271 Days #3
The leaders straggled out the door and Danny smiled at them.
They returned the grin as they clasped hands and headed off.
A skeptical part of him wondered if their perfect-couple energy was all a show.
They could not very well run a “find your soulmate” workshop unless they emitted the air of two people who had found theirs.
He watched them walk away. Lisa, the female workshop leader, leaned into her husband—Danny could not remember the guy’s name—and briefly rested her head on his shoulder. Just a small tap, such a tiny act, but it convinced Danny they really were madly in love.
Those little things couples did, the minuscule, almost imperceptible things, were like bright flashing lights to Danny. His parents didn’t do any of them: never held hands, never a peck on the cheek, nor a gentle touch. He did not think his parents were capable of affection, physical or otherwise.
The first time he saw a physically affectionate couple, not on TV, was in third grade at a friend’s house.
His friend’s mom was sitting at the table, and his friend’s dad walked over and put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed, just once, and walked away, a throwaway gesture, almost nothing, but Danny was never the same after that.
Up until that point, he thought the people on TV were weird and his cold parents were normal, but it turned out real people were touching too.
It was the first time Danny looked forward to becoming an adult.
Maybe someday he, too, would get to touch someone or be touched.
Maybe he would have a wife with shoulders, and he would get a chance to gently squeeze them.
Danny subtly peeked his head through the glass door and saw Rhea sitting with her eyes open.
She was avoiding him. He scolded himself for the narcissistic thought; maybe she was just meditating, and her entire world did not revolve around him.
He decided to head to lunch and leave her in peace, but he did walk slower than usual, hoping she would eventually catch up.
He had a strong need to explain himself.
He had not felt this level of humiliation since his first yoga retreat in Bali.
He had been the only man there. He was often the only man at yoga retreats, and he had since gotten used to the feeling, but that first time was hell.
He felt like he had to constantly make jokes about the fact that he was a man because stereotypical men were not supposed to go on yoga retreats.
The women embraced him; he became a funny sort of mascot.
When no one else was tall enough to reach the giant bat that had flown into one of the yogis’ rooms, they were all very grateful for his presence.
He tapped the sleeping bat with a rolled-up magazine, woke it up, and ran screaming out of the room while one of the women threw a blanket over it.
But the women graciously referred to him as “Batman” for the remainder of the retreat.
He feared stereotypical men were not supposed to attend “find your soulmate” workshops either.
He wanted to assure Rhea that, although he was on a bit of a mental health journey, working through some masculinity issues and emotional repression, he did, in fact, have a penis.
Not that it mattered; she had ended things and probably did not care to know anything about his penis.
He heard a stick snap and turned just in time to see Rhea duck behind a tree, every part of her body tucked neatly out of sight, except her breasts. Okay, so she was avoiding him.
He kept walking ahead, wanting to turn around again and see that flushed look she’d given him when he entered the pavilion, the expression that caused his involuntary smile.
There was something gratifying about her mortification, but he did feel for her; telling someone you were not looking for anything serious only to run into them at a “seeking a lifelong partner” workshop had to be uncomfortable.
He wanted to assure her he understood if she was just not that into him; she hadn’t done anything wrong.
It had been a blow, though. He’d assumed the date went well and thought there was mutual chemistry, the kind that makes you have to put on protective eyewear, the explosive kind.
But it turned out he’d misread the situation.
She was also probably embarrassed for the same reason he was; one never wanted to run into anyone one knew at a self-help retreat. Strangers could know you were internally fragmented, but no one you had previously met should ever discover your imperfections.
He wanted to tell her she had nothing to be ashamed of; women were allowed to go to soulmate workshops.
Women were allowed to do dance therapy and work on their ability to deeply connect to other humans; men were not.
Men were expected to be unemotional blocks of wood, never opening themselves up, never vulnerably telling anyone, “I belong to you.”
When Rhea said those words, her voice shook, and his heart dilated.
