Chapter 6
The morning sun filters in through the gauzy curtains, bathing the cabin in a soft, warm glow. I blink awake slowly, stretching my arms over my head as the faint cries of seagulls drift in through the open window. The crisp ocean air kisses my skin, invigorating me for the day ahead.
For a brief moment, I’m completely calm.
Then I remember why I’m here, and the anxiety creeps back into my chest.
“Ugh.” I pull the blankets over my head. I haven’t even started on this dumb retreat website yet, which makes it even harder. Back in high school and college, when I still used to think I would someday write high fantasy novels for a living, a blank first page was my biggest enemy.
But I know all I need to do is just get started. It’s like opening a brand-new bag of chips and trying to have just one. Once you have a taste, it’s like you just can’t stop. Writing is a bit similar. And it was so easy for me back then—as effortless as scarfing down an entire bag of BBQ chips.
These days, it’s not the same. At all. I don’t know if it’s because of the anxiety getting worse or just all the head trash of being an adult with more experience that’s getting in my way.
Regardless, the last thing I feel like doing is getting out of bed and starting this website. But if I don’t want to be homeless by the end of the month, I don’t really have a choice.
I throw the fluffy blanket away from my face and sit up, blinded by the sun that’s creeping from outside. At least I can’t claim I have an uninspiring setting. Apart from attending the actual Panchakarma retreat, I don’t think I could have found a better place to write from.
My feet hit the ground and I’m relieved to feel the soft heat of the floor. It’s going to be a warm day, at least.
In a post-sleep daze, I go through the motions as I prepare my coffee and get dressed. Well, calling it ‘getting dressed’ is a bit of a stretch—I just throw on some loose satin shorts and a T-shirt that looks somewhere between real clothes and pyjamas. Fuck the bra. But that’s better than wearing my skimpy silk bathrobe outside.
It’s a cloudless sky, and the sun is rising straight in front of the cabin, right above the ocean. It’s a beautiful sight. And even though it’s not practical, I set up my workstation right on the deck. The triangle top of the cabin will probably cast a shadow once the sun is higher up at noon, but for now, I have to put on my crappy old pair of sunglasses to shield myself.
But it’s 100 percent worth it. I pick from one of the two comfy lounge chairs on the deck as my battle station, prop my coffee—black, like my soul—down next to it on the deck, and start soaking it all in. The salty air. The sun. The sound of the waves.
Aww, yes.
I immediately feel myself calming down. Yup, this was the right move after all.
The first sip of my coffee cements this feeling of serenity. These moments don’t come often, and they seem to require an almost impossible series of circumstances to trigger complete peace in myself like this. That’s why, when they come, I soak them in with every ounce of my being.
I take in one final breath before I open my laptop and set it up on my lap. All right, I think to myself. Let’s get into it.
I already did the easy part: the research phase. This involved interviewing members of the company’s team, getting to understand how the retreat works, scouring through existing reviews of the experience online, stalking their competitors to see what’s lacking in the space, and listening to an unholy number of podcasts and YouTube videos about the experience of Panchakarma itself. With this amount of research, it’s usually easier to work from my overcrowded two-screen setup I have on my desk at home, so I don’t have to switch from tab to tab as often. But the sacrifice of having a single screen on my laptop is made worth it by the setting I’ve immersed myself in.
I wonder what Logan’s up to this morning, I think before I can stop myself. A tingling sensation fills my lower belly, and I frown. No. Think about Logan and how ridiculously attracted I am to him later. Now? Focus.
I end up spending the first thirty minutes setting up the document with placeholder text instead of actually writing anything—my favourite way to procrastinate. But at least I won’t start off with a blank page—never a blank page.
Every word feels like pulling teeth out. In between a quick sandwich for lunch and one short walk down the pebbly beach, I manage to crank out a draft of the home page, and when I look back out at the sun and see how much time has passed, I gasp. Damn.
And when I read back what I wrote? Damn, damn, damn. This is shit.
For my usual standards, the copy I just wrote for this website’s home page is … okay. It’s not too far off from the style some of their competitors have. But their team doesn’t want ‘okay.’ Leslie, my main point of contact, told me the website must be ‘emotive and take the reader through a transformative experience.’
And what I’ve written is far, far, far from that.
Ugh. This is going to be a long road.
Before I know it, the sun is setting already, and I’ve barely gotten anything of substance done. I know I have an entire month, but I had hoped I’d be able to get at least one section of one page right today. But I’m not there yet.
