Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
Filled with anticipation and anxiety about the adventure, she gave up on the notion of getting additional rest and stumbled into the kitchen to plug in the coffee pot.
While she waited for the beverage to percolate, she stepped out onto the back porch where she could see the early risers begin to stir.
The water aerobics women, foam weights in tow, congregated at the pool steps where they recapped their dinner experiences from the previous night before beginning their synchronized aquatic routine.
The older gentlemen, presumably the husbands of the water aerobics squad, began to inadvertently convene by the pickleball courts, like most mornings, because there were two plastic, coin-operated newspaper boxes to the left of the playing area that offered The New York Times and The Sea Pines Sentinel.
She imagined they talked about their tee times and exchanged fishing tales.
Young mothers stealthily sneaked out the back sliding doors so they could enjoy a quiet cup of coffee before their children woke up and their husbands returned from their sunrise jogs.
Kenny took a big inhale and could feel her lungs expand as she breathed in the scents of pine and cedar.
She wished she could bottle up the earthy scent and take it back to Manhattan.
It was a smell she couldn’t get enough of.
She picked up the damp cloth she kept on the railing of the porch and wiped off the dew and fallen copper-colored tree needles from the surface, so she had a dry place to set her phone and mug.
It had been almost two weeks since Kenny arrived on Sea Pines, and she still couldn’t believe this was her reality, even if it was temporary.
She was enamored with the vitality that Mother Nature had on full display.
She was no horticulturist, but it seemed to her the palm and oak trees grew taller and sturdier every night and the mossy greens turned lusher and more vibrant each morning.
The flecks of yellow from the sun, bursts of blue from the sky, and pops of purples, pinks, and oranges from the flowering shrubs perfectly accented the predominantly green canvas.
Kenny closed her eyes and thought about Marilyn the therapist’s morning homework assignment which she had forgone since she started her vacation from reality.
While gratitude was an easy feeling to identify, there was no way she could choose to focus on just one of the full of life colors she would see when she opened her eyes again.
The sight was enchanting. A vision that no photograph or watercolor, lens or paintbrush, could ever capture.
Kenny went inside, poured a cup of coffee, and rifled through her overstuffed computer bag to find the Meditations from the Mat book.
She hadn’t flipped to a daily reflection since the morning after the night she played drunken travel agent and booked the extended stay at Pelican Pointe to escape life, but she was in a contemplative mood.
She sat down on the ottoman and opened to page 317.
“Day 275. ‘One must be able to let things happen,’ by C.G. Jung.”
Kenny reread the line a few times, both silently and aloud.
It amazed her that these short mantras always spoke directly to her, whether it was a quote from the Dalai Lama, Deepak Chopra, or C.G.
Jung, whom she’d never heard of until now.
She imagined “letting things happen” somehow equated to letting go of the past, not controlling the present nor attempting to predict the future.
These seemed to be common themes among the intellectuals Marilyn worked hard to introduce Kenny to.
And, maybe not so ironically, all hot button issues for her.
She allowed herself to fall down the meditation and meaning rabbit hole to learn more about the author and the quote.
She thought if she was going to heed the life advice, she should know it was coming from a credible source and have some understanding of it.
She Googled C.G. Jung and learned he was a famous Swiss psychiatrist by the name of Carl Gustav who was regarded as one of the most influential psychologists in history.
She found scholarly articles equating his esteemed words to the Buddhist practice of “action in nonaction,” a phrase Kenny heard tossed around in yoga classes but never really understood.
She read Mommy Bloggers who wrote philosophical posts about the internal struggles of going after what you want versus letting things come to you.
And saw the quote written in a variety of fonts with various images attached on countless Pinterest boards.
But the explanation Kenny liked best was an easy, straightforward one.
The idea was to simply bring awareness to any situation, without fear or control, and just experience it.
She made a pact with herself that she would approach the pending kayak trip with this effortless awareness.
She was going to focus on the act of being in a small boat and paddling on the ocean rather than thinking about the frenzy of sharks that would be swimming in circles a few feet below.
She was going to enjoy J.P.’s company and conversation without expectation or reading into any possible chemistry between them.
She was going to take Jung’s advice to let things happen. Shark attacks or kisses, so be it!
Underlying it all, she remembered that the excursion was purely a business venture to determine if kayaks would be a safe amenity to provide to guests at Mr. Cunningham’s properties—and nothing more.
She would never agree to a first date that required her to wear a bathing suit.
She was fitting comfortably back into to her skinny leggings and her face was noticeably less full, so she was hopeful the twelve IVF pounds from the egg preservation ordeal had finally disappeared; but she could never justify not being fully clothed for a first date.
Kenny rummaged through her bathing suit drawer and was relieved she packed the black Roxy surf shirt she bought for an interview she produced at an indoor water park in the Poconos about the lifeguard industry.
She pulled the surf top over a modest and practical black one-piece suit and slipped up a pair of bright yellow running shorts.
After inspecting herself in the mirror and satisfied with the ensemble, she closed the dresser drawer only to immediately open it back up and fish out the same pair of running shorts in black.
Although she wasn’t superstitious and decided she wasn’t going to dwell on sharks, she had flashbacks to a Steven Spielberg interview where he talked about his use of the bright color to signify danger throughout Jaws, and thought wearing yellow shorts would be like playing with fire.
There was never more than a whisper of a breeze on the beaches of Hilton Head, but Kenny thought the wind might be a little gustier on the water that could result in disastrous matted knots in her hair.
She pulled up a “French Braid for Beginners” YouTube video and after thirty minutes of trying to overlap multiple strands of hair into an artful twist on the crown of her head with only two hands, she gave up.
Despite the blue scrunchie keeping Kenny’s hair secure when she was active, that was simply not an option for the non-date.
She dug through the travel bag where she kept all her hair accessories and found a wide, black athletic headband that would hold her hair back and prevent sweat from dripping into her eyes.
I should’ve been wearing this during my first beach run-in with J.P.
, Kenny thought. But then maybe my eyes wouldn’t have been so irritated.
And Jose wouldn’t have been sent to Pelican Pointe to tend to the pool water and deliver the key lime pie cookies.
And J.P. and I wouldn’t have had anything to talk about on the beach yesterday and he never would have asked me to go kayaking.
Kenny started playing what Marilyn called the “What If, Should Have” game. The therapist said the game was more dangerous than playing ice hockey without pads or a stick, and if Kenny found herself out of the box and on the ice, she should immediately call a time out.
“Time out, Kenny! You’re overthinking, and we’re not doing that today,” she said as she pulled the stretch wrap to her forehead, brushed her hair back into a high ponytail, and secured it with a black elastic tie.
She gently rubbed sunscreen onto her sun-kissed face and when she bent over to lather her legs and feet, noticed the lobster-red burn from the previous day’s beach nap had begun to fade.
When she realized this was the first time that she was leaving the villa with the intention of running into J.P.
, she brushed a small swipe of waterproof mascara on her lashes and dabbled her lips with pink gloss.
Text from Colby: I had the craziest dream: You told me you’re going kayaking with sharks? Tell me it’s not true! LYMIB!
Text to Colby: I’m wearing my favorite yellow bathing suit (Emoji: shark)
Text from Colby: Nice try. I knew you were lying . . . you don’t own a yellow bathing suit. Call me later. LYMIB!