23. Like a Monkey on a Stage
Chapter 23
Like a Monkey on a Stage
T here’s no one in sight when I finally rise the next morning and stumble to the kitchen for coffee. At least, not until Erin appears and says much too brightly, “Good morning!”
I jump, almost spilling the scalding liquid as I bring it to my lips.
“I slept so well, did you? I love the sound of rain when I’m sleeping. I usually sleep with a sound machine, but I forgot it at home. I hope it rains again tonight. Is there more coffee?” I’m fond of the sound too; it gives me something to listen to when I can’t sleep.
I fetch another cup from the cabinet and fill it for her.
“Thanks so much. I woke up to find a text from Kenna. Apparently, she and your sister left early to go shopping, and the guys went fishing, so it’s just you and me until they get back. What do you want to do? I was thinking we could sunbathe, read, and search for sea glass. Then maybe come back and take a nap? I really love naps.”
I laugh. “Me too. All of that sounds great.”
She pulls a platter of fruit from the refrigerator and we pick at it until our coffee is gone. Then we get dressed—I wear my bikini this time—and we head for the sand. We spend the day exactly as she said, although we end up talking more than reading while we lay out on our towels in the sunshine. It would be easy to feel self-conscious around her—she’s beautiful and thin, confident and smart, but I’m not focused on my flaws at all. She has a way of warming you from the inside out and, by the time we return to the house for our naps, I feel as if we’ve been friends for years.
Only as I’m opening the door and hear my phone ringing from the back bedroom, do I realize I left it behind. I rush to answer it, concerned it’s Sam and scared of all the calls I’ve missed.
But it isn’t Sam, it’s my dad. He never calls, usually having Mom relay any message he has for me. And it’s almost always work-related.
“Hello?” I say, nervously.
“Cori.”
“Is everything okay?”
“I know you’re with Sam this weekend, but I wanted to talk to you about this whole coffee menu idea.” I close my eyes and sit on the edge of the bed, expecting another lecture and wholly unprepared for his next words. “I called Mike to make sure he shut the idea down, but we had a lengthy discussion about it all. He emailed over the spreadsheets you gave him, and I have to say I was impressed. I didn’t expect all the information you provided, the estimated project cost, even the customer segmentation and sales reports from the past few months. It would seem those little classes you took did pay off.”
I don’t say anything, not entirely sure Erin didn’t smother me with her beach towel, sending me to the afterlife.
“I uhh…” He starts and stops a few times. I’ve never heard Dad trip over what he has to say. “I wanted you to know that I’m proud of you for taking the initiative, and I look forward to hearing more of your ideas in the future.”
My heart skips a beat and I can’t get my mouth to close. I had hoped he’d be impressed, but it was human nature. A childish need to have your parent’s approval, not a realistic consideration.
“Dad, thank you. That… I’m so… glad, um. That means… a lot. To me.” My eyes burn as tears form.
“I know it’s fast, but I want to roll out the new insert on Monday. Mike said he was prepared.” Over the past week, Mike made a small order for extra items while I made the final touches on the menu insert and sent the design for printing. We were planning to start Monday anyway, the sooner, the better.
“Yes, we’re prepared. Even with the new drinks added to the system, we’re not making many changes after all.” It’s a simple rearrangement of the dining room map while I take the customers behind the counter instead of dividing them up among the servers.
“Okay, good. I’ve got to run now, but I’ll talk to you later. Love you, Cor.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
* * *
W hen everyone returns from their outings, we walk back to the beach to play a game of volleyball. But when Sage, who played throughout high school and one semester during college, gets too competitive and yells at her team, Callum picks her up and dumps her into the ocean. He walks back toward us, dusting his hands off.
“So. Dinner?” He barely gets the words out before Sage trudges up behind him and paints his back in wet sand.
Tyler and Brian take off for the house to put meat on the grill, and I lean back on my towel while Sam and the women start another game of volleyball. Callum goes back to the water by himself and Nick appears to my right.