As I scarf down another pitiful sandwich for dinner, I think back to Logan’s invitation. It makes sense, in a way. After all, I did come here for a change in scenery. Even though the view from my cabin is absolutely beautiful, I won’t find much inspiration from staying in one place. I never have.
And I can’t lie to myself—the idea of spending more time with Logan excites me in more ways than one. I’m no longer sure if he’s forgiven me for the way our friendship ended, or if he has just stuffed it in the back of his mind and buried it underneath some other junk he hasn’t processed—like any typical adult.
But I do know one thing—that he does seem to genuinely want to spend time with me.
A memory bursts through my mind:
His hips against mine. Hot breath against my neck.
I push it away as quickly as it came. Just a quick moment of it has made my cheeks flush red.
I realize he may have been expecting me to drop in today to talk more in detail about those outings he invited me on, but I got lost so deeply in my work that I didn’t see the time go by. And now I don’t know if Logan is the type of person who finds it okay to get a visit from someone at 8 p.m.
Because I have no idea who Logan is anymore. We’ve been apart for longer than we were alive when we last saw each other. Yes, I did get a first impression, and a lot of what I glimpsed from yesterday seems to be somewhat similar to the boy I once knew.
But we’ve both grown up. We’re not even baby adults anymore; we’re grade-A adults. At least, we’re supposed to be.
There’s a pang in my heart at the thought of that. My thirtieth birthday is looming, but I try not to think about it. Age is just a number, right?
I finish my sandwich and decide to go looking for Logan anyway when I realize I don’t even know where he lives. I’ve only ever seen him in the lobby of the main lodge. There’s a good chance he lives somewhere on the resort’s property, but even if that’s the case, I wouldn’t know where to look. We should have exchanged numbers yesterday, but I never think about that sort of thing.
Maybe he’s still working in the lobby at this hour, too. Might as well get some exercise in and walk there.
I go back inside, grab a loose knitted cardigan to protect myself from the oncoming chill of the evening sea breeze, and make my way toward the main lobby on foot. At the cabin left of mine, the two ladies who were at the patio last night are sitting around a large bonfire, each deeply engrossed in her own book. I find them brave to be reading when there’s hardly any sun left.
They’re not the only people at the resort who thought of bonfires, either. At least one out of two cabins I walk across has an active firepit. Must be good at keeping the mosquitos at bay.
I finally make it to the main lodge, but no luck. The lady working there tells me Logan is off this evening, so I’m back to square one.
I can’t help but feel deeply disappointed, even though I knew the chances of finding him were slim. At that moment, I realize how much I need this right now. How much I need a friend like Logan.
It’s not that I have no friends. Sophie and I have been thick as thieves ever since I moved to Montreal after leaving Red Lake behind with my family. In fact, she’s the only one who stuck with me while everyone else called me a weirdo. She may not understand why I don’t feel comfortable around other people—because she definitely does—or why I love books and video games so much—because she doesn’t—but she has always been there for me, especially recently with the breakup.
That being said, it’s not the same as it used to be. And of course it isn’t. I wouldn’t expect Sophie to always be hanging out with me now that she’s a mom to two beautiful little girls. But even if I don’t expect it, part of me still needs it.
And even if I put that part of it aside … There’s an indescribable quality that I never shared in my friendship with Sophie. I don’t know if it’s because Logan and I met when we were younger, or if there’s a deeper connection between the two of us, but the truth is that no one, not even Sophie, ever truly understood me the way Logan once did.
For instance, Sophie never understood why I wouldn’t attend our high school graduation party. She begged and pleaded for me to go, and no matter how many times I explained it to her, she never got it.
She wasn’t there when I watched the clock tick by and slowly realized that no one except my best friend was going to show up to my seventh-grade graduation party, which also happened to double as a goodbye party.
That’s why Sophie ended up going to our high school graduation party with a few of her other friends—the ones who didn’t like me—while I stayed home in my PJs watching Kill Bill with my dad. Not that I ever held it against her. I wouldn’t have wanted her to miss it for anything in the world. There was just no way I could have joined her.
I snap out of my reverie and realize I’ve accidentally made my way to the coast some ways away from my cabin. There’s a wooden bench looking out towards the ocean. Like the area near my cabin, the rocky beach is about five feet down a short cliff. And like yesterday, the fog has started creeping in.
