Never Vacation with Your Ex(9)
Author: Emily Wibberley
Leah tightens her blond ponytail, then puts on sunscreen for the third time. Honestly, I’m shocked her pale complexion hasn’t burned yet. When she tosses up her serve, she powers the ball over the net to where I can easily reach. I bump the ball to Brianna. We’ve played together long enough for me to know her rhythms, so when the ball is just leaving her fingers, I’m already approaching the net. I quickly spot the court and spike with medium force between my two opponents.
Leah drops to one knee for the dig, but the ball hits her forearm wrong. It flies slanted off the court too fast for her partner to save.
I hold my hands out to Bri for quick high-fives, our ritual after every point scored, while Jeremy cheers and Patrick calls out reassurances to Leah. I blow Jeremy a kiss, enjoying the feeling.
Walking up to the net, I let the smell of the ocean wash over me, indulge in the summertime prickle of the sun on my shoulders. I wait for Brianna to serve, feeling perfectly myself. When my friend puts the next point into motion, I spring to life. While this game is just for fun, I play hard, diving for digs, blocking with high jumps that make my legs scream.
I love the sport, but I also love the competition. I can’t give this up for the summer, even if it means escaping the family vacation. Not just because it would set me back on my training, either. But because it’s pure joy.
I’m going to California. And so is Dean. We’ll . . . figure it out.
When we score the final point, we shake hands with Leah and her partner, Claire, under the net, one more ritual repeated into routine. I walk off the court and collapse into the sand near Jeremy, who hands me my water. I gulp it down immediately, not minding how the sand sticks to the sweaty skin of my thighs.
A couple feet away from me, Siena holds up her phone for what is not her first selfie with Patrick in front of the ocean today. I smile—it’s sweet. In fairness to their photography, the water is stunning right now. While the sun is moving lower in the sky, it’s not yet sending orange onto the perfect blue of the horizon line.
“That was incredible,” Jeremy says, his hazel eyes lit with genuine enthusiasm. He’s loosely holding his knees to his chest, the cuffs of his black jeans speckled with sand.
I grin, leaning back on my elbows. “It’s no concert, but it’s definitely not boring,” I concede.
Siena’s laugh floats over to us. I look over, noticing that while Siena has her phone camera raised, Patrick’s surprised her by smushing a kiss to her cheek.
While Jeremy gazes out over the glittering strands of sunlight on the water, I exchange a glance with Leah. Patrick’s long-distance relationship is semi-famous in our friend group. When Leah moved in at Brown in September, she offhandedly commented that her new hallmate’s LDR wouldn’t last the month. Ever since, we’ve watched like we would someone rock climbing without a harness as each day passed and Siena and Patrick didn’t break up.
“You should visit more often, you know,” Patrick says with gentle longing hiding under the playfulness in his voice.
Siena’s face softens beneath her sunglasses. “It’s not my fault you chose to go to school on the opposite coast.”
“I know . . .” Patrick replies. His drawn-out syllables say they’ve had this conversation before. “I hope I make the visits worthwhile, though.”
Instead of the mushy confirmation I’m expecting, Siena cocks her head sarcastically, pretending to consider. Patrick laughs—then, with deft strength, scoops Siena off her feet. Patrick is sneakily well-built, like he works out for the sake of it instead of to look jacked, which complements the boyish charm of his openhearted features and swirl of brown hair. While Siena squeals with delighted surprise, Patrick carries her back over to our group, where he deposits her right onto the sand close to me.
Finding everyone—minus Jeremy—watching her, Siena just grins, no shadow of embarrassment crossing her features. Honestly, I’m envious of her in moments like this. She’s the kind of laid-back, effortless cool I could never be, not when I conscientiously tailor every visible facet of myself. Siena is comfortable in her own skin, unafraid to try new things in a way I respect, if not relate to. She shakes sand out of her iconic bangs. Like a Californian, she’s worn her checkerboard Vans right onto the sand.
“Yeah, yeah, go ahead and make fun,” Patrick says dryly to our stares.
“You’ve been married how long again?” Bri deadpans.
He lowers his sunglasses to shoot her a look. “Don’t joke about that. The random dude Kaylee brought to the beach will think you’re serious.”
“He’s not random,” I protest quickly, not wanting Jeremy to be offended by Patrick’s dry sarcasm. “He’s my date.”
“It’s okay. I am somewhat random,” Jeremy chimes in. I give him a smile.
“The point is,” Leah says, “you and Siena act like an old married couple.”
Siena settles back onto the sand. She crosses her outstretched legs, looking off into the distance like she’s enjoying sounding full of wisdom. “You know, there was a time I would have been insecure about that, but not anymore. Patrick knows I don’t want to get married until I’m at least thirty.”
Claire scoffs. “God, why wait that long? You two can’t keep your hands off each other.”
“Come on, can you blame me?” Patrick replies. “We’re only together for a couple days every few months. But hey—” He turns to Siena. “Thirty? Earlier this year it was thirty-five. I like this new timeline. Not that I wouldn’t wait however long you wanted,” he goes on. “We have the rest of our lives, after all.”
His sentimentality makes Siena roll her eyes, but there’s no hiding the pleased blush under her smile. She slips her hand into his.
The sureness in Patrick’s voice hits a sore spot in me. I can’t imagine having their conviction. The rest of our lives? I couldn’t even make it last with Dean. Dean. Despite years of foundation, the winds of uncertainty knocked over whatever hopes I’d built for our relationship in two months.
I study Siena, how content she looks. The echo of her easy, flirty, tender conversation with Patrick fills my head. How is she not crushed under the pressure of that level of commitment? Just imagining myself in her position, some small version of the stuck feeling I get in relationships steals into me, like noticing storm clouds moving in toward clear skies. How is Siena so sure she won’t get bored? Or lose herself? Or get heartbroken? Relationships sometimes seem like sandcastles to me. No matter how tall or intricate they get, they’re so, so easy to swipe into nothing.