Sunglasses shade his eyes, so I can’t read his expression as he stares off into the water.
“How much crap do you think I’d get if I picked up my book right now?”
His lips twitch and he shakes his head.
I command my hands to remain clasped together, instead of running my fingers along the dark lines covering his left arm.
“If I had the time and money to travel, I’d rather visit heavy woods with mountains within view,” I say, admiring the trees and river inked into his skin.
“Same. The mystery and beauty is what sort of drew me to this design.”
My eyes roam up to the plane on his shoulder. “Have you flown over mountains with Jonah?”
“No, a few rocky hills, but no mountains. Maybe when I get my license. Would you ever come up with me?”
I’ve never flown before, not even commercially. Would personal aircraft be more or less scary than commercial? “Maybe.”
“The first time I flew with Jonah, I was seven. He was so excited to finally share his love of flying with me, and I was hyped because no one else I knew got to fly in a personal plane. We went up in the one his dad gave him, a Cessna 172 Skyhawk. It was expensive and still is his favorite plane. Anyway, we mainly flew over places I knew, just to see the aerial view of familiar homes and buildings. We saw mine and Mom’s house, where Jonah grew up, my school. About thirty minutes into it, I threw up. But I knew how special the plane was to him, and I didn’t want to vomit all over the nice interior. So, I held it in my mouth, even as it slowly leaked out into my hands.”
He laughs at my face, scrunched up in disgust. “He turned around immediately, and as soon as the doors were open, I let it all out onto the concrete. He didn’t say much on the drive home, but he stopped to get me 7Up. I felt so bad. And I thought he was mad until I overheard him telling my mom how he felt bad, how he was scared he’d traumatized me and ruined planes for me forever.”
“Aww. How long did you wait before flying with him again?”
“We went back the next day. I told him I wasn’t going to let a little vomit scare me away from flying again. He made sure to bring several bags, just in case, and more 7Up. And I needed it.”
Our laughter has Kenna approaching and asking what’s funny.
“Cori said your voice sounds like squawking seagulls,” Nick says without an ounce of regret.
I jolt, smacking his arm and assuring her that I said no such thing. The last thing I need is for her to feel insulted.
Nick only grins while Kenna glares at him before sizing me up. Finally, she claps her hands. “Why don’t we go dancing, like I suggested yesterday?”
Cheers of agreement come loudly from Erin and Sage, but a silent groan from me.
“And you,”—she points to me—“are dancing with us. I don’t care how drunk we have to get you beforehand, you’re dancing. I don’t want to hear none of that I’m shy bullshit.” Laughter breaks out.
Sam moves to crouch beside me. “Yeah, Cor. There’s nothing to be scared of, it’s just dancing.”
My cheeks blaze and I force my feet to stay in place as all eyes fall on me, including Nick’s. I can’t see beyond the sunglasses, but his lips are thinned into a tight line, and a noticeable vein pulses in his neck.
Sam nudges my arm. “Come on, Cor, relax. Take a joke.”
There’s no way to play this and still come out on top. I have to betray myself to save my dignity. So I play along.
“I’m not sure what y’all are talking about, I love dancing.”
Laughter breaks out again, thinning the tension, but I still feel Nick’s gaze burning my skin everywhere it touches.
I used to pray to God every day to take away the anxiety I feel around people so that I could dance like no one was watching, or sing at the top of my lungs without a care in the world. I would pray that my mind would quiet so that I could jump in the water without thinking of all the sharks or eels or unnamed monsters that lurked in the depths waiting to bite. I used to pray that He’d turn me into someone who Sam didn’t seem to be ashamed of and someone who could hold their own in a conversation, demanding that their boundaries be respected.
Eventually, I stopped praying. I couldn’t see the use.
—
After dinner, nine of us fight over one bathroom to get ready, and we arrive at a western dance hall and saloon an hour later. To my dismay. You’d think I’d prefer being able to disappear into a crowd, to blend in with the masses, and that I’d feel uncomfortable in more intimate gatherings where I run a greater risk of becoming the center of attention. But my idea of letting loose does not involve getting wasted in a hot, crowded room where I feel like every eye is watching me. Judging me.
