Chapter 23 That Stupid Tension #3
When we’re lining up at the shower on the beach, I realize that despite how awkward it is soaping up here in a bathing suit, this will be one of those memories that we’ll be nostalgic about later.
That’s how brains work; they make tiny details seem extraordinary, even if they weren’t.
But our minds condense the things that have become routine for a few days.
A happy routine. This moment is not just an anecdote: a “We’d rather take a shower at the beach than get the bathroom in the RV all gross.
” It means that we’re far away from Madrid, from our usual lives, from the rat race of waking up, getting ready, and going to work.
It reminds me of the lyrics of an Izal song, “Bill Murray,” and I don’t know why.
Maybe because that song played every Sunday in our living room for a while and it’ll always sound like Marín to me.
Songs or not, with music or without it, even the inconveniences turn this into something magical.
We’ll add poetry; we’ll remember the color of the ocean, the sky, the sounds, the smells.
And everything will take on a much dreamier quality than it has now because we’ll no longer have it at our fingertips.
But here we are. We wait, clutching our towels so they don’t get wet or sandy, while the others take turns to rinse off.
Aroa goes first, her back turned to us, contorting herself so we can’t see her and leaving a burst of sweet smell in the air from her shower gel. And Loren asks us not to look while he shoves soap into his bathing suit and scrubs and we all crack up.
The smell of the ocean mixes with soap and the sun is setting, like a tired woman sick of her heels who starts saying goodbye at a party, promising to see everyone tomorrow.
“Your turn,” Marín says to me, pointing to the shower.
“Don’t you wanna go first?”
“I’m not in a rush.” He looks at the ground and then at the beach bar.
“Okay. But…I’ll wait for you while you finish yours, okay? So I can hold your towel for you.”
He looks at me, nods, and smiles. He’s so quiet. I’m dying to know whether it’s our conversation yesterday in the pool or if Aroa gave him a wake-up call.
She and Loren head back to our parking spot, avoiding the sandy path so their feet stay clean and they don’t drag more dirt into the camper, and Blanca and I take over in the showers, sudsing up while we talk about her shampoo, which smells really good and supposedly makes your hair stronger.
Leaning against a short wall, Gus and Marín are watching us with half smiles.
“Can’t you guys look at the ocean? It’s beautiful.” Blanca grins. “We want to”—she points at her belly button—“lather up.”
Marín moves away immediately, and before Gus follows, he makes a few lewd gestures that, let’s be real, he doesn’t seem to have any desire to follow through with. We both smile, facing each other so that our bodies shield each other from outside eyes.
“If you need help, just say the word. I’m very clean,” Gus insists behind us.
“You’re getting out of hand, Gus, for the love of God,” I tease.
“Now we can look at each other.” And Blanca raises her eyebrows like a pervert before we both burst out laughing.
Gus is the one who holds a towel up around me, looking away, while I pull off my wet bikini. My friend is busy doing the same with hers, and I was too freaked to ask Marín to do it. Plus, it’s nothing Gus hasn’t seen before.
“Thanks, Gus. I would’ve showed my ass to the whole beach.”
“At your service, Coco Puff.”
I don’t know why he talks so much shit. I think it’s to hide that he’s actually a good guy.
Blanca and I perch on the wall wrapped in fluffy towels, wringing out our bathing suits, with the excuse of holding their towels, which we put around our shoulders. And take in the views, like it’s no big deal…and I’m not talking about the maritime scenery.
Soap is dripping down Marín’s chest. He pushes his hair out of his face, cups his hands around his face, and then lets them slide down his chest. Fuck my life.
I want to be those hands, I want to feel the surface of his hairy skin, I want to dig my nails into his pecs and ride him like a savage. I swallow.
“Girl…” Blanca whispers playfully, elbowing me.
“I swear my nipples are so hard the towel could hold itself up,” I reply.
“Whoever taught you etiquette in high school would be so proud…”
Marín isn’t a gym rat, but I think I like it better that way.
He doesn’t have washboard abs, but he has a perfect, flat belly with a cute little belly button and a line of hair that I’d love to follow with my fingertips until it disappears under the waistband of his black swimsuit.
And those very masculine muscles that form a V down there, pointing to his…
I look at the ocean for a second, but I end up staring at him again, like my eyes have plans of their own and my brain can’t control them.
