“Oh. Blythe,” he says with mock disappointment. “Thought you were someone else. And don’t question the mermaid outfit. I would look fucking amazing in it. Er, I mean,shewould. Right. It’s not for me. That would be weird.” He pauses. “Or would it?”
“Sabin?”
“Yes, Blythe?”
“We’re in San Diego.”
“And you sound so…overjoyed about it. What’s going on?”
“It’s stupid. It’s just that…there are a lot of people and noises and shit, and I’m sort of not doing well.”
“It’s December nineteenth. Of course it’s a fucking mob scene everywhere. It’s going to get better when you get away from the airport and downtown traffic.”
The red light above the toilet is irritating me. It’s as though it’s waiting for me to sit on that germy seat, and that’s not going to happen. I frown at the toilet, and then I lift my foot and push the flush button. It just turns red again.
“Oh my God, are you taking a piss while you’re talking to me?” Sabin yells.
“No, I’m just hiding out for a minute.”
“I wasn’t mad. I was just concerned that I was missing out because I was going to go pee, too. I thought maybe that was a thing we were doing—peeing while we talk.”
“That’s not a thing we do.” I nervously tap my feet.
“And what’sthatnoise?” he asks.
“I’m tapping my feet.”
“Stop that immediately. The lady in the stall next to you might think you’re signaling her for sex, like you’re a closeted senator or whatnot lookin’ for action. I mean, unless that’s what you’re after, have at it, Senator.”
“Sabin! I am doing no such thing! Besides, I think that signal is only for men’s rooms.” But I still stop tapping.
“B?”
“Yeah?”
“Get the fuck out of the restroom, get your bags, and go find some sunshine. It’s gorgeous out. Better than your Maine winter.”
“Okay,” I say without conviction.
“Sweetness,” Sabin says, “get the fucking fuck out of the restroom, and come get some Sabin love!”
I yank the phone away from my ear and giggle. “Okay, okay!”
“I’ll meet you at the house in a bit, silly girl.”
I hang up and knock my head on the door while I try to collect myself. This is humiliating, and I don’t want Chris to see me like this, not that he’d care. He’s seen me in much worse states. But he went to so much trouble to arrange this incredible trip and to get us out here, and here I am, being all bananas.
My phone sounds with a text.
Sabin: Get the fuck out of the restroom. I love you—you and mermaids.
By the time I get to baggage claim, I’m half human.
When we’re at long last in the huge rental SUV, heading away from the airport, I actually feel elated. It’s impossible to ignore the spectacular bay scene. It’s only mid afternoon here, and even though we’ve been up since three in the morning, East Coast time, I am suddenly energized. We really have left behind the bitter New England temperatures, and as I roll down the window, I do not for one second miss the wind chill that comes off the Atlantic all winter.
“It must be almost seventy degrees here!” I say with delight as the wind blows my hair across my face.
Chris points to the dashboard. “Seventy-one. Not bad, huh? That’s warm for this time of year here, and we’ve got a great forecast ahead.”