He wanted to sweep her into his arms and carry her out of there, tell her he would keep her safe, and her voice would never have a reason to shake again.
He wanted to bury his fingers in her insurmountable hair, pull her soft mouth into his, and consume her.
He wondered how he was going to get through this weekend without begging her to let him take her on another date.
He walked over the bridge, passed the garden and the saltwater pool, resisting the desire to turn around, if only just to get a glimpse of her again, to watch her hair fall over her eyes, to see the full parts of her body move under her clothes.
Jesus Christ. He picked up his pace. Instead of turning left toward the Lodge, he decided to turn right toward his room, where a cold shower awaited.
—
Rhea managed to duck behind a eucalyptus tree just in time, thank God.
She was determined never to make eye contact with the Edible Gardener again, for five minutes or otherwise.
She hid way longer than she needed to, but was unwilling to take any chances.
She checked to make sure the path ahead was Danny-free and took off, almost running.
If she’d had a sports bra on, she would have broken into a full sprint, but she moved as fast as her annoyingly ample bosom would allow.
She made it back to her room and decided she had no choice but to flee.
She was sad to leave the most beautiful place she had ever been.
She also could not help but admit there was something to this workshop.
Maybe part of her was closed off to love; telling strangers they belonged to each other made her throat close up, looking people in the eye was agonizing, even Warm Wendy’s pupils were terrifying.
Rhea feared she might have accidentally sealed her heart years ago, because it seemed that every time she had let someone in, they left.
They all left. Starting with her father, whom her mother claimed Rhea had never met, but Rhea had recurring dreams about a dark-haired man holding her when she was just a newborn.
In her dream, baby Rhea looked into that man’s eyes and decided she loved him unconditionally and that everything would be all right as long as he kept holding her.
He put her down shortly after that and never held her again.
That man, whoever he was, obviously left, then her mother left, and after Rhea graduated high school, her aunt’s assistant, her surrogate mother, found a better job, and Rhea never heard from her again.
Even Ada left; Rhea knew Ada would always be there if she needed her, but she wanted someone in her life who would be there even when she didn’t need them.
That was true love: the person who would always be there, even when she did not need them at all.
A desire to weep overcame her. She buried her face in her hands and let out one loud sob. She took a deep, motivating breath, blinked twenty times, grabbed her suitcase, and walked out. If she was going to learn how to open her heart again, it would have to be somewhere else.
She kept diligent watch for any rogue member of her workshop since she did not know how to explain her early departure.
She wheeled her bag over gravel, down a dirt path, across the bridge, past the garden and the saltwater pool.
When the parking lot was finally in view, she breathed a sigh of relief.
Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Danny approaching and threw her suitcase into a bush.
“Hi…,” he said.
“Your hair’s wet,” she blurted out.
“Your suitcase is…in a bush.”
They stared at each other.
“Did you go in the hot springs?” Rhea asked.
“I took a shower.”
Rhea casually pulled her suitcase out of the bush.
“Are you leaving?”
“I was…maybe…thinking about leaving, yes,” she said with as much dignity as she could pull out of thin air.
“Why?” he asked gently.
“ ’Cause, well…I don’t know, it’s all kind of awkward.”
“The workshop?”
“Yes.”
“When you read the description, you thought ‘throwing off society’s emotional shackles’ maybe wouldn’t be awkward?”
“What are you doing here? Are you actually searching for a soulmate? Or just trying to pick up desperate women?”
“Like, three weeks ago, you told me you weren’t looking for anything serious, and now you’re apparently…seeking a soulmate? So…can I ask you the same question?” He said this softly, but it nailed Rhea to the wall.
She did not respond.
“You could’ve just told me you didn’t like camping. I’m a big kid, I can handle it.”
“No, it wasn’t that at all. I did like camping. I liked camping a lot. I think about it…far too much actually.”
They looked into each other’s eyes; both were aware they were not talking about camping.
“You should eat lunch before you go,” he said, then added, “if you want,” cursing himself for trying to take care of her. “Or just don’t…leave.”