Chapter 4
After I wake and slam a cappuccino, I actually try to do something with my hair that’s not just a knotted bun.
The humidity here is crazy, and I’m amazed when the hair products I bought actually work and I don’t look deranged.
My long red hair is magically in soft curls, and once I put on some makeup and squirm into a white tank and fitted shorts under a matching sheer set with an ultra-flowy top and wide-legged white pants.
When I go out to shoot at restaurants and do interviews, I swear my mix-and-match outfits from JAKI are life savers.
because they’re so easy. My clothes are expensive and almost exclusively from this scrumptious brand, but mostly because they’re all soft, and drapey, and mix and match, so I don’t have to think much about dressing.
I find most fashion stuff exceedingly boring and would rather not think about it.
It’s these high-end outfits or scrubby jeans and hoodies, and I’m okay with either.
Today is different. I’m reluctant to admit, but New Friend Dave is inspiring me.
Patrick FaceTimes me just as I’m finishing my makeup. “Ooh, look at you, getting all sexy for the night.”
“I’m not getting sexy,” I insist. “Just looking in the mirror and tweaking my blush and lip color.”
My friend cannot contain his excitement, and he basically yells, “He’s your Katrina!”
“He’s my what? What are you talking about?”
“You remember that night I first saw Katrina? That party in my room. It was instant.” His grin is so stupidly smug, and I’d smack him through the phone if I could, but he’s all amped up with glee, and a smack wouldn’t stop him. “That’s you and New Friend Dave!”
Jesus.
“No, it is not the same thing. It’s a fun travel thing. He lives a million miles away.”
“He lives a drive and a half from you. It’s nothing.”
“Hey,” I start as I turn and adjust my outfit.
Talking with Patrick, I easily become nostalgic.
And grateful. I don’t have many people in my life who mean much to me, and he’s hitting my heart tonight.
Maybe because I’m feeling vulnerable and weird that I’m heading out with this Dave guy.
“Speaking of that party, did I ever tell you that you inviting me to that dorm party sort of saved me?”
“I didn’t save you,” he responds with his quintessential hearty laugh.
I fluff my hair and scrutinize my appearance in the mirror. “Why did you invite me?” I groan with some embarrassment. I hold up the phone and look him in the eye.
“Because I’d seen you at one of those awful orientation things—the ones that always make new students feel even lonelier and sadder than they already are—and you looked like you were gonna off yourself.” He shrugs. “For whatever reason, you sort of broke my heart. I just wanted to make you happy.”
“And you did.” I smile. “Not sure I ever told you this, but that next week? I made some dumb excuse to find you at work. You were at Ace Hardware, right? I went in and said I needed help finding picture hangers. You strutted around in your red vest, grabbed Command Strips, and then said that your shift was ending.”
“Okay, I never strutted in anything! That’s a very rude and gross accusation.”
“We ended up chatting …” I lead him on.
“I asked how your night ended up, and you looked like you might cry.” He reminisces. “Then I asked about how things were with your odd roommate and her manatee obsession, I took you to Rissimini’s for a terrible dinner.”
“For the best dinner.”
Our local Italian place wasn’t exactly authentic or delicious, but they did provide good comfort food. I somehow still crave their Alfredo.
“And you asked about Katrina while I soaked garlic bread into a sauce.”
“And I knew you were cooked.”
“I was cooked.” He grins. “So, go get cooked yourself now!”
“You’re a fucking pest,” I say.
After a final nervous check in the mirror, I tell Patrick that I’m signing off.
“Send me a pic!”
After I protest and Patrick fake fumes and we go back and forth, I cave, and he gets a picture of me in my outfit.
“My nearly-monochromatic girl is again killing it.”
“It’s not too boring? Do I look like a snowflake?”
“No, it’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”
“Shut up. And thank you.”
Moments later, I get a text.
Patrick: Don’t forget what I said. He’s your Katrina.
Me: Stop texting me lies. He’s not my fucking Katrina. That’s not a thing.
Patrick: Oh, it’s a thing. You’re also his snow kisses.
When Dave meets me, he smiles and does an exaggerated back stagger and thumps his chest. “Well, hello, you!”
Although I roll my eyes and try to suppress a smile, I blush.
“While you look so beautiful, is this the best outfit to wear on a food venture?” he asks. “I mean, I wouldn’t want you to ruin your clothing. Because I definitely want to see you in this again.”
“Don’t you worry,” I assure him. “This is not my first rodeo when it comes to eating in all the outfits. I have not stained a thing in years. I’ve got eating moves you can’t imagine.”
He cocks his head. “I can totally believe that you’ve got some moves.”
New Friend Dave takes me on an hours-long food tour that blows me away and nearly drains my phone because I’ve videoed so much.
After visiting countless vendors and stands, I’m sold on this boy’s recommendations.
Poor Megan Madonna is probably having a stroke, given all the videos and additional text commentary I’ve sent, but I know she’ll compile great posts.
And while I’ve gathered all this footage, it’s just a small fraction of my time with Dave, and I’ve so been in this night with him.
When we get back to the hotel, he grabs my hand in the elevator. “I am so full that I cannot think of how I’ll ever want to eat again, but I don’t want this day to end. Not yet.”
“But you’re really fucking tired, like I am?”
He nods. “I need a nap and a shower. This humidity is not my thing.” The doors open on his floor, and he slowly backs out. “But I’ll see you tonight? Yes? Text me when you’re ready.”