Because I didn’t plan to go dancing, I only have a long-sleeved maroon dress I packed to wear if Sam and I went to dinner. It’s Sam’s favorite but it stands out among all the blue jeans and tank tops worn by the other three women who somehow knew to pack for a dance hall.
“First, tequila,” Tyler announces after we pay the entrance fee. He takes off to the bar, and the rest of us gather around a wooden table just off the dance floor. It’s hard to see or breathe much through the haze of cigarette smoke, and the lighting is almost nonexistent from the little lamps at each table.
“So, are you actually going to dance with me? Or do I need to find someone else?” Sam asks. I hate the pressure of everyone’s eyes on me. Hate the fear of being filmed and turned into an internet meme. Hate that I get so lost in my self-awareness that my body starts to physically disconnect. Hate that I can’t move my body fluidly and carefree like normal people. But I also hate being labeled as uptight, boring, or buzzkill , just because our ideas of fun didn’t match.
I’m lost in my head, watching dancers of all ages twirl their partners around, that I don’t notice when Tyler reappears, carrying a tray loaded with shots.
“Cori? Want one?”
Kenna takes a glass in her hand. “Just give her one, she needs it.”
“No, thank you.”
“Just take it,” Sage insists.
“Come on. Don’t be a buzzkill,” Sam pushes.
“She doesn’t want to, leave her alone.” Sam glares at Nick, so I jump in to defuse the situation.
“Fine, I’ll take one, but then I’m done.” I grab a glass in my hand and throw it back, resisting the urge to scrunch up my face as the liquid burns its way down my esophagus.
“Come on, just one more.” Sam holds out another shot glass. “Drunk Cori is so much more fun.”
Avoiding Nick’s piercing gaze, waiting for me to decline, I extend my hand out for a second. Like a monkey on a stage, might as well dance.
* * *
I don’t mind two-stepping since the steps are the same every time and I don’t have to flail about to some hip-hop song, so I agree. But just because I prefer it doesn’t mean I’m not stiff as a piece of wood as Sam eyes me with suspicion, waiting for me to run back to the table in panic. I can’t get him to understand that if he’d relax, I’d relax. But he watches my every move, either looking for something I’m doing wrong or because of a self-fulfilling prophecy.
As he watches me, I’m hyper-aware of every person around us. Three guys lean against the railing that separates the dance floor from the tables, beers and cigarettes in hand, watching. A guy and a woman in jean shorts and cowboy boots lean into each other at a nearby table, watching. A couple in leather vests with motorcycle patches take a swig of their whiskey, watching. The rational side of my brain knows they’re watching everyone out here spin around, but the irrational side is much louder with its claims that all eyes are zeroed in on me.
The pulsing in my brain makes it hard to hear the bass thumping from the speakers just feet away, and my vision fogs, but not from smoke this time.
Sam’s voice pierces through but doesn’t help to calm me. “Will you unclench? It’s hard to dance with you so rigid.”
“I’m trying, but you’re watching me like you expect me to make a fool of myself.”
“I’m expecting you to look lovingly into my eyes while we dance romantically to a love song. Like all the other couples.” So I do. It’s completely forced, and Sam ends up rolling his eyes, but at least he smiles, and it helps to see his dimples appear. “It’s not the same if it’s sarcastic.”
Somehow, we manage through three songs before I’m bursting with the need to find the bathroom and a brief moment of reprieve. I stay a little longer than necessary in the stall to recuperate as much as possible before heading back out, but any longer and Sam might think I was going number two. When I come back out, he’s talking to some people at the bar, so I head to the table. Nick, Tyler, and Callum are dancing with Erin and Kenna, while Brian twirls Sage around. I sit down at the table alone, wondering how much shit I’d get if I pull my phone out to read an e-book.