“Do you think it would be out of line if I offer to dry him off myself with the towel?” I mutter.
Blanca snorts from trying so hard to hold in her laughter, and Gus and Marín look over at us. Gus has his hand inside his bathing suit and he’s rubbing.
“Hey…don’t overdo it,” Blanca says to him with a smile.
“I like it really clean. Stop looking or you’re going to have wet dreams, you pervs.”
I don’t know about wet dreams, but I’ll definitely be dreaming about this…for months.
Marín comes over, sluicing water off with his hands. I hold out his towel and smile.
“Thanks.”
“Should I dry you?” I offer.
He laughs and presses his finger between my eyebrows. “Silly goose.”
Maybe Aroa really did say something to him because he’s tense and seems uncomfortable…but it makes me feel better that we’re still us underneath it all.
* * *
The bar owner was right. The vibe gets way more festive in the evening.
The families filling one side of the parking lot trickle out, leaving behind the campers and vans that are going to spend the night here.
We hear music coming from a few of them and chattering everywhere.
Now that the family next door has left, our closest neighbors are a gang of friends who look like they’re also on a bachelor party.
They spent the afternoon fishing on the beach to our right and are now drinking a few beers under the glow of a lantern, sitting in their beach chairs, all wearing the same black T-shirt with red letters we can’t make out.
We pull out a couple of bags of chips, but passing them around is a pain, so we end up getting out the table, the chairs, a bottle of wine, a few mussels, some pickles…
We didn’t realize we had bought so much stuff.
Once we’re settled in, looking out over the ocean, which is taking on an orange tinge from the sunset, we realize that Marín doesn’t even have a soda to toast with and is holding a glass of water.
“Do you want a Coke?” I offer.
I sound pathetically helpful. That’s what happens to me when someone’s avoiding me—I try to get closer in any way, and I start being as friendly as possible.
“Ah…well…yeah. Tell me where they are. I’ll grab it.”
We both stand up.
“Coke? We don’t have any.” Blanca strokes my wrist, trying to get my attention. “Go to the beach bar and buy a few cans before it closes.”
“I’ll go.” Marín pats the pockets of the worn jeans he put on after his shower, checking he has cash.
“I’ll go with you,” I say.
“No need. I think he can manage a few cans of Coke,” Aroa declares. “Do you want some wine, Coco?”
“Yeah. Will you pour me a little while I go with Marín?”
I can’t stand people telling me what I should do, sorry, especially if it stems from an internal tantrum.
I spent so many years having to be a good little girl at the private school my brothers and I were enrolled in that when I started university, I promised myself I would always be myself and make my own decisions.
My parents have always applauded this side of me, so I don’t understand why a friend would try to boss me around.
“Does anyone else need anything?”
“Can you grab me a pack of cigarettes?” Loren asks.
“Me too!” Blanca adds.
“Of course.”
“I have cash,” I hear her say to Marín.
We walk along side by side. There’s nothing unusual about finding us in silence.
Sometimes at home we don’t say a word for hours, while he’s listening to music and I’m reading or we’re both working on the couch with our laptops on our knees.
But this isn’t one of those comfortable silences between two close friends.
This is the kind Marín hates, full of words left unsaid.
I buy two packs of cigarettes, and he orders the Cokes. Once we’ve secured the goods, instead of heading to the quickest path back, he tilts his head toward the beach, suggesting we take the wooden deck that forms a bridge to where we parked the RV.
“It’s quicker the other way,” I say because I’m an idiot.
“Are you in a rush?”
I shake my head and smile.
We stand next to the exit out to the beach.
The sun is sinking into the distant edge of the sea, splitting the horizon in two.
It would be beautiful no matter whom I was sharing this moment with, but it’s not just anyone; it’s him.
That makes it even more magical. When he starts to head off, I stop him.
“Are you in a rush?” I ask him this time.
“No, but…”
“But Aroa will feel uncomfortable if we don’t get back soon, right?”
He takes a deep breath and looks away.
“It’s okay, Marín, but…let me ask you something. I don’t want you to think I’m pressuring you. Just…do you care more about her stamping her feet than not being us when we’re together?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Not at all. But I don’t wanna make things worse.”
“For her?”
“For the group.” He makes a gesture, like he can’t find the words. “For you. I don’t know. This trip is pretty weird, Coco.”
“No, not if you don’t think about it.”