“I think I’m coming,” I say. That’s a first. With a guy, anyway. But the friction feels so good, and he is hitting just the right spot inside me.
“Oh, thank fuck.” He drops his head to the crook of my neck, picking up speed. “So am I.”
We collapse in each other’s arms just as the sun peeks from the flat blue line of the Atlantic Ocean. Everything is pink, orange, and quiet.
That’s when we realize that there are no more thumps of music and chatter coming from the distance.
The party is over.
And so is my time with Joe.
“Sixteen-hour flight, huh?” Joe buttons his Levi’s. “That’s rough.”
I hate this. The small talk. This is my first dose of reality since I’ve met him again. And the reality is that I just had sex with a total stranger who saved me from drowning. Someone who is about to become a stranger yet again, in five minutes, after we’ve said our goodbyes.
“No big deal. I have my Kindle and my earbuds.” I shrug.
This is the part where I should suggest we exchange emails, or numbers, or Instagram handles. Anything. Have I learned nothing from the past two weeks? I’ve felt homesick toward this guy like he was a place, and now I’m going to let him walk away, just like that?
But something stops me. Pride? Fear? A combination of both?
I push my dress down my waist and collect the upper half of my hair into a messy bun.
“When’s your flight?” Joe shoves his feet into his sand-filled Chuck Taylors.
“Two in the afternoon. We’ll only have an hour once we get to El Prat Airport.”
“That’s plenty.” He flings his backpack across his shoulder.
“Yeah. I’m not worried.” I check my phone in my purse for missed calls. Sure enough, Pippa called me eleven times.
Mom sent a message. Miss you! See you home soon. I’m making your favorite casserole. x
I look up and smile at him tiredly. A part of me can’t wait to leave so I can finally cry, and a part of me doesn’t want to leave this spot. Ever.
“Well.” I salute him. “It’s been real.”
“Wait.” He tugs a Polaroid camera from his backpack, aims it at my face, and snaps a picture. It slides out of the camera’s mouth, a white block of indistinguishable shadows.
“Okay, that was creepy.”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot to tell you. I’m an axe murderer.”
“Now that you mention it, you do have that look,” I tease him.
He waves the picture back and forth, holding it by the edge. “I’ll walk you.”
Walk me? Why? Am I now incapable of walking a straight line by myself? My hackles hike up the more my mood goes down. I’m mad. Mad at my cowardice. Mad at the opportunistic Joe. Only I know he is not really opportunistic. He didn’t take advantage of me tonight. We hit it off and enjoyed a night of no strings attached. Pippa is right. Why must there be more?
“Don’t worry about it. I can see Pippa from here.” I point to the cluster of girls standing on the edge of the promenade, laughing as they rub at their own arms, braving the morning chill.
“Sounds good,” he says.
Sounds good? It sounds terrible. Stop me, dammit.
“So, uh, bye.” I turn around quickly, before he can see the tears in my eyes.
“Bye.” I hear his voice as I trudge my way to the boardwalk.
The first tear rolls on my neck, disappearing between the valley of my still-sore breasts. The second follows closely behind. I want to turn around. To run back to him. To lie and tell him I’d be okay if he wants to have his fun in Europe, as long as he comes back home to me in four months’ time. I realize it’s not even my pride I’m concerned about. It’s the fear of rejection that stops me from telling him how I feel. It’s pure unadulterated heartbreak. At least now, as I walk away toward the rest of my life, there’s a tiny part of me that still believes we stand a chance. That maybe he’ll look for me and somehow find me. I clutch onto this hope like a lifeline.
“Everlynne!” His voice booms behind me. I turn around so fast my head spins. He is not standing where I left him. In fact, we are less than fifteen feet apart. He followed me. I wipe my face quickly.
“This is stupid!” he yells, opening his arms, laughing incredulously. “I don’t want to say goodbye. We don’t have to.”
“You’re staying.” The wind carries my voice like it’s a ribbon. My heart feels like it wants to rip my chest open and jump its way to him.
“You’re going,” he replies softly, as if to say, No one is to blame. It’s all just crappy luck.
“I don’t want to go,” I admit.
“I don’t really want to stay.” He ducks his head, hiding what’s in his eyes, and I wish I could take a picture of him like that, all beautiful and raw and mine on the beach. My wilted sunflower.
“I’ll give you my number?” I offer.
He looks back up and grins. “I’ll call.”
“Hey, Joe.”
“Yes, Ever?”
“What’s your favorite English invention of all time? Don’t say Emilia Clarke.”
He laughs. I’m going to miss this laugh so much. “The World Wide Web, also known as the internet. Tim Berners-Lee is the bomb dot-com. Yours?”
“The chocolate bar,” I say without hesitation.
We run toward each other, exploding into one unit. He wraps his arms around me. His lips find mine, and we kiss, and we kiss, and we kiss. I want to hit roots in this sand. To become a tree of limbs and kisses with this guy.
Joe pulls away. He takes my phone and programs his number into it. He saves himself as Joe Boyfriend. I laugh and cry simultaneously. I don’t even know his last name. I’m about to ask for it when he pats his front and back pockets.
“Shit. I left my phone in the hostel.” He flings his backpack open, takes his notebook out, and rips a paper full of text out of it. Now that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen. “Give me your number. I’ll write it down and save it as soon as I get back. I’ll probably tattoo it on my arm. What’s your favorite font? Don’t say Times New Roman. It’s the white bread of fonts, and we’ll have to break up.”
“Cambria,” I assure him.
“Good choice, girlfriend.”
I write down my number, then read it again and again to ensure that it’s correct. It doesn’t matter, though. I’ll call him as soon as I get back home. I’ll probably text him when I land, to tell him I’m okay. He is my boyfriend now.
Mother of pearl. I’m coming home with a boyfriend. Mom is going to freak out. Renn is going to tease me to death.
Joe shoves the note with my number into his front pocket, grabs the edge of my dress, and tugs me to him.
“Fuck, I’m gonna miss you,” he murmurs into my mouth, devouring it again.
“I’m going to climb the walls while you’re in Europe.” I wrap my arms around his shoulders.
“I’ll come visit as soon as I get back,” he promises, kissing my nose, my forehead, the side of my jaw. “Butter up your folks for me in the meantime. A smoking college dropout with no job or prospects isn’t exactly every parent’s dream.”