“I heard about your dad. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Over the past month, Townsend has heard these words more times than he can count:I’m sorry for your loss.Sometimes people mixed in other platitudes as well, such asHe’s in a better place noworAt least he didn’t suffer. But it’sI’m sorry for your lossthat bothers him the most. People like Chrissy can’t begin to understand the extent of what he lost.
“It’s fine. It’s whatever.”
By the time they hit the sandbar by Lou Neff Point, Party Island is in full swing. Brett realizes he forgot his floating grill in the car and paddles back to get it, while the rest of them float among the hundreds of half-naked young people, stretched out on paddleboards and kayaks, guzzling beers and roasting in the sun. To Townsend’s left, an intense game of beer pong is taking place on what looks like an inflatable mattress. To his right, a man in a canoe holds a giant Bluetooth speaker over his head, blaring trap music. Townsend tucks his oar into his kayak and cracks open a Lone Star. Perhaps he can drink enough to forget how little he wants to be here.
“Yo, guys,” Brett says when he returns. “The grill master has arrived. And I brought a surprise for you, Townsend.”
From behind, Townsend can hear the slaps of Brett’s paddle as he approaches, as well as a woman’s timid giggle. His heart seizes—did she follow him here?
Watch your fxcking back Townsend.
You can’t escape me.
Your mine forever.
He turns slowly, suspending the moment—but when he sees who sits in Brett’s boat, he feels a rush of relief. It’s not her, thank Christ. Instead, it’s the last person he expected to see.
Her hair is shorter; she’s cut it into a coquettish, chin-length style with choppy bangs that frame her heart-shaped face. Her skin is a bit tanner, her body is a bit leaner, her lips are painted a dark-red shade he doesn’t remember her ever wearing before, but it’s unmistakably her.
“Talia.”
“Townsend, wow.” Her lips twist into a shy smile. They match her dress, a short thing with frills on the shoulders and a low-cut neckline. “Hi.”
“Hi.” It’s all Townsend can manage. She looks good.Reallygood. He squeezes his beer in his hand and tries to collect himself. Then he gives a little cough to clear his throat and turns to the rest of the group. “You all remember my—you remember Talia, right?” He trips over the unspoken modifier: myex-girlfriend, Talia.
When he used to imagine what it would be like if he ever ran into Talia again, he assumed she would be cold toward him. God knows she has plenty of reason to be. But with that soft half smile on her face, Talia doesn’tlooklike she wants to kill him, and Townsend is happy to take a win where he can get one. They dated for about six months last year—what feels like a lifetime ago to Townsend. Would it be so crazy to think she’s moved on too?
“Hey, everyone,” Talia says, lifting a hand in greeting. “Good to see you all again.” Townsend knows she’s just being polite. He’d invited Talia to hang with his St. Augustine friends a few times over the course of their relationship, but they never really seemed to gel. Looking back, Townsend can recognize that Talia was probably bored by the rehashing of high school drama that always seemed to occur when the crew got together.
“Babe, come on. I think I see some girls from Regents.” Nicole starts to paddle in the direction of a floating trampoline.
“Coming!” Brett calls after her. “Right, so ...” He hesitates, twisting back to where Talia is still perched on his boat.
“Oh, sorry!” Talia says. It’s clear she’s not being invited along to chum it up with Nicole’s gaggle of prep school friends. “Of course. Should I ...?” She gestures to Townsend’s kayak. “Do you mind?”
“No, of course not, please.” With some effort, Townsend navigates his kayak next to Brett’s. Talia holds out her hand expectantly, and he takes it, pulling her aboard. She smells just as he remembers, like rose oil and sandalwood.
“Hi,” she says again.
“Hi.”
The rest of the group follows Brett and Nicole, paddling off toward the party, but Townsend just lets his kayak bob in the water. A beat of silence. He and Talia smile timidly at each other, unsure, as people whoop and laugh around them. “Can I get you a drink?” Townsend finally says, cursing himself for the cliché. He’s nervous.
“Sure.”
He hands her one of the beers rolling around in the bottom of the kayak, then he picks up his oar and starts paddling aimlessly, just looking to get away from the noise. Talia leans back into her seat and sips her beer, her face mostly hidden as she faces the water ahead.
“So,” Talia begins, right as Townsend starts to say, “How you’ve been?”
She huffs out something like a laugh, then peeks over her shoulder before turning away again. In that glimpse, Townsend can see hercheeks have turned pink, but it’s been so long, he’s not sure how to read her blush. Is she embarrassed? Pleased? Regretting whatever life choices led her back into Townsend’s shitty orbit?
It’s painful, this awkwardness. Townsend should just row her back to shore and say goodbye. But for some reason, he finds he doesn’t want to. There’s something compelling him to keep Talia on his boat. Guilt, maybe. Or attraction. She really does look good with this new haircut. Then he gets an idea. “Have you ever been to the Congress Avenue Bridge at sunset?”
She swivels to face him. “Is this a line?”
“No, it’s a genuine question.”