I nod. “Hey!” I call out and stop the doors from closing.
Dave pivots. “Yes?”
“Humidity is also not my thing. I have to tell you that while I love Puerto Rico so much, I find this weather gross and disgusting, and I put fifty-seven products in my hair so it’d look moderately okay today. Basically, I melt when it’s even slightly hot.”
“Okay.”
“Like, I melt emotionally and physically.”
“Not a fan of the heat either,” he says. “Facing the streets here during the day is only for the food.”
“Yes.” I sigh and about flop with relief.
“So, I just mean, I’ll look gross if we leave this hotel again.
I can’t keep up this hair facade. Can we just hang by the pool?
I don’t want to tromp around town again in this insane heat, worrying that I’ll pass out from dehydration, no matter how much Smart Water I drink, and fussing with my hair all the time because I do not have the patience or interest to manage my looks in this climate. ”
What in the fuck am I doing? Saying?
Not only does he not laugh, but he doesn’t flinch at my weirdness.
“We can hang wherever you want. And you’d never look gross, no matter the weather.
Only beautiful. Your red curls are just …
” He sweetly flails, to my surprise. “Your red curls are beyond enticing. So, meet up in the bar in twenty?” he suggests.
I balk at his compliment. “Deal,” I agree. “Maybe let’s hit the actual beach this time.”
I run to my room and panic-wipe myself down with wet wipes and deodorant to make myself not so smelly.
I try to take a breath as I change into a new monochromatic and comfy outfit.
This time navy. Remembering to swipe my neck with a few drops of citrus oil as a last-minute move, I pat myself on the back.
I arrive at the bar and see that he’s ordered two drinks. Then he escorts me through the hotel and outside onto the beach to comfy chairs, snagging two towels and some blankets from the hotel stand as we walk by.
The sand is somehow both rough and soothing as we make our way to our spot, and before I can lie back on the lounger, David dramatically waves a hand and leans down in a bow. “Towel?”
I grin. “Monsieur?”
Very formally and with a cute wink, he arranges the plush towel over my chair and then scoots our chairs together.
While looking at the ocean rolling under the night sky, David sets down his own towel and nestles into his seat before unveiling a blanket that he tosses over us.
And then it’s just quiet. He doesn’t say a word, nor do I.
Like, for ages.
And I am so grateful for this silence, the silence I didn’t know I needed.
But finally, I roll over, snuggling a blanket against me, against us. “Hi. Ciao.”
“Ciao. You said ciao to that person,” he whispers back as he turns my way. It’s a Schitt’s Creek mention that I love. “You said you didn’t want this trip. What’s the opposite of this trip? What’s the one you wanted? Like, your ideal place to stay?”
“Maybe somewhere freezing and isolated. Something really cozy.” I wave my hands around. “A log cabin. Fire place, wonderfully comfy bed, winter view of a stormy ocean. You know, Patrick and I were on a polar bear excursion once. I’m down with the cold stuff.”
“You like cold? Actually, I might have a place for you,” David says with a grin and throws a stupidly muscular arm over my shoulder in a cuddle.
He fesses up that he has a cabin in his hometown, not too far from his own house on the coast of Maine, which he rents out as an Airbnb. She should make the drive. His somber look kind of gets to me.
“Sounds like maybe you need to be alone for a while. And I can confirm that it’s icy and freezing during fall and winter months. Not Alaska cold, but still damn cold. A town called Snowshoe Cove.”
“Because all the residents are, what, fans of snowshoeing?”
Dave laughs. “I’m sure we have a fair share of snowshoe people, but it’s because of the hare. As in rabbit. It’s got big, fat feet that keep it from sinking into the snow, but more interestingly, it changes color, its fur turning brown in the summer and white in the winter. For camouflage.”
“That’s actually super cool.” I’m on board with an animal who knows how to hide.
But this escape? It’s not a bad idea. And ocean retreat could be a good place to decompress one day.
Something I need and have never done. But the truth is that I have too many obligations and cannot take a break.
Taking a break from life is now one of those things I put on my In Theory list. Actually, on my In Theory But Never Gonna Happen list.
“What kind of car do you have?” he asks.
“That’s a weird question.” I back up and swirl my straw. “But it’s an Acura. An SUV.”
Dave about chokes on his drink. “That’s not a real SUV. If you want to reach my place, you’ll need something tougher. That’s how far north this house really is,” he teases. “But you’ll find out, if you actually come up.”
“Okay, Maine boy, I think I’ll be just fine. I learned how to drive in Boston, where it’s nothing but total chaos, and scary drivers, and bizarre road rules. I can outdrive anyone.”
“Okay, Mai Tai Di, I’ll be there if you’re not fine.”
He holds eye contact for what feels like ages, and I don’t look away.
Until I do.
“I should get some sleep,” I whisper.
“Same,” he says.
“How much longer are you here?” I ask.
“A few more days.”
“So, I’ll see you tomorrow?”
I’m profoundly relieved when he doesn’t respond with a jerky, Not if I see you first.
While I may love taking care of myself, I appreciate that he walks me back to my room. How he and I both check the bathroom and the closet.
We are both SVU fans, so we know that danger and trauma are everywhere. Maybe both of us wished we sensed something, some reason for him to stay.
It’s maybe unfortunately too safe.