A frustrated huff sounded beside me. “I don’t see it,” Ivy complained. “Maybe it was in the other direction.”
We stopped, and I scanned our surroundings. “What about that place over there?”
“The sushi spot?” She sounded skeptical.
“Yeah. It’s been ages, but I remember them having amazing green-tea ice cream.”
“Oh, I love green-tea ice cream,” she said. “Let’s go.”
Inside, the shop owner happily confirmed they did indeed have the ice cream, and they could put it in to-go cups for us if we wanted to take it to the beach.
I raised my brows at Ivy. “What do you think? Up for a walk on the sand?”
She smiled. “Okay. This one’s on me.” Her hand landed on my forearm to steer me away from the counter.
Seeing her fingers splayed across my tattoos made me freeze. An electrical charge passed over my skin, raising it in goosebumps. Her hand lingered in place, and when she bit her bottom lip, I thought she’d felt it, too.
Her hazel eyes met mine, and instead of moving back, I stepped closer. I didn’t even think about it, my feet just moved on their own, as if my body craved to be near her.
My reaction must have alarmed her, because she jerked her hand back and whirled to face the counter. Pink bloomed across her cheeks. Without a word, I moved away as far as I could in the tiny sushi shop, cursing myself for acting like such a fool. Whatever connection I felt to her was obviously one-sided, and I wasn’t going to make her believe I’d changed if I took every opportunity to crowd her. Just like I’d done the first time we met.
She handed me one of the cups and lifted her gaze to my face. “Shall we?”
We crossed the boardwalk and stepped onto the sand, pausing to take off our shoes. With her strappy sandals and my beat-up Vans in hand, we wandered past a group of kids digging a sandpit with small plastic shovels, a woman reading a book in a camping chair, and two teenagers playing hacky sack. When we got within twenty feet of the water, she paused. “Want to sit here?”
Sitting right there in the sand, we dug into our treats.
“Wow, you weren’t kidding. This is good stuff,” she said, her words slightly muffled by the ice cream in her mouth.
“Just as good as I remember,” I agreed. “I should have come back earlier. In rehab, they had green-tea ice cream, but it was a sad imitation of this.”
“Really?” She raised a brow. “That still sounds pretty gourmet. Was this a fancy celebrity place?”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “Coming from nothing, it isn’t lost on me how privileged I was to be able to afford a place like that. There are so many that can’t get the support they need just because of the price of rehab. Even your average facility can run up to twenty thousand dollars per month.”
She almost choked on her ice cream. “You’re kidding?”
“No. It’s outrageous.” I’d started donating to a bunch of organizations as soon as I got out of my program, but I wanted to do more. I’d be able to once the lawsuit was over.
“And many of the programs are based on outdated methods that haven’t been rigorously researched,” I added. “People still treat addiction like a moral failing rather than a medical and psychiatric disorder. Can you imagine a hospital forcing someone with depression to confess their sins and make amends to everyone they’ve harmed?”
She scrunched her nose. “When you put it like that, it does seem strange. But if you don’t agree with it, why are you doing it?”
“The amends? For me, it felt like the right thing to do. I thought it would help with my personal recovery. But that’s the key—everyone is different. We should empower people to choose their own path to getting better, and acknowledge that the twelve-step programs aren’t the be-all and end-all. Just because it felt like the right fit for me, doesn’t mean I think it’s going to be right for everyone.”
“That’s interesting,” she said, licking her spoon. “And are there a lot of alternatives?”
“There are some. But I think there’s an opportunity for a lot more.” I glanced at her. “If you’re looking for an area to have an impact with your degree, I can confidently tell you there’s a lot you can do in addiction research and counseling.”
Ivy’s expression turned thoughtful, and we sat in silence for a little.
I looked out at the ocean. A few small waves crashed ashore and seagulls mewed high above our head. Placing my now-empty cup down, I lay on the sand and inhaled the salty air. “I love having the ocean nearby.”
She hummed in agreement. “Same. Even with the heatwave, I’d much rather be in LA sweating gallons than shivering under an enormous parka back home. I’m still trying to figure out how to convince my family that we should celebrate the holidays here.”
I opened one eye to peek at her. “Pennsylvania, right?”
She squinted at me. “Did you google me?” Her tone was teasing.
