Chapter 41 Air
Walking outside feels like breaking the surface after a high dive.
I inhale deeply, bathing in the silence of the cool night, spinning on the wooden boardwalk with my arms out, before Reed catches up, grabs my hand, and pulls me close.
The unpleasant burning is gone, usurped by a buzzing, underlying excitement.
The mystical elation that comes with being seen, wanted, understood, and accepted.
The sweet relief of validation when your feelings are reciprocated.
I catch his eye. “Bullshit you just took dance courses in college. That was insane.”
Reed laughs as we start down a thin dock lit by scattered lampposts, littered with yachts and boats, all neatly tied up in their assigned slips. The faux wood planks glimmer with the remnants of this afternoon’s downpour. “Hey, you were keeping up.”
“Barely.”
He lifts one shoulder and lets it fall. “I’ve had to get into West Coast swing for a project, so I went weekly for about six months.”
I squeeze his hand. “Oh my god, I’ve always wanted to do that!”
He smiles. “I’d be happy to take you to a class. You’d love it.”
I beam at the sky. Is this real?
“Should we sit?” Reed asks as we reach the edge of the dock. We’re among an endless span of docks providing shelter for a small city’s worth of boats. Every thirty feet or so to the right and left, another thin jet of faux wood shoots out, dividing the bay.
I plop down on the edge of the damp surface and tap the spot next to me. Reed lowers himself to my side. We let our legs dangle.
“So how are we going to do this, Reed?” I say out to the water. “Long distance with real labels?”
He grins, lifts one shoulder, and lets it drop. “I’m not worried. We’re both resourceful, determined people. I think we just figure it out as we go.”
I bump against his biceps. “If we’re going to have a real label, I actually have a few more inquiries.”
“Oh yeah? Twenty-one questions weren’t enough for the boyfriend title?”
I huff out a breathy laugh. “Nope, my Reed questionnaire is endless.”
“Yeah, I feel that. My Rikki one is too.”
My mouth splits into a smile. “One for one?”
“Shoot.”
“What’s up with the bottle-cap art? How’d you get into that?”
He chuckles and fiddles with our intertwined fingers. “My dad collected bottle caps. He had bins and bins and bins of them—my mom would get annoyed sometimes with how much storage space they took up in their closet.
“I have them all now.” Reed pauses, peering down at our feet.
“He used to do it, make art out of them. Little pieces, all the time, when we were growing up. It was his big hobby, and I picked it up. We would make things with him from time to time. Doing it myself makes me feel like he’s here with me. Like he’s close.”
I press my lips together. “I love that.”
Reed nods. He glances out at the bay for a beat before turning to me. “My turn.”
I bite my lip and nod. “Hit me.”
He searches my eyes. “Is it safe? You living in your dad’s apartment?”
I sigh toward the water, nervously swinging my feet. “I think it’s safe. Healthy? That’s a whole different question. But like I said, my contract is getting renewed at the end of September—as soon as that happens, I get the hell out of there.”
He frowns. “That’s still a month away.”
I squeeze his hand. “I’ll be okay. I dug myself into this hole with him, and I’m gonna get out.”
“How often is he there?”
“He seems to show up every couple weeks for some random renovation project, and he’ll stay however long he deems appropriate for whatever work-venture excuse he used to fly out to New York. I’m quiet. Really polite. I go along with whatever he asks. I stay on his good side.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
I frown down at the water. “It’s not me. But it’s how I keep him under control. It’s how I stay safe.”
“What would you tell a patient who was in this situation?”
“I . . . well—oh fuck.” There’s a splash as my right sandal flops off into the bay.
“Oh shit,” Reed mumbles. He slides himself off the edge of the wood, reaching for it. It’s too far from our perch, and the current is moving fast. My shoe’s already heading toward the dock adjacent to us.
“Eff.” I start running down our dock in one heel so I can get to the other one before it passes.
“Rikki”—Reed sprints after me—“take off your other shoe before you trip and die!”
I hop up and down until I get it off, then I start down the dock next to us. Reed blows past the entrance of the second dock, heading for the third. “We’re not gonna make that one!” he yells.
I pivot and run after him. He gets to the end of the third dock and throws himself on his stomach, reaching down as my shoe floats toward us. It must be low tide, because he’s not quite reaching the water even when he hangs all the way to his hips.
“Trade with me!” I yelp as I reach the edge. “Hold my legs!”
He pops up, and I chuck myself down and off the edge of the dock, willing myself to focus as Reed’s strong hands press into my thighs.
Before I’m low enough to even think about touching the water, my tiny beaded crossbody bag falls straight off my torso and splashes into the bay.
A second later my Dancing Queen sash flutters onto the surface.
“Uh. Ohh.” I watch helplessly as my purse sinks down under the surface without pause.
“What was that?” he asks.
“Umm,” I say upside down, blood rushing to my head, hair hovering above the water. “My phone, a credit card, my fifty-dollar AMEX gift card, and ID.”
“Oh. Fuck.”
I skim the surface with my fingertips and hook the Dancing Queen sash as the sandal approaches. The shoe has floated a little off course, farther from the dock.
“Hold on, the sandal’s coming. Lower me more!” I wiggle farther off the dock. My fingers can touch the water now. But the shoe is floating by three feet away. I swing myself out toward it.
“What are you doing? This isn’t a trapeze!”
My finger skims the sandal—but it gets pushed farther out. I swing again and . . . it’s way too far out. “Fuck me.”
“Did you get it?”
“No,” I mumble, feeling like an idiot. I am an idiot. I’m dangling by my knees off the dock, clutching a Dancing Queen sash. “I missed it. I don’t know how to get up.”
“I think I’m just gonna deadlift you by your calves until you can get your hands on the dock.”
I stare at the water. “Yeah, okay. Please don’t drop me.”
I blink as the fairly calm surface starts to ripple. Tiny ripples erupt all around as Reed repositions himself to deadlift me.
“Fuck,” Reed says as I slowly lift away from the water.
“Fuck what?”
“It’s raining.”
A laugh wheezes out of me as the dock comes into view again. I put out my arms, and Reed slowly lowers me onto the surface.
“Are you okay?” He drops to a seat next to me. I’m convulsing against the wood as laughter racks through me.
“Are you laughing, Romona?” Reed asks in astonishment.
I snicker, pushing up to a seat. “It’s raining. And my shoe is gone, and my most important possessions are on the bottom of the bay.”
A smile splits his face as I collapse against his chest. “You have the weirdest sense of humor.” He takes my hand, a deep, hearty rumble vibrating through his chest as the rain starts to come down harder.
Giggles continue to slip from my mouth as he stands and helps me up. We glance up at the sky together. Rain falls in abrupt droplets across my face.
“Fuck it,” Reed mumbles. He dips his gaze to mine for a second before letting go of my hands. He pulls off his shoes.
“Whoa—what are you doing? No! Don’t—”
He jumps into the fucking ocean.