybe just some fruit?” I wasn’t hungry.
“You know, you don’t have to starve yourself,” my mom said. I tried not to look surprised. In my other life, she was constantly reminding me that salad was my friend and that bread was my enemy. “Straight from the lips to the hips” was her mantra. “You can afford the extra calories. Don’t think I didn’t notice your dress was falling off you at the last fitting. You can’t let your heartbreak keep you from eating.”
Heartbreak? Who—me?
She wiped sand off her thighs. “I know it’s hard, seeing your brother get married, and Sean not being here...”
I gave her a smile, trying to cover up the fact that I had no idea who Sean was. He must have been someone that the Memo had told me to date.
“You have so much going on, honey. How many people at the wedding do you think were written about in Bon Appétit?”
“I was?” My mom gave me a funny look. “I mean, which article are you talking about? There’ve been a couple.”
My mom grinned. “You’ve always been so driven. Your dad and I sure did something right.”
I wasn’t sure what was weirder—that I’d achieved anything before my thirtieth birthday or that my mother wasn’t oh-so-unsubtly reminding me that I needed to get my act together by yesterday. I was successful here, and instead of blaming themselves for my failings, they felt like good parents. My success was their success.
“It means a lot to me to hear you say that.” The words came tumbling out before I could think better of it.
My mom cupped my chin in her hand and looked at me intensely. “Look at you. The doctor did such a great job after you were so savagely attacked, poor baby,” she said. I raised my hand to my face. The bridge of my nose did feel unfamiliarly smooth. In the months since Juliet had punched me in the face, I clearly had seen a cosmetic surgeon.
“It’s very subtle,” my mom went on. “Only your mother would notice any difference. And the way you’ve bounced back, sharing your journey with others, has been nothing short of inspiring. I’m just so proud.”
As she tromped down the sand toward the snack hut, I thought back to my instructions. Not bothering to pull on a tunic, I stood up and walked past the lifeguard chair, feeling the eyes of the young man following me. I counted twenty steps, trying not to make them too big or too small, for fear that I would miss my target. Sure enough, there was a family of four wearing color-coordinated swimsuits and speaking to each other in Italian as they sculpted a turtle out of sand. The father was big and burly, and reminded me of Massimo. My jaw went slack when the mother play-slapped him and cried out, “Massi!” This was Massimo, my unambitious Italian lover. I was amazed that barely five years after our fling, he had a wife, two children and the means to travel to a luxury resort in Costa Rica. Cutting the cord had clearly been for the best on both of our accounts. Not wanting him to recognize me, I turned my face away and continued my march.
Sure enough, twenty steps in, the shard of sea glass was sticking straight up in the sand. It was gleaming in the sun, calling for me. I picked it up and held it up to the light. It was a stunning object, a rare hue, which I took as a sign of good luck.
I took the long way back to my beach blanket, walking along the shore. As the waves crashed around my feet, I admired the sea glass’s curved edges, which were almost soft to the touch.
When I returned to our spot, my mother was back, holding two cocktails and talking to a tall guy. He had a mess of dark hair and a short beard. There was something familiar about him, too. I wondered if I’d known him when we were kids. He was probably one of my brother’s friends. Then it hit me: He was the handsome man I’d glimpsed in Desiree’s preview of my perfect life. The man I had been riding. My cheeks went hot.
“Oh there she is!” my mother called out. “Jenny, meet Alex.”
“Alex!” He was even better looking close up. Before I could fully process what was happening, Alex smiled and extended his hand. I went to shake it, forgetting for a moment that I had the sea glass in my palm. My treasure fell to the ground.
“You dropped something there.” Alex bent over and picked it up. “It’s beautiful.” He squinted at the glass, and then right into my eyes.
“Hi. Thanks. How do you two know each other?” I asked, looking at him and then my mother.
“I’m not allowed to talk to a handsome guy walking on the beach?” my mom said, giggling like a teenager. She wasn’t unattractive, and men tended to eat up this sort of flirtation. “Alex is Andy’s longtime lawyer.”
“I had no idea that Andrew had a longtime lawyer,” I said in a light tone. “I should have figured he’d need one eventually.”
Alex laughed. “And I had no idea that Andrew had a sister.” His eyes lingered on me. They were a deep blue.
“Well, we’re not that close.” Disappointment flickered across my mother’s face.
“I was just telling Alex that you broke up with your boyfriend and are attending the wedding without a date,” she said.
“Mom!” I looked at Alex. “I’m so sorry,” I said to him. “She’s out of control.”
But he didn’t seem to mind. He was rubbing his stubble, making the motions of thinking hard about something. “This is so random, but were you by any chance living with Geeta Brara and Leigh Sullivan a while back?”
It seemed like just a few days ago—because it was, sort of—that I’d been in that apartment dipping my toe into an alternate life. The one where Geeta and Leigh were trying to sell me on some big shot lawyer–art collector named Alex under the calamitous chandelier. And here he was, standing before me, in a pair of board shorts. He had the body of a champion swimmer. Why hadn’t they mentioned that part?
