Day Four: Reflect
George won’t meet my eyes. He’s sitting in the armchair, his hair falling over his forehead as he laces his running shoes. I’ve just come downstairs in my pajamas, hoping to catch him before his run.
When I got back to the villa last night, he was nowhere to be seen. I got ready for bed, completely overwhelmed. I was so frazzled, I moisturized my face with hand soap. I couldn’t think about anything other than how badly I wanted to kiss George.
He still hadn’t returned when I swept the freshly scattered rose petals off the bed and lay down, listening to the ocean while I waited. Finally, I heard thesnickof the door. I kept my eyes shut while George brushed his teeth and quietly changed for bed. I waited for the mattress to shift with his weight, but the stairs creaked with his descending footsteps instead.
My mind raced for hours.
I tried to rationalize what had happened on the beach.Maybe George was making a point about how offensive he found the suggestion of a marriage without sex. But he was also hard as a rock. In that moment at least, he felt something beyond friendship. And I had been more than willing to cross that line.
I’m rattled by howgoodit felt to be pressed against him. When his lips rasped across my ear, my body shivered with need. The pressure of his palm at the base of my spine felt like a new sort of dance—one I already know the steps for. I might be able to act like it never happened, but I don’t think I canunfeelthat erection. I know I won’t be able to forget the sound of his voice growling in my ear.
Fuck your sexless marriage.
George gets to his feet now, and I think he’s about to leave without speaking to me, but then he says, “Day Four is about reflection.”
I stare at him, stunned, waiting for him to meet my eyes. He doesn’t. “George?”
His shoulders tense, then he rips a piece of lined paper out of his spiral-bound notebook and passes it to me. “Write a list of all the things you like about yourself.”
He takes his earbuds out of their case and heads for the door. I set the blank page he’s given me on the coffee table and follow him.
“Don’t you think we should talk about last night?” I ask.
His hand pauses on the doorknob. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he tells me without a glance in my direction. “Be ready for surfing by nine.”
I’m still standing in the same place five minutes after he’s left.
• • •
I stare atGeorge’s back as we carry our surfboards to the beach with Liz. He returned from his run ten minutes before we had to leave, spent sixty seconds in the shower, and then inhaled three jars of Kevin’s gourmet yogurt. George has avoided prolonged eye contact with me, and every word out of his mouth is civil and perfunctory.
Something is shifting between us, and I don’t know what it means.
I’ve noticed things about George the last few days that I’ve spent much of my life trying to ignore. Maybe it’s because we’re far from home, surrounded by misty beaches and ancient rainforests. We’re out of context. For most of our twenties, our relationship was carried out via texts and calls and emails with infrequent visits. George was more of an intellectual concept, a voice on the line, than he was a physical body. And now, here we are, in one of the most gorgeous corners of the world, staying in a honeymoon suite with a romance kit.
Or maybe I’ve just forgotten how to ignore how pretty he is.
But I know it’s more than that. I’ve never seen George behave the way he did last night. He wanted me. There’s no denying it. And I wanted him, too. My neck bears an invisible mark from where he ran his thumb along my skin. My ear still feels hot from the caress of his lips. I’d melted in seconds—it wouldn’t have taken much longer before I’d have been completely undone.
In some ways, I feel like a teenager all over again, preoccupied by kissing and sex. Except this time, it’s not a faceless fantasy. It’s George.
As my gaze drops from his neoprene-clad shoulders to his backside, I wonder whethernoticingeach other was inevitable. I swear he smelled my hair when he zipped up my wet suit yesterday. He must know I’m not going to let this slide. I need my best friend to talk this through with me.
“Let’s do one of those hikes through the rainforest this afternoon,” I say as we set our boards in the water. It’s cloudy today. The air is heavy with the threat of rain. “Unless there’s something else in your plans.”
His gaze is fixed on the horizon. “A hike works. We could go for lunch, and you can write that list, and then we’ll head out. It’ll be a good time to reflect.”
“Agreed.” We can reflect on last night.
My body is tired from yesterday, but it doesn’t take long for me to get into the rhythm again.
Try. Fall. Wait.
I concentrate on myself and the swells of the ocean. I empty out my head. For two hours, I manage to forget about George enough to paddle into a wave at the right moment with enough strength. I sail forward quickly as I kneel, crouch, and get to my feet. I manage it twice more, and nothing can wipe the smile from my face.
George offers me an eye-contact-free “Well done” after my third decent pop-up. I’m too proud of myself to pay him much attention.