Why not?I sit on the bench, seeing no reason to go back to my cabin right away. Might as well take in the evening breeze and drown my disappointment with the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks.
Every time a particularly large wave crashes against the pebbly beach and drags back out, I’m met with a satisfying rolling sound as the water scurries back to the ocean through thousands of stones. It’s not enough to fix all my problems, but it’s enough to soothe me for a moment.
I close my eyes and focus on the sound. The ‘shhh’ of the incoming wave … the crash … that moment of silence … and the slithering against the rocks. It’s such a simple detail, but it grounds me in the moment, easing some tension from my body.
Right then and there, I decide to make this my end-of-day ritual. A gift to myself. A moment of reprieve.
My thoughts go back to that failed graduation party. I don’t like to think about that too much, but now that I’ve circled around it, I can’t help but dive into that can of worms. The logic for planning the party in the first place was to give me the eighth-grade graduation I’d never have, since I was moving back to the province of Quebec. We spent several evenings cozied up in Logan’s room, scrapbooking ideas together. But my favourite moments had to be when his mom, Carol, would interrupt our work to grab us for a game of Uno. Which I almost always lost.
I wish I could say I wasn’t still bitter about everyone in our class ghosting that party. But the truth is, I am. Why, though? I don’t see a logical reason to care what a bunch of kids thought of me seventeen years ago. But I can’t help it.
I look out at the ocean before me and take a deep breath, making a focused effort to relax my shoulders. The bitterness in my heart eases.
A sudden voice behind me makes me jump: “Mind if I join you?”
“Geez,” I reply, meeting Logan’s gaze with one hand on my chest. “I didn’t hear you coming at all.” He’s standing behind the bench with one hand leaning against the top of it, looking amused.
“You’re jumpier than before.” Back during the days of our friendship, I was already a jumpy little thing. But it got worse when the panic attacks and the anxiety came. Makes sense, in a way. I’m always on edge, as if I’m waiting for the next thing in my life to attack me out of nowhere.
“Yeah.” I fiddle with my hair. “But yes, please join me.”
He nods and sits on the bench, leaning forward against his knees. “This is my favourite spot in the entire resort,” he says. “There’s always people here at sunset and sunrise. But I like to come here when it’s dark out, like this.” He gestures to the night sky around us.
“Yeah, I can see why this would be your favourite.” It makes me a little giddy to know his favourite spot is the same as mine—and that he even shares the same ritual I wanted to start.
“So,” he starts, shooting me a sly smile, “how did your writing go today?”
“Eh. It was okay.” I sigh. “But you were right. I could use a little inspiration.”
“Of course I was right.” He winks. I pretend not to notice how my stomach somersaults in response. “You’ll figure it out. Unless you got dumb over the last seventeen years. Did you get dumb, Avery?”
“Absolutely. Without you as a friend, my brain rotted away, and now only desperate people hire me.” He chuckles, and so do I. “You obviously stayed smart, otherwise you wouldn’t have built yourself an epic programming career.”
He looks away towards the ocean. “You’d be surprised. I’ve worked with my fair share of idiots. And working in startups isn’t as epic as it’s made out to be.”
There’s a hint of hesitation in his voice, like he wants to say more but won’t. I’m not sure what he’s insinuating here.
I’m reminded of everything I don’t know about him. There’s so much of it. So much I want to know. “So how was it really? And how was it living in San Francisco?”
“It was a shock for sure. You go from a place like Red Lake to Toronto for college, which is already a big jump … but it’s nothing compared to San Francisco.” His eyebrows shoot up, as if to emphasize this fact. “It took a while for me to find my footing there.” He chuckles. “Getting around in that place is a complete nightmare. And the gunshots took a while to get used to. Honestly, I still wasn’t used to it after all those years.”
“Damn.” Living in Montreal, I’m accustomed to the big city—by Canadian standards. But I know American cities are another ballpark entirely. I’m suddenly hit by a pang of longing to hold Logan’s hand. To tell him he did good. That he’s been brave.
But I won’t go there. So I settle for a sympathetic smile. “Is that why you needed a change of scenery, then?”
He nods. “Yeah, you could say that.” His answer elicits more curiosity than anything else.
If that was truly why he came here, he wouldn’t have said it like that. And it doesn’t answer the question of why he would stop doing what he loves—and take the huge pay cut—to work in hospitality for an entire summer. Family business or not, if he has changed as little as I think, this type of public-facing job is a nightmare come true for him. In that way, we’re exactly the same.