“Yes!” I said. “You’re the guy who bought the Hockney from Leigh’s gallery!”
“I thought you looked familiar,” he said with a laugh. “What are the chances?”
“Geeta and Leigh were actually supposed to be here, but my mom wouldn’t let me invite them.” I gave a half-teasing eye roll.
My mother was always suspicious of Geeta and Leigh’s influence on me. Things came to a head when she stumbled upon a postcard that Geeta had written to me shortly after I’d come back from Italy and had a blowout fight with my parents, who couldn’t handle the idea that I wanted to live in the city like a normal young adult. They wanted me to stay with them forever, because—according to Geeta—if I stayed at home, they could pretend that they weren’t empty nesters, that they still had at least one kid who still needed them for sustenance. “Failure to launch,” she’d said in her postcard, “is a two-way street.”
“What are you talking about, Jenny?” my mom asked. “The girls are up by the pool.” She pointed past the beach. I craned my neck and saw Geeta and Leigh horizontally arranged on lounge chairs. My head swam with confusion. The last time I’d seen Geeta in my alternate existence, she had acted like we were vague acquaintances, not best friends. A few years had passed, though. Maybe we were back on a friendship upswing. Maybe our laser focus on our careers had paid off sufficiently to afford us some leisure time. Or perhaps it was something else I’d done to fix things. Whatever the reason, my spirits brightened at the sight of the two of them lying there, soaking up vitamin D in their bikinis.
“It’s all coming back,” Alex said. “They had a party for you when you came home from Spain, right?”
“Italy,” I told him, resisting the temptation to tell him that my Italian boyfriend was a few yards down the beach and not only that, but Alex and I were destined to displace a flock of Italian nuns so we could occupy their former convent.
“You can’t blame me for getting it wrong. You would barely talk to me that night.”
I had blown this guy off? I must have been too focused on Massimo back then. But what was wrong with me? Alex was a total catch.
“Don’t mind me, I think I’m going to take a dip in the pool. Take this, Jenny!” My mother passed me the drink she’d been cradling in her hand and ran off.
“Mind if I join you?” Alex sat down onto the beach blanket before I could answer.
My stomach was fluttering. I kept my straw in my mouth and let him do most of the talking. I was afraid I was going to say something that would once again upset the balance of the universe.
Alex was charmingly self-deprecating, referring to himself as a failed lawyer and “professionally lazy” before I got it out of him that he’d resigned from his partner-track job at a law firm to focus on his writing career, which was going “terribly” until suddenly, it wasn’t. “The book I wrote kind of took on a life of its own.” He sounded bashful.
“Meaning... it was a bestseller?”
“It did all right. I’m shocked your brother didn’t tell you about any of this,” he said in a teasing tone. “He’s in the acknowledgments.”
“Not only did I not know that Andrew had a lawyer, I had no idea he read books, let alone that he was friends with superstar authors.”
Alex raised his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t call myself an ‘author.’”
“So what wouldyou call yourself?”
“I don’t know, a guy who got lucky with a single idea he turned into a very short book? It was basically a pamphlet when I first wrote it, so my publisher had to make the type big.”
“I just set the margins extra wide when I need to.”
We were both laughing now. “I’ll tell you a secret. Writing is my least favorite activity. Thankfully, the book has led to a lot of speaking engagements, team-building gigs, management consulting, et cetera—that’s the stuff I’m good at,” he said.
“I’ll have to check it out.”
“I can explain it right here, and save you the twenty-four dollars. If you want me to?”
“Of course,” I said, smiling at his consideration. Hal never asked for my consent before delving into one of his mini lectures.
“It’s based on this amazingly simple theory that I came up with one night. It came to me while I was dreaming, which is sort of the point.”
I was focusing on Alex’s eyes. They were Disney-prince blue. He was the type of guy who could give a lecture and make everyone in the auditorium feel like he was talking only to them.
He went on, “You can get all your work done in four flashes of inspiration each day. Even if they occur when you’re sleeping.”
“You wrote that book? I think Geeta was reading that!” I now realized that she wouldn’t touch it for another seven years, when she brought it to our college reunion to catch up with the thought-leader zeitgeist, but I let it lie. “You wrote Flash:Win While You Sleep. That’s so cool.”
“Guilty as charged,” Alex said.
“And you don’t even like writing?”
“I like the writing life. I was just in Japan for three weeks. I could have done it in two, but I’m... it’s not like anybody needs me to stick around.” He grinned and looked embarrassed. “That was me clumsily signaling that I am single. Really subtle, huh?”
I laughed.
“I’m glad we’re meeting—again,” he finally said. “And that you deigned to talk to me this time.”
I cast my gaze down toward the sea glass. It was refracting the sun in dazzling shards of light. This felt so good. The Memo was coming through for me. “I’m really sorry if I was a jerk that first time,” I murmured.
“No ifs about it.” Alex’s eyes shone with what looked like amusement. “I think I’ll finally be able to get over it.”
I could feel the smile stretching across my face. “I think so too.”