I decide the risk is worth the few moments of escape. I get about halfway through a chapter before Nick plops into the booth across from me, a sheen of sweat covering his forehead.
“Why are you reading right now? Where’s your boyfriend?”
I glance back at the bar, but he isn’t there anymore. He isn’t anywhere on the dance floor, either. “I’m not sure.”
Nick scoffs. “Wow. What a dick.”
“Why is he a dick?”
“Because you’re sitting here all alone.”
“We’ve known each other for a couple of months now, Nick. Long enough that you should know I’d much prefer it if Sam left me alone to read.” I mean it as a joke, but Nick’s eyes bore into mine, unreadable and intense.
“Then why are you even with him?” he asks, and I feel his deep voice all the way to my toes.
My brain frantically searches through all the possible responses to that question. I love him would just elicit another question of why, and I doubt, because I just do, would be sufficient. It doesn’t matter anyway because Erin slides in next to me. And I don’t owe Nick any more explanations on my relationship with Sam anyway.
I still feel his gaze burn my skin like lasers as Erin asks me, “Will you come with me when they do the next line dance? I love line dances.”
I agree, if only because Erin asked so nicely. But also because she doesn’t make me feel panicky; I feel safe around her like I do with Hailey. Or, did.
When Erin grabs my hand to drag me back out, Nick follows, and soon everyone in our group, except Sam and Kenna, are lined up and dancing. A fast song follows and Tyler pulls me into him, saying, “We’ll keep you entertained until your boyfriend comes back in. He had a work call.”
He distracts me enough with his goofiness that I don’t feel as anxious, though I’m not sure if one could even call it dancing. We stumble around in a circle as we fight to keep our knees buckling from laughter. Next, I dance with Callum, who is just as stiff as I am, but owns it better.
When a slower song comes on, I step off the dance floor heading for the table, but an arm reaches out to grab me. My eyes follow along dark ink and muscle until they peer into Nick’s.
“My turn,” he says, his tone lilting upwards in question. I nod, and we stand in position with my left hand stiffly placed on his shoulder and my right hand lost in his. There’s nothing romantic about it; even Sage dances with Callum to our right while her boyfriend sits at the bar. But my heart nearly beats out of my chest as I glance around for Sam.
Nick’s jaw is tilted down, resting against my temple. I don’t think he’s heard any of my breathless apologies anytime I trip over his feet until he says, “You don’t have to apologize so much, you know.”
“I know, I’m sorry.”
He pulls back, leveling me with a pointed look.
“Uhh, sorry. Ugh! I don’t know what’s wrong with me!” I hide my face in his chest and his laughter shakes both of our bodies. I’m not sure when it happened, but my hand has wrapped itself around his neck and I become too aware of the heat emanating from his tan skin. I move it back to his shoulder, but can’t help but notice how broad and strong and hard they are. Curling my fingers into my palm, I rest my wrist on his shoulder instead, to prevent myself from feeling too much of him.
But that only brings my focus to other parts of my body. Like my hand in his. Or his other hand burning a hole through my dress where it rests at the small of my back.
The song, “The One Thing I Can’t Say,” is one of my favorites, but is not helping the situation I find myself in.
“A cold hand grips my heart in a pain I’ve never known,
When you leave with him and I’m left all alone.”
My palms are sweaty, and I’m sure to drop from a heart attack any minute from the electricity in the air. It’s just the song making me feel this way, I know that, and I repeat the thought to myself over and over. I know that I don’t really want to lean into his neck or tilt my face up so that my mouth would be just an inch away from his. I’m not really lusting after my boyfriend's friend, or feeling heat between my legs. It’s just the song. And I feel relief when he leans down to my ear and suggests we sit down before the song has finished.
Until I consider the possibility that he somehow knew what I was thinking and is only trying to get away from me. If I don’t die from anxiety, it will be from mortification. Because there is no way he felt the effects of the song as much as I did.
“In a parallel universe, there would be no line,
There would be no him, and you would be mine.”
Because it really was just the song. That’s it.