“So why not ask your boss to work remotely for the summer, then? Why work here?” I immediately realize how judgy it sounds and want to fix it right away. “Not that I’m judging, though. It’s just that, I remember how much you were scared of eventually getting your first job because all there was in Red Lake for teens was customer-facing … and now here you are.”
I can see right away that I’ve said the wrong thing. His entire body stiffens, and it looks like he has stopped breathing. He’s staring out at the ocean, and I can’t read what’s going on in his eyes.
“I didn’t mean to pry,” I say, hoping this brings us back to our previous camaraderie. “You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.”
He breaks his focused stare towards the water and blinks quickly. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry, I just got distracted in my thoughts a little bit.” He shoots me a look and smiles. “I guess I wanted to try it out. Call it a sabbatical or whatever.” But there’s something off about his tone, and I can tell that’s not the complete truth.
“And how has it been?”
He shrugs. “Eh. Most people don’t suck. But … still.”
That isn’t even an attempt at an answer. Yet, I don’t push it. What right do I have? I was the one who catapulted my way out of his life. And now, seventeen years later, I can’t just waltz back in and expect him to lay his entire heart out for me on a silver platter. That’s not how it works.
Baby steps. For now, I’ll take what I can get.
It takes all of my willpower not to scooch up against him and squeeze him tight. Because I can tell, just from the way his gaze has wandered again, that whatever he’s not telling me is hurting him. And I can’t stand to see him hurt like this.
Even if he won’t show me.
Logan never wore his emotions on his sleeve. Even when we were thick as thieves, I never once saw him cry, apart from when his dog died. Not even as eight-year-olds. Not even that time a bully had shoved him so hard against the swing poles that he wore dark bruises for weeks. While I was a constant emotional mess who couldn’t hold anything back, he processed what he went through in silence. And if he cried, he sure as hell didn’t show anyone. Even me, despite how close we had been. It’s like he never wanted to be a burden on me or his mom.
We were basically all he had.
But he still had little tells that something was off, even though he would rarely admit it. The way his head slouched down just a bit. The slight shift in his eyebrows. And that quality in his eyes that’s so difficult to describe … the kind of thing you only notice when you’ve known someone so deeply that you feel like you can see right down to their soul.
I’m snapped out of my thoughts when he sits down on the bench next to me. He’s close enough that I feel the warmth emanating from his skin. I resist the urge to close the few inches of space that are left between us.
“You know,” I start, planting my hands firmly on my thighs so they don’t wander somewhere they shouldn’t go, “if you were looking to switch things up, I don’t know if you’re still into video games, but …”
He raises one eyebrow. “But what?”
“Why not do that? Go into game development, I mean.” To me, it makes much more sense to try something that could reignite this passion. That would certainly switch things up. “You’d be programming and working on games. I can’t see how that could go wrong.”
Logan sighs. He’s still staring out at the ocean, looking pensive. “It’s not that simple, Avery.”
“How so?”
“Game dev is a beast on its own, and the industry is …” His voice trails off. “Anyway.” He gives me a smile before turning back to the ocean. “I’m happy to be here right now.”
He doesn’t say the words, but by the way he looks at me, I can feel them hanging in the air between us:
With you.
I hold my breath. Before I can resist the urge to say it, because it’s none of my business, I ask: “So then, did you come here alone, or are you doing a long-distance thing, or …”
Smooth, Avery. Real smooth.
He looks at me, frowning with one raised eyebrow. “Huh?”
“I mean …” I twist my fingers together. I got myself into this. I can’t blame him for making me say it out loud. “I already told you I just got dumped. So I was wondering if you’ve been any luckier with these things.”
“Oh.” He starts chewing the inside of his cheek. “I wouldn’t really say lucky, no.”
“No?” I’m feeling a bit conflicted. This should make me upset for him. It only makes sense that I would want him to be lucky in that department. Luckier than me, at least. So why am I feeling relieved?
He looks away. “Work keeps me busy a ton. And, I mean, I’ve had a few … flings, here and there. But nothing serious, ever.”
Ever?
“Is that something you’re looking for?” I feel the urge to wrap my arms around him to give him some comfort. But I stay seated exactly where I am.
“Yes and no.” He steals one glance at me before looking away again. “I’d be willing to fight for it with the right person. But up until now, that hasn’t happened.” My heart flutters at those words. “I’m okay with that, though.”
A weight lifts from my chest. Knowing that he’s okay with that, and that he hasn’t been heartbroken like I am … it’s a relief.
“What?” He’s looking at me with a puzzled expression. I must have sighed more loudly than I intended.
I don’t see any use in lying my way out of this one. “I guess I’m just happy to know there isn’t a woman out there who tore your heart out and set it on fire before running away.” Then I look up at the sky to watch the stars so I can avoid his gaze.
“Is that what happened to you?”
I think of Jasper. The memory of his stupid face still burns like a knife in my heart. Five years. I woke up next to this man for half a decade, thinking that would be the rest of my life. Every groove I had with him in my life slowly deepened over time, and now I have no idea how to break out of them. I don’t know how I’ll ever go back to that stupid apartment.
“You could say that.”
I wait for him to ask a follow-up question, but he doesn’t. He simply looks at me, without any pressure in his eyes. He’s offering to listen.
Before I can stop myself, words start spilling out of my mouth. “We were together for five years, sharing an apartment, sharing basically everything, and then one morning before he’s supposed to go to Italy with his brother, he decides he’s done. Just … done. No explanation. And that was it.” My chest tightens at the memory. My throat feels dry.
“Wait …” Logan shifts to face me fully. “You guys talked it out later, right?”
I look down at my feet swinging from the bench. “No.”
“You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
“What an absolute asshole.” His voice is loud, though I can hear him trying to restrain himself. “The coward. I can’t believe he would do that to you.”
“He wasn’t an asshole before,” I say, my voice barely louder than a whisper.
“No, that’s not possible, Avery,” he continues, the anger resonating in his voice. I take one look at his face and get a glimpse of anger I’ve rarely ever seen—not even when the bullies took shots at him.
That’s when I realize: he isn’t pissed because someone hurt him. He’s pissed because someone hurt me.
“You don’t just become an asshole overnight. He showed you who he really was when he did that. And who he is just so happens to be a selfish coward.”
“You don’t even know him,” I argue.
“I don’t need to.” The golden flecks in his hazel eyes are burning in the moonlight. “That act alone speaks volumes about his character. You didn’t deserve that, Avery.”
Didn’t I? I don’t know. I’ve been racking my brain over what could have driven him to do this, and every time I do, I come to the same conclusion. Five years with me was more than enough.
But I don’t want to think about that now. Right now, I just want to think about the way Logan is defending me. Even if he’s wrong, he’s helping me feel a little bit less like discarded trash.
“Thank you.” I keep my voice soft so it doesn’t crack.
“No need to thank me.” He turns back around, his body starting to calm down from the anger. “It’s just logic. And he’s a fool.”
I laugh, thinking to myself that right now, my life doesn’t feel that bad.
* * *
It’s almost 10 p.m. by the time I walk back inside my cabin. Logan headed back to his place pretty much at the same time as I did, but not before inviting me to our first outing for tomorrow. He hasn’t settled on what we’ll do yet, but he’ll have the entire day to decide since we’re meeting for dinner.
And this time, we exchanged phone numbers.
I crash face-first into the cushy king-sized bed and sigh. I wish I could fast-forward through the day of gruelling writing and skip straight to dinner with Logan. Spending time with him makes me almost feel human again. It’s not like I’m completely over this slump or whatever this is, but almost.
My thoughts trail to Dad, and my heart sinks. I roll on my back and pull out my phone, already knowing I won’t find any notifications from him. But I need to check anyway.
Nope. Nothing except the last message I sent him, still left unread.
Without too much thought, I begin typing a new message.
I wish you could meet the person Logan became. He feels exactly the same, yet different. Good different. But knowing how you can read people, maybe you’d be able to tell what’s going on with him. I don’t know what it is. And I don’t know if I should pry.
I also wish you could tell me what’s going on with me. You know what I mean. I don’t know how you do it, but you always seem to be a step ahead of me. I bet you would have known Jasper was about to leave me, even though it came out of nowhere for me.
I need some direction, Dad. I don’t know what’s going on with you, and I hope you’re okay… but I need a dad right now, and I just wish you’d respond. Even just for a minute. Everything feels fucked and I need one person to tell it like it is to me and no one knows how to do that except you.
Why won’t you let me help?
I hit send, and the tears start